If You Could See What I Hear (Shiva & Scribe)

[TheDarkScribe]

Gideon Wallace

The room practically vibrated with Holst ‘The Planets’ pouring out of the large speakers in the living room. It was on the aerial Mercury section that made him think of fairies dancing over the tops of spring flowers on the side of a hill, sunlight streaming down. His free hand moved in a fluid motion though the air as if conducting the symphony himself as his other hand tossed the contents of pan on the stove with certainty. Eggs, bacon and vegetables danced in the air, suspended for a moment before splattering in the metal bed of the pan.

The front door slammed open and shut in one smooth motion as Alice came in, moving to the stereo. “Gideon, you don’t need it so damn loud,” she shouted. She quickly turned the volume down until the music was a low hum in the air.

“I’m not deaf,” he retorted, shaking her head. His hand still flittered though the air as he finished cooking, keeping his ears to the movement he could hear in the front room. Although he kept his house in a decent order, she insisted on clearing up and rearranging things. She dotted on him way too much but he brushed it off as she needed some touchstone in her life.

He more than anyone understood that fact. He’d already been losing his sight when she married his brother but he could still remember some of the fading images of the ceremony in his mind. When his brother had passed because of the tumor in his brain, she’d clung onto him hard after he passed. There were some who would say that it was a poor coping mechanism but those were the people who’d never suffered any major lost in their life, who’d never felt completely alone in the dark. It still hurt to think about his Mary had left him after he’d finally lost his sight and he would not let Alice hit the bottom he’d hit.

“You will be if you keep it up,” she chided from the other room.

Carefully reaching forward, he shut off the burner to the stove before reaching over with his left hand, sliding along the center island until he’d found the plate. Running his fingers under the rim, he felt the small label that marked it as the nice red terra cotta looking ones that was square with rounded edges. Holding the flat of his hand against the edge, he carefully pulled the pan over to the plate until the metal clinked with it, slowly tipping it. With a spatula, he was careful to scoop it out onto the plate and felt sure he’d not spilled anything. Cooking often meant carefully adjusting the recipe for small portions as a full pan meant trouble for him normally.

“What are you doing here anyway,” he said, before spearing a fork of his breakfast. Popping it in his mouth, he smiled at the nice flavor mix though the salt was a bit much not having adjusted for putting bacon in instead of sausage. “Don’t you have a shift at the hospital?”

He heard her transition form the carpeted floor in the living room onto the tile of the kitchen, feeling the suspicious glare from her. It was not like him to be obtuse with his words and it had called him out immediately. His mind pictured the woman he remembered standing there in her wedding dress and those pearl colored heels with hands on her hips. “Why,” she asked quietly. “Gideon Atticus Wallace, do you have a date?”

A snort escaped Gideon as she employed a trick his brother must have taught her, using his full name knowing he hated it. Munching on the mouthful he had, he finally swallowed before he looked in her general direction. “Please, who’s going to date me?” He held up a hand to cut off her quick rebuttal sick of hearing what a great catch he would be and all the other platitudes. “No. I am still a working professional. I simply have an appointment and don’t need interruption.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied. But it was a sound that implied she thought he had a hooker or something coming around.

He went about finishing his breakfast at dinner in the kitchen while she went about feeling like she was helping clean up the place. The kitchen looked like it had stepped out of a catalog page since it practically had, having ordered just about everything out of the same page to ensure it matched and having it installed. The room was tiled in a black and white design, favoring the black with white dream and accents though the appliance had a scattering of stainless steel among them. The cabinets also had the black and white treatment with brail tags on each that almost disappeared in the color scheme. He was glad to show his sister in law out after he’d finished his breakfast, feeling the knots tying in his gut.

Running upstairs, he pulled off the loungewear he’d been wearing all day and stepped in the shower, warm water splattering down his body. It felt good to relax under the warm stream dribbling down his back, wondering if he was being crazy with this idea, he’d let build into something of its own thing. At first it had been a lark, he supposed, a need for something, a safe comfort that he desperately needed. A part of him had kept going because of that voice that said no one would answer the ad, as well as that quieter voice that hoped someone would. But now someone had answered and he wasn’t sure, he’d not felt this nervous in many years, letting a stranger into his life for something that had been a very intimate thing for him, long ago.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered to himself. Carefully drying himself off, he moved to his arraigned drawers and closet, fingers moving over the labels on each drawer. He had to laugh at himself as he stood trying to figure out what to wear like this was some date, he was paying a stranger to read to him. What did it matter what impression he made as long as he paid her, right? Sighing, he slid on a pair of silken boxers and a loose pair of black trousers before pulling on some black socks. Then, he moved over to the next drawer, moving over the shirts before he pulled on a grey Henley, smoothing it out. For a brief second, he wondered how he looked before snickering, pushing the thought aside.

Socked feet padding on the wood steps, he came down into the front room. It was a simple room pained in a cool green Alice had assured him accented with stained wood. Two walls were all books, some were braille but others were first and second editions he’d picked up at auction over the years. It was silly to own something he couldn’t appreciate or use but books had become something sentimental from his old life. An entertainment center was set up near the wide entrance into the kitchen filled with a TV, DVD player and a stereo, books of CD’s stacked up near the stereo. A nice L shaped grey couch dominated the center of the room with two side tables on either side and a matching recliner set apart.

Sitting on the couch, he hit the button on his watch which spoke the time, nerves quickly going on edge hearing it was just about time for the appointment. A part of him considered making a drink but then he wondered what that said abut him, a blind man sitting in the dark drinking. “Get ahold of yourself, you blind fool,” he muttered to himself, hearing the bell go off.

Rising, he quietly padded across the grey and white carpet to the front door, fingers playing with the lock, pulling off the deadbolt and then the chain, slowly opening the wooden door, stepping back as he swung it open. “Hello,” he said, his voice warm and measured. “If you are a Jehovah Witness please leave, I’m good. Otherwise, please come in.” He let a small smile cross his lips, still feeling a hint of the knots in his gut.

Outside of house

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Wow Red, you look great!" Ash's eyes raised from her tablet at the sound of her roommate entering the cramped, cluttered living room of the apartment. Nudging the arm of the tall, blue-haired woman beside her, the petite blonde inclined her head approvingly in their friend's direction. "Joy, tell her she looks great."

Joyce glanced up only momentarily, but her thumbs never missed a beat as they continued to expertly jog the Xbox controller in her hand. "You look great, Sawyer. How come you're dressing up for an interview with a blind dude?"

Sawyer blushed, bringing some fresh and genuine color to her expertly painted face as she darted into their overcrowded nook of a kitchen for a glass of water. The island that served as the girls' prep area and kitchen table was currently occupied with one of Ash's latest projects, a bust of Dolly Parton sculpted out of purple glitter clay for some reason, along with several scattered papers from Joyce's work bag (several conspicuously stamped with INTERNAL ONLY in bright red letters). The mess only caused Sawyer's left eye to twitch slightly, and she was quite proud of the fact that her flawlessly manicured hands didn't even curl into fists this time. God bless those two, but I am going to fucking kill them one of these days if they don't learn to pick up after themselves she thought as she filled a mason jar with a jug of water from the fridge.

"Hey, us normies can't afford to dress like Stevie Nicks when we're trying to land a job," the redhead replied, looking pointedly towards Ash, currently dressed from head to foot--well, head to mid-thigh--in black lace. Besides working as a freelance artist in everything from graphic design to tattoos, the only bosses the blonde needed to answer to were the aging hipsters who owned the coffee shop where she worked three days a week. Joyce too could afford a more unconventional look with her piercings, tattoos, brightly colored hair and stark makeup. As the only IT person for a small but prestigious lawfirm whose partners' total ages equaled about four hundred years, her elderly employers were too terrified of her to consider letting her go.

"Besides, the guy might be blind, but I bet he's got a social worker or a home nurse or something like that," Sawyer continued, running her finger through her long red hair that had been straightened and re-curled so many times she thought it might break clean off. Crossing the room to the closet near the door, she carefully opened it and stepped back immediately, expecting an avalanche of coats, shoes, discarded art supplies and broken electronics to fall on her head. To her relief, only another one of Ash's ridiculously wide brimmed hats fluttered slowly to her feet, and after looking towards its owner for a second, Sawyer plopped it on her own head and looked over her own reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

"If he does have some kind of care worker or whatever, I don't want them to think I'm trying to scam an old man out of his money. You know, like that time the pool boy tried to steal Nana Nicole's social security checks a couple of years back," she continued as she looked herself from top to bottom. The blouse, while high-necked enough to be work appropriate, still did nothing to diminish her rather prodigious breasts, but the stiff fabric of the skirt at least hit her at the smallest part of her waist and didn't cling to her full ass. Sawyer let out a little sigh. After all that bullshit with Jack she had intended to lose weight solely to piss him off and make him jealous, but it had been two years now and she was still wearing double-digit dress sizes. Oh well, it was probably a good thing. The one thing she'd gotten to keep after their divorce (annulment she reminded herself with extra bitterness) was her wardrobe, and considering how much she had spent on the clothes they were holding up very nicely. She'd probably never be able to afford anything by Marc Jacobs or Michael Kors again, and it would be a shame if she lost so much weight she couldn't wear those pieces she already had.

"How do you know the guy is old? It's a Craigslist job, isn't it?" Joyce asked as her game came to a satisfying end, or so the other two assumed by her smile. Neither Ash nor Sawyer were gamers, but they could appreciate the relative placidity with which their friend enjoyed the hobby. "What do you even know about this gig?"

"Hey, yeah," Ash piped in, as if it suddenly occurred to her that someone on the internet might not be acting with the most honest intentions. "What'd you say, it's reading to him for like an hour a night, a couple nights a week? For how much money?"

Sawyer shrugged as she checked her phone for the time. "I don't know, he said we'd negotiate at our first meeting today."

"Well, where are you meeting him?" Ash pressed, setting aside her tablet and climbing up until she was draped over the tall purple armchair, squinting heavily towards the redhead, who only rolled her eyes.

"His house." Now two pairs of eyes were staring skeptically at her. "You guys, it's no big deal. The address is up north and only like twenty minutes on the train. I'll check the place out, and if I get any bad vibes I'll leave immediately." Her roommates were unimpressed as Sawyer grabbed a black motorcycle jacket to shield against the chilly Chicago spring. Under no circumstances did she make eye contact, but continued to ramble on. "Come on, you know how badly I need this job. The copywriting stuff is starting to slow down, and freelance gigs hardly pay anything anymore. I can barely make my share of the rent as it is--"

"Dude, if you want to start ho-ing around, that's totally fine, no judgement," Joyce said firmly as she got to her feet. At 6' 2" her head was getting dangerously close to the low ceiling of the garden-level apartment, and more than once she'd nearly given herself a concussion by failing to duck through the low doors throughout the unit. "We just want you to be safe. Want me to come with you? I can borrow one of Ashley's hats and be your pimp."

"Ha ha ha," Ash grunted, but she too got to her feet. "I think we should both go with you, Red. We can't let anything happen to you, after all. If you get murdered we'll have to get another roommate, or figure out how two lesbians can have a baby. Joy's mom won't quit asking us when we'll give her some grandkids. Does she even know how any of that works?" the blonde asked, looking towards her wife.

"I dunno, she's Catholic," Joy shrugged as she grabbed her car keys and looked back towards Sawyer. "Come on, we can at least give you a ride and wait in the car while you're doing your thing. That way if the old dude turns out to be a young perv, Ash can go in and bite his ankles or something while I call the cops."

"Quit with the jokes or you're sleeping on the couch tonight," Ashley huffed as she grabbed a pair of black cat slippers from the pile on the closet floor.

If time weren't running so short Sawyer would have put up more of a fight, insisting her friends stay home and that she was a grown woman who could take care of herself. But she was pretty sure even a blind man could tell if someone was late, and she couldn't afford to make a bad first impression. Besides, she had to admit there was something sweet in the way the other two had considered themselves more or less her parents ever since she moved in with them. Ash's attachment she could sort of understand; she and Sawyer were first cousins and had spent summers at each others' houses when they were growing up. Joyce was a little more unexpected, but at the wedding she'd taken the redhead aside and told her now that Ashley was her family, that meant Sawyer was too.

Much as she loved and appreciated them both though, it would have be nice if either Joyce or Ash had a decent sense of direction, or at least enough humility to listen to Google Maps' instructions rather than insisting they each knew a better shortcut to their destination. By the time Joy's garishly painted Explorer (another unfortunate result of Ash's artistic urges) pulled up in front of the jaw-droppingly gorgeous mansion, the clock on the dash was displaying 6:00 on the dot. Which was actually 7:00 because Joyce was too lazy and drove too infrequently to bother with things like Daylight Savings Time.

"Guys, just drop me here, you'll never find a parking spot in time," Sawyer said, opening the door as it slowed in front of the house. "Just...go get ice cream or something, I'll text you when I'm done." She didn't need to tuck and roll as she evacuated the vehicle, but she felt as though she ought to. Before either of her friends could dissuade her, she was on the pavement and had shut the rainbow door tightly, but not so quickly that the other two couldn't roll down their windows to all after her as the truck rolled on down the street.

"Call us if he touches you in a bad place!" Ash called with a grin.

"And get the money up front!" Joy added.

At this Sawyer couldn't help but laugh a little as she flipped the retreating car the bird, then suddenly dropped her hand when she could have sworn she saw movement at one of the windows of the gargantuan fortress. What was that about good first impressions she scolded herself, approaching the building and smoothing down her clothes and hair in the process. A low whistle escaped her soft pink lips as she climbed the stairs to the front door, and she couldn't help but wonder about the inhabitant. Clearly the dude had money, couldn't he hire a butler or something to read for him? A little knot of anxiety began to twist in her stomach. Maybe whoever lived here was the crotchety type of old guy who drove everyone away from him and couldn't even get the care workers to take an hour to read to him.

Well, in any case, he couldn't be as bad as some of the elders of the St. James family, who--if she remembered correctly--didn't live that far away from her current location. If Sawyer could handle those nasty old geezers, she could definitely sit through a job interview with one more. Raising her head and setting back her shoulders, the woman knocked with every scrap of confidence she had on the door, expecting to be answered by either the old man himself, or maybe a young nurse stopping by to fix him dinner.

The last thing she expected was the man who actually opened the door. Tall, flawlessly dressed (and expensively, her trained eye could tell), and definitely not old, the man even greeted her with what she assumed was a joke. Still, just to be safe, Sawyer replied to him in that tone strictly reserved for business conversations: cool and collected, pleasant but somehow artificially so.

"No sir, I'm here to see Mr. Wallace about a job," she remarked, pulling up the email exchange that had taken place over the week or so since she'd answered the ad. Finding an appropriate screenshot, she the phone's cracked screen up to the man for his approval. "I'm Sawyer Thompson. Mr. Wallace and I were messaging earlier this week about reading some books. May I come in?" She was quick to make sure there were no pauses between stating her full name and her next sentances, just in case the man felt like making a particularly literary joke that had stopped being funny when she was nine years old. English professors shouldn't have children, or at least they shouldn't be allowed to name them she always thought (and frequently reminded her parents).

It was only when she realized the man at the door didn't appear to be looking at her phone, or indeed, at anything, that Sawyer realized her mistake. Her face turned as red as her hair and the knot in her stomach seemed to simultaneously rise and expand. "Unless...are you Mr. Wallace?"

Oh god, he was, wasn't he. Unless there happened to be multiple blind guys living at the same address.

"I'm so sorry for the mistake!" she said quickly, the cool customer-service tone quickly giving way to notes of genuine shock and apology. "I just wasn't expecting...well, I was expecting you were...I mean, I expected you to look...like someone else." For a moment, she glanced up and down the street, looking for any sign of the Rainbowmobile that could get her out of there as quickly as possible. WIth no sign of it though, there was nothing she could do but swallow hard and look back into the face of her host.

"I'm incredibly, incredibly sorry Mr. Wallace," Sawyer repeated, then forced a smile despite knowing he couldn't see it. "I don't suppose you still want to talk about reading?"

 

[TheDarkScribe]

An amused smile played across Gideon’s face as the woman talked, amazed at how much stamina she had speaking. It certainly boded well for the endeavor he was wishing to hire the young lady for at least. He wondered if she was a young lady? There were certain hints in the email of a younger person and the voice didn’t seem to have the lower quality that came with age, but nothing was exact. It had just been an assumption from the beginning though he knew how bad assuming too much could be so he tired to balance it out.

“Sawyer,” he repeated, holding up a hand, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “Please, I get enough Mr. Wallace at doctor appointments and phone solicitations. It’s just Gideon.” He opened the door wide and took a step back as he did, hand outstretched so his fingertips stayed in touch with the door. “If I don’t meet expectations I can get my cane out and tap around or run next door and get my 90 year old neighbor.” A gentle laugh rippled form his lips as he waved his other arm out to invite her in, waiting a moment before slowly closing the door hopefully behind her.

“First rule of my house,” he said, turning towards her direction. “No apologies. We all mess up, myself more than most. And if you are still interested in the job,” he paused, moving further into the room with ease. He’d carefully arraigned the house with help and it had not changed much since then. A few black and white photographs hung in simple frames here and there in the room which seemed a strange choice for a blindman. A hint of nervous energy showed in his hands as he reached out to the stereo turning off the light Chicago Blues music playing in the background, the room growing quiet as he turned back in her general direction.

“Just so we are clear,” he said, a hint of bashfulness showing on his cheeks. “I don’t normally put adds on the internet… though I realize you only have my word to take for it and… well, I’m blind so don’t you have to accept my word?” A chuckle rippled from him as he reached his hand out to trail along the entertainment center and move to the small table near the stairs up onto the second floor. A number of bottles of liquor sat on it with a shaker and some nice glasses, a few other paraphernalia. Hands carefully moved over everything with practiced ease as they moved over the small bar, passing by the glass tabletop before moving past it.

Then his hands were moving along one of the two massive bookcases in the room, fingers trailing over the thick wooden shelves. Each book was carefully pressed in with book dividers between each with, little tab ends sticking out with braille stickers detailing the book. He breathed in the smell of the old books like it was his own vitae though a hint of sadness lingered on his face as his fingers took in each one. “What was it we agreed on then, Mrs. Thompson” he asked, turning his head to look generally where she’d been. “Fifty or seventy-five a session?” A hint of a blush tinted his cheeks as he thought about the wording, remembering ‘session’ being used in some crime drama recently about escort services. It was a quandary what to call this strange escapade he’d decided to start, the rabbit hole of needing a want fulfilled without it being weird.

“I supposed you are wondering,” he said, waiving his arm in the air towards her. “Why.” A deep sigh rippled though his lips as he paused a moment, his head dipping down as his mind wandered into the past for a moment. And then he was back, lifting his head up as he knew she couldn’t help but wonder at the insane add he’d put there on the internet where most people were looking for anonymous hook ups. “I don’t know If you know what it’s like to be captivated by a good book, to find yourself transported to new landscapes and adventures by the written word. I know most people just lose themselves in Netflix and think books are something the left behind in school.”

Taking a step away from the book case and he was free of anything, walking in the open room with a careful gait. Although he knew the room well it was easy enough to get distracted and fall, which could be devastating when you didn’t have vision to allow instinct to protect yourself. When a sighted person falls their hands will automatically come up, usually trying to protect their head, but it’s not as easy to know direction and angle without visual cues for that lizard brain. Reaching a hand out when he was a foot from the couch, he touched it and carefully maneuvered himself to sit down on the soft cushion, settling comfortable into the spot.

His fingers drummed on the arm of the couch as he looked straight ahead at the unused TV. “I still remember reading the Count of Monte Cristo and Treasure Island and just being blown away. It was transcendent for little Gideon.” He chuckled as he sat there before the hint of sadness came back along with a shake in his hand, muscles twitching in his jaw. “Someone once started to read to me books in the evening, sometimes just over the phone. It was before I lost my vision and it stuck with me.” Licking his lips he paused a moment as he floated in the seat lost in the pain of memory for a bit too long than he cared, eyes blinking faster as he stared off.

“Now, you can get most books converted into braille these days,” he finally started back up. “But reading with your fingers and the time it takes the brain to interpret just isn’t the same as reading the words off the page. I know that probably don’t make sense to someone who’s not been forced too cope.” Reaching up, he rubbed his chin as he wondered why he was babbling figuring the woman probably only cared about getting her money and getting the job done, it was the way of the world. But, for some reason he felt the need to explain, fingers tracing over the arm of the couch as he spoke. “And I remembered being read too and… I guess I decided to just see if it captured what I was missing.” He shrugged as he finished talking knowing he probably hadn’t explained anything and feeling more awkward than when he’d begun.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Oh god, she was going to be unemployed forever, wasn't she? I should just stick to copy editing and beta reading Sawyer bemoaned inwardly as Gideon invited her inside. Well, how was she supposed to know the stranger from the internet wasn't an enfeebled old man? Granted, he was probably still quite a few years older than herself, but the blind man was far from being a geezer or even an elderly gentleman. He probably wasn't even as old as her own dad, or if he was Gideon must have been blessed with particularly good genes.

Aside from the eyes, of course.

I'm an ageist, ableist asshole who is never using fucking Craigslist again she continued silently, smiling all the while as she followed Gideon into his home. "I'm sor--" Sawyer was about to apologize again before he cut her off with the rule about apologies, and she forced herself to swallow the sentiment in a creaking, uncomfortable laugh. "I mean, I wasn't really expecting someone like you would want to pay someone to read to them. It's just kind of...old school, don't you think? When I was in high school I used to read to the seniors at the local nursing home as part of my regular volunteer work, so I just assumed this job would be kind of like that. I really hope I didn't offend you."

Well, at least she managed to drop a hint about her resumé in there, assuming he'd even bothered to read it. When Sawyer had sent over the document she'd wondered if it was too formal of a move for an arrangement that really had seemed more like a volunteer opportunity. But he'd invited her to meet all the same, so she could only hope it had made a better impression than her stupid awkward self did. There was also some comfort in knowing he couldn't see how red her face was, or how her hands were shaking slightly as she followed him into the sharply decorated living room.

Indeed, as her mahogany brown eyes scanned her surroundings, Sawyer was more than a little impressed at the beautiful and rather expensive-looking features of the room. Although Gideon did seem to need to feel his way around somewhat, he didn't knock over a single thing, and as far as she could tell the place was at least ten times cleaner than her own humble abode. If the outside hadn't been enough to convince her that the inhabitant had money, there was definitely no doubting it now, and the young woman couldn't help but feel a little wistful as she took it all in. Once upon a time she might have had a house like this, and she'd be lying if she didn't still wish she could have made it work.

But Gideon's warm and slightly embarrassed voice quickly pulled her out of her reverie, and even though it probably wasn't necessary the redhead turned back quickly to face him. "Oh, it's no big deal at all. I find most of my work on the internet. I mean...like, legit work. Which is the only work I do. Editing, mostly, and some beta reading. Writing copy here and there. Nothing, you know...nefarious. Not that I'm assuming this is nefarious. You just want reading, right? I open the book, read it out loud, then go home. Nothing else." Oh my god, why am I trying to convince him I'm not a hooker? That's exactly what a hooker would do. This is a disaster.

Not to be defeated though, Sawyer took a deep breath, then reached into her bag and pulled out a small bottle of water. After a quick drink, she had calmed herself enough to join Gideon at a set of even more impressive bookshelves. She couldn't help but let out another low whistle as her eyes scanned the spines, recognizing not only many of the titles, but the editions as well. Pop would be like a kid in a candy store the girl thought to herself, reaching out gently to run a finger down an ancient copy of Huckleberry Finn.

However, her hand dropped at the mention of the money, too shocked to even correct him on her marital status. To her memory, they hadn't discussed payment at all in their emails, but Sawyer had been prepared to argue for at least the minimum wage of 15 dollars an hour. But seventy-five? Or even fifty? Shit, for that much money she'd be able to afford her half of the rent AND groceries, and that was even before any other freelance work she might pick up. Unless he wanted her to read to him for eight hours a day, five days a week, she would practically be robbing him at rates like that.

Which was what made the immediate joy that had risen up in her heart crash into the pit of her stomach. In the back of her mind, she thought she could hear Jack's voice, simultaneously whispering and shouting to the point that the world went black around her for a moment.

"You're nothing but a gold-digging whore!"

For a moment, tears pricked at Sawyer's eyes, but she gritted her teeth sharply and dug her nails so tightly into her palm that dark red semi-circles began to rise up on her palm. After a moment, she let out a deep breath and turned back in the blind man's direction. "Mr. Wallace...Gideon. That's a very generous offer, but I'm worried that for that much money you might have...other expectations for me. I wouldn't feel comfortable accepting that amount just to read to you. Believe it or not, I actually do enjoy a good book myself, so it's not like this is unpleasant for me." Her shoulders relaxed somewhat as her gaze fell appreciatively on his collection.

"My folks are actually English professors, back in Iowa. Pop teaches American Lit, and my mom specializes in British Romantics. They'd be green with envy if they got a chance to see your collection." She paused a little bit, then let out a soft chuckle. "They've got you beat on the Shakespeare though. Mom's got a set of volumes from 1850. Dunno if they're legible, I'm still not allowed to touch them and I'm almost thirty, but the covers are in great condition." At first she didn't notice Gideon's dubious retreat back towards the couch, otherwise she might not have taken the slight tone of offense at the implication she might not be able to appreciate fine literature.

"Hey, just because I can't afford first editions, or second editions, or even decent hardbacks, I still have a public library card. Look, I'm reading--" Sawyer's hand was halfway into her bag to pull out the Murakami she'd started a couple days earlier when she was suddenly reminded that showing the volume to her host was probably not going to help her case. "I'm in the middle of Kafka on the Shore right now," she huffed, pulling her hand back out. "Plus if you'd looked over my resumé you'd know I used to literally get paid to read and edit books, just not out loud. Why would anyone want a gig like that if they hated books?" Granted, she was only an editorial assistant, but it was at St. James Press damn it, and that had to count for something.

The young woman sighed, then took the liberty of sitting in a nearby recliner. Her tone was much gentler when she spoke again, and she even let out a soft sigh. "I know what you mean about reading though. For me at least, there's no better way to shut out the rest of the world when things aren't going well." And boy, hadn't she devoured half the local library after she and Jack had split? "So as far as payment...what if we said thirty a session, for up to two hours? I can be available five nights a week most weeks, maybe one or two more on occasion if you give me head's up. Cash or venmo is fine with me, and no contracts or anything needed. If it doesn't work out, just say so, and we can go our separate ways, no hard feelings."

Crossing her ankles, Sawyer folded her hands neatly in her lap and hoped her voice sounded businesslike enough not to be pushed around, but not so tough that he would be turned off from the arrangement. At the same time, she couldn't help but glance back towards his bookshelf. There were definitely plenty of gems there that she was more than familiar with, but also more than a few that she hadn't read in years, and some she'd never heard of at all. Between the books, the gorgeous house, and the fact that Gideon didn't seem any weirder or more awkward than anyone else she'd expect to meet on the internet, the job was sounding pretty good.

"What do you say?" she asked, turning back to face him. "If you aren't sure, I don't mind reading something out loud for you right now, just to get a feel for it."

 

[TheDarkScribe]

“Like me,” Gideon queries, raising his eyebrows. It was a curious idea as he had been more worried about getting weird sexual inquiries, people thinking it was some strange fetish, than people thinking he was an old man needing a bib and wanting to be red too. His face scrunched up wondering if that was better or worse in this day and age. His lips pursed though at her words, raising a hand to tap his chin. “Well, I suppose I’m fairly old school. And I’m not offended… though.. I don’t look old right.” He rubbed at his chin wondering if he was starting to get grey or something with all of this talk, no one had mentioned it. It was not easy having to rely on feedback on everything.

The nerves had really made him want a drink but it didn't seem like a good idea especially how nervous the woman was, he was afraid she might run thinking him a dirty old man if he broke out the vodka. A little shake had started in his hand as he stood, not used to dealing with a stranger in his house. Well, beyond the visiting nurse or medical supply person that might stop by, but that was more business. He supposed this was the same thing but it was hard to consider it in the same vein, it was more personal to him. He had decided it was time to say what the fuck instead of worrying about it. He just wished he could stick with that feeling now that he was trying to explain himself to the woman.

“Legit work,” he asked, raising an eyebrow. A small laugh escaped him as he looked over in her general direction, wondering what the woman looked like. He often ascribed traits and colors to people in his life, remembering them from before losing his sight, but she was a blank slate. “Beta reading,” he asked, obviously confused by the term. He held out a hand to her but he was pointing rather off from where she’d sounded, trying to assure her. “Yes, I just want you to read. Nothing else. Though you will be my guest in here so if you want a drink or something to eat, feel free to help yourself.”

A light blush tinged his cheek as he turned away to run his fingers over the labels on the dividers. Yes, I just want you to read to me like my ex-fiancé did because it always settled my soul. That would be easy to explain and not sound totally weird to her so she wanted to run way from the house and never come back. He was sick of playing it safe though and denying himself of a simple pleasure when he had the means to enjoy it. Even before her, books had been an escape for him during a difficult childhood, a transport into something great.

He could still remember her words after all of these years, the second feeling of loss following the loss of his vision. It had devastated him to the point of self-destruction, his entire world shattered. But in those darkest days he found some strength, a reason to pull himself up and make a new life. Yet, the broken heart had never really healed after Marcy and he wasn’t sure he’d ever trusted another since, at least not to get that close. Just thinking about her brought a flood of memories that pulled at him and twisted his gut up, blinking as he ran his fingers over the books again, finding grounding. This was not about her, he told himself, this is about me and reclaiming something back.

“Other expectations,” he repeated, looking curious. “I assure you madame I have no expectations other than some auditor enjoyment. But I certainly want you to be comfortable.” He rolled things over in his head and began to wonder if he should have had a contract drawn up to avoid all of this worry. He had tried to keep the whole endeavor on the low of things a bit embarrassed by it all. “If it will put you at ease, I can get a contract drawn up so you are secure this is all professional and on the up and up. Though I am pleased to know you like too read, I was afraid I’d get someone who didn’t enjoy the written word and what torture that would be.”

A light laugh slipped out from Gideon as a knowing smile curled his lips, nodding to himself. “English Professors, that explains the name,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Not that there is anything wrong with it, just Sawyer isn’t too common.” He tilted his head to the side as the idea of the woman tried to take shape in his mind, it was not the person he’d expected after having the resume converted and reviewing it. “Shakespeare is nice but never been my thing. Though I do have a lovely and rare French edition of Cyrano de Bergerac by Rostand. “No, in fairy tales when the ill starred Prince the lady says ‘I love you?’ all his ugliness fades fast—But I remain the same up to the last.”

Pursing his lips, he felt a little lost as she went off on him and wasn’t sure what had offended the young woman, sure he may have just ruined whatever chance he had of getting this idea moving. Why could he find the right words in his professional life but never seemed to have the right ones in his personal life. “Mrs. Thompson, I meant no offense,” looking a little sheepish. “And I would gladly look if I could, but I will take your word. And I did have your resume converted so I could review it but you’d be surprised how many people take jobs they don’t actually like.”

Drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch, the concern showed on his face not sure if he was handling this very well. He’d never had much of a poker face so he showed too easily what was going on in his head. His head turned towards her as she started speaking again, leaning forward on the couch. “I don’t know what Venmo is,” he started, making a note to look it up. “But cash is fine. Thirty seems adequate. No expectations beyond a good book.”

“I say it sounds good,” he agreed, nodding his head. Lifting himself up, he curled his legs under him to sit cross-legged on the sofa, leaning back into the plush back. “I don’t think an addition is necessary. You certainly seem passionate enough and you are heads above the second-best applicant, screen name ‘heavenlygrandma69’. I’m not even going to tell you what her application said but I did learn that paraphilic infantilism is a thing. I really could have done without this knowledge.” He shook his head trying hard not to remember that application as he adjusted himself in the seat.

“Now, I do have a particular book in mind for the first book.” He pointed towards the bookshelf that was behind the recliner. “But after that, should you not run screaming from the house at some point, it’s your pick.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"You think 'Sawyer' is bad, you should meet my older brother. His name is Joad. Which might be okay if he was a wandering preacher or something like that, but he's a CPA in Des Moines, poor guy," the young woman laughed, shifting her position slightly in the chair. It was getting easier to relax now that she could see Gideon was feeling just as awkward about the whole situation as she was. And the way he quoted Cyrano did send a pleasant little shiver down her spine. It's too bad about his eyes. He probably could have done theater. Then again, how was she to know he hadn't? Clearly the guy had made a fortune somehow.

It didn't exactly seem appropriate to ask about that, although she felt tempted to bring it up almost out of spite as he needled another 'Mrs.' at her. "Actually Gideon, it's Miss Thompson. I'm not married," Sawyer replied, almost hissing through her teeth. For a moment, her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. She knew the St. Jameses had family in this part of town; the old man's mother or aunt or something lived not far from the lake. Gideon certainly didn't look like the type to follow high-society gossip, but even if he couldn't recognize her face, it might be possible he had recognized her name in their emails. After all, 'Sawyer Thompson' wasn't exactly the same as Jane Smith, and as far as she was aware she was the only one ever linked with old money Chicago clan headed by John St. James, one day to be succeeded by his no-good playboy son, Jack.

Of course, Sawyer couldn't escape her professional link to the family, not considering the only place she'd worked since graduating college was St. James Press. If Gideon was aware of the higher social strata of the city, there would be no way he could be unaware of the scandal. Then again though, there were plenty of rich people in Chicago who didn't give a rat's ass what the St. James family did or did not do, and they certainly didn't give a fuck about the poor romantic decisions of a naive redheaded bookworm from Iowa. Maybe she wasn't being fair to him after all.

"Just...go ahead and call me Sawyer," she sighed gently, then shrugged. "I've been using it this long, might as well stick with it, right? But you can call me Heavenly Grandma if you really want to." Her voice was completely flat at the statement, but a smile was tugging sharply at the corners of her mouth. Oh the joys of working with strangers on the internet. It almost made her want to bring up the fact that she had edited one of the top-selling Bigfoot-themed romance novels on Amazon, but she wasn't entirely sure Gideon would be able to appreciate the effort (and she hoped he wouldn't be able to appreciate the finished product).

When he gestured again towards the bookshelf, Sawyer rose to her feet obediently. "Let me guess, you want me to read Fanny Hill? Maybe Les Liaisons Dangereuses? I should warn you though I haven't taken French since I was fifteen, so I'd better stick with the English translation. That goes for your Cyrano too." There was no hiding the humor in her tone now, but the woman stopped dead in her tracks as she caught sight of the enormous black-and-white cavern that was Gideon's kitchen.

"Holy shit, your kitchen is amazing!" she blurted out, the books forgotten entirely. She was two steps onto the tile before she realized how rude she was being, then blushed and turned back towards him. "Sorry," Sawyer began, then remembered the rule about apologies and blushed deeper. "I didn't mean to swear, but I would absolutely kill for a setup like this. You see I live in this tiny little basement apartment in Boystown with two other people, and our entire kitchen is about the size of your island, and it's usually a total mess no matter how much I try to clean up after them. You know how roommates are." Did he? As far as she could tell he lived alone, which was an interesting fact on its own, what with the blindness and all. But still, Gideon must have lived with somebody at some point, if only his parents as a kid.

"Do you cook much?" At first, the question seemed dumb to her. Unless he was some kind of ninja, Sawyer wasn't sure a blind man should be experimenting too much with knives and fire. Then again, if he lived alone, what choice would he have? Well with his money, maybe he had a private chef. "I bake a lot," she explained, deciding not to linger too much on his exploits or possible hidden knife skills. "But our stove is one step up from an Easy Bake Oven, and we've got hardly any storage space to speak of. The cabinets are always full of computer parts and glitter--and not the edible kind. That is, edible glitter, not edible computer parts." Oh lord, it was a good thing he just wanted her to read. She was probably coming off at a total dingbat now.

"Anyway, I didn't mean to derail things. Reading: let's do it." Turning her back with more than a little sadness on the kitchen, Sawyer moved back in front of the bookshelf and began to gaze across the spines. "What do you want me to start with? I feel like there was one you mentioned in your emails, something by Lord...Byron?" Reaching out, her fingertips drifted gently from cover to cover, feeling the different leathers and cloths binding the volumes. "Something about an elf..oh, this one?" she asked, tugging gently on a well-preserved blue cover emblazoned with the title in gold lettering.

"The King of Elfland's Daughter," Sawyer read aloud, carrying it back towards him and sitting down next to the chair. While fishing her water bottle out of her bag (not that she expected the "audition" to take very long, but it couldn't hurt to have a drink at the ready for the sake of her voice), she carefully opened to the frontispiece. The publisher wasn't familiar to her, but the copyright was almost a century old, and listed for England. Mom would probably know about it she thought, and made a mental note to give her a call after she'd wrapped up with Gideon.

After a drink and a deep breath, the young woman turned the delicate pages until she was at the beginning of Chapter One. "In their ruddy jackets of leather that reached to their knees," Sawyer began, her voice not loud but very clear and evenly toned. She spoke a little more slowly than usual, but not so much as to drawl or take any unnatural pauses between the words. "The men of Erl appeared before their lord, the stately white-haired man in his long red room..."

 

[TheDarkScribe]

“And I thought my middle name was bad,” Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine having a tax consultant named Joad.” He remembered reading Grapes of Wrath in high school and how depressed it had made him, having been a bit emotional as a young man. The name brought up that point and how he’d told his mother he was going to become a lawyer to fight for the rights of all people, that no one should have their belly so empty they do not fear. He could still remember how she’d laughed and patted his head.

The hint of venom in her voice when she corrected him about her honorary took him aback for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “Noted,” he quickly added, pursing his lips. “I guess I’m old fashioned with honorifics, the whole Ms. Term seems so… harsh. But Miss it is.” He turned towards her for a moment wondering what was behind the outburst and feeling her eyes on him. The strange note in her words made him feel like he was missing something, that he should have known something more but was lacking. Still, he chalked it up to his lack of social etiquette and the state of the world, too many people getting upset over words. Words had no power that you didn’t give them, he’d learned over the years.

“Sawyer it is,” he agreed, the hint of a mischievous smile on his lips. “And maybe I’ll have you paint my fence for me as one of those other expectations you were talking about.” A soft laugh trickled out of his lips as he found himself enjoying the woman’s company and being able to joke. He found people got very serious around people with disabilities, as if they were glass and they had to be careful or their words might shatter them. The walking on eggshells was perhaps the thing that annoyed him the most with people as he hated the idea of being treated differently, that he wasn’t fully capable.

“Tis a shame,” he called out, placing an arm over the back of the couch as he relaxed. “French is an exquisite language. I never much cared for Fanny Hill but I do have a lovely copy of Les Liaisons Dangereuses in my collection. Though my favorite books range more towards La Belle et la Bete, other than Cyrano.” He smiled remembering how fascinated he’d been with both in his youth, being too much of a romantic and uncomfortable in his skin. It was easy to feel like Cyrano or the Beast some days.

Gideon waved a hand at her in the air, dismissing her apology. “Please,” he said, rising from the couch. His socked feet padded on the carpet and wood as he moved with careful precision to the large open doorway that led into the kitchen. “These walls here have heard plenty of cursing over the years. I’ve just learned to watch my tongue among new company.” His fingers trailed along the wooden frame that outlined the entrance, blinking at the layout of the kitchen in his mind as he let his memory drift. “I do know how roommates can be, though you have little choice in the in college and in rehabilitation. But this place is my sanctum sanctorum. So I splurged on it.”

A curious eyebrow rose at her question with a knowing smirk playing across his lips, finding people were often shocked that sight didn’t limit one’s life completely. “I cook a lot,” he murmured, a hint of pleasure moving across his face. It had taken a lot of practice and a good many cut to perfect his knife work and move around the kitchen with skill and care. But food had been a large love of his before he went blind and once, he’d crawled out of his dark space, he refused to give it up. “I’ve never been much a baker though. Too much measuring for me.” Cooking was free from jazz for him, taking basic ideas or recipes and changing them as he worked, throwing in what he had. Where photography had been his creative outlet before the loss of his sight, now he poured it all into his cooking if only to please him.

A hearty laugh escaped his mouth as he moved to the couch again, sitting back down and folding his legs under him. “Lord Byron, now I think you may have taken my ad wrong. I can only think how salacious it would appear asking for hat old horndog’s work to be read to me.” A wide smile was on his lips as he settled back in the couch, leaning his head into the cushion. “Not that I’m against his work, he’s just rather… provocative.” A sorrowful grin curled his lips as he thought about how often he’d read his poems to a woman he was interested in playing the romantic poet. He’d never been much for the artfulness of poetry but he’d always appreciated it and Byron had never failed to provoke a response in his companions.

Smiling hearing the name, he tilted his head toward he for a moment as he heard her moving, wondering what she thought of the selection. Since she’d admitted to being a bibliophile, he was curious of her idea of the book as it was a more obscure work of a fantastical nature, the type often overlooked when people thought of classics. Even with his love of books, he’d never heard of it until Marcy introduced it to him but reading it to him over the phone when they’d started to date. It had become a burgeoning fascination for him, both of the work and the older fantastical books.

A strange shiver moved through Gideon as she started to read and those words run out from the first page of the book, remembering the nights laying in his bed as she read to him over his phone. Shifting on couch, he wondered if this was a mistake in choosing this book to be the first, the muscle twitching in his jaw. No, she had taken so much from him back then he refused to let her take this from him now, pushing it aside as hie listened to Sawyer read. His lips formed the word she spoke multiple times as she read, having had the book translated into braille and read it many times. It was still not as grand as hearing those words read aloud, sparking the imagination and flooding the mind.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"And the sword that had visited Earth from so far away smote like the falling of thunderbolts; and green sparks rose from the armour, and crimson as sword met sword; and thick elvish blood moved slowly, from wide slits, down the cuirass; and Lirazel--"

A sudden buzz against her thigh caused the first pause in Sawyer's so far uninterrupted reading. Swallowing a moment, she continued to read as she fished into her bag for her phone, trying to pull it out without making her slipping attention obvious. When she caught sight of it, she could see a text message from Ash on the home screen.

Hey! It's been more than an hour. Shouldn't you be done by now? Or did he pay for another round?

"Fucking idiot..." she breathed, hopefully not loud enough that Gideon would be able to hear her. Still, Ashley did have a point, and if she wasn't getting paid for this one she really needed to wrap it up. As the chapter came to a close, Sawyer suddenly became aware of the tightness in her throat, and needed to drain the rest of her water bottle to soothe it. Even so, Dunsany's long sentences and archaic language had given her vocal chords quite the workout, and despite having sat almost completely still for the past hour a sense of tiredness was settling over her.

But the story had been interesting, if a challenge to read aloud. And she had slipped more than a few glances at Gideon's face while reading, to see how he was reacting to her performance. Whether it was her voice he was enjoying or the meandering, slightly musical flow of the book itself she couldn't tell, but hey, if he was happy that meant employment, which made Sawyer happy too. And if it weren't for the well-timed text, it was quite possible she might just have kept on reading all through the night just to see how Alveric and Lirazel were going to make things work. Sawyer might not have been the biggest fantasy reader, but the redhead still had a strong romantic streak in her and was anxious to see a happy ending for the pair.

Probably not tonight though, with thirty chapters still left.

"So..." she said finally, her voice returning to its normal cadence, albeit a bit more hoarse then an hour ago. "What do you think? Do I get the job, or does my reading make you want to shove needles down your ears? I'll totally understand if so," Sawyer laughed, preparing to close the book when a premature thought occurred to her. Despite not yet having heard Gideon's answer, she took the bookmark from her copy of Kafka on the Shore and placed tucked it gently between the pages of The King of Elfland's Daughter. The marker was one of several Ash had given her for her birthday last year, all pressed with different flowers they'd gathered on a prior trip to the countryside (and handmade by the artiste herself, naturally). This particular one consisted of overlapping iris petals and a stenciled gold letter "S" on top, and decorated with a silky purple tassel and a few matching gold beads.

Satisfied their place wouldn't be lost, Sawyer shut the book and left it on the table beside the armchair, then slowly rose to her feet just as her phone began to ring. "Sorry, it looks like I should probably get going," she sighed, sending Ash to voicemail. "My roommates gave me a ride over, and I think they're waiting for me outside. I can come back tomorrow though. Would seven be okay? Or whatever time works for you, my schedule's pretty flexible right now." Considering the only other work on her plate right now was proofreading listicles for an ad-riddled nostalgia blog and punching up a romance novel that was one name-change away from being boy-band fan fiction, she could definitely afford to give her professional priority to Gideon.

"Oh! And before I forget, let me give you my number. Feel free to text me anytime you want to set something up," she added, at first looking for a pen and paper to write the information down, then realizing how useless that would be. Instead, she quickly opened her email, and added another message to their long and rather stiff exchange from the previous days.

Great meeting you! You can reach me at 224-8xx-9xxxx. Have a good night! - Sawyer

"I'll see you later then, I guess?" she half-stated, half-asked after pressing "Send". While she was reading to him it had been easy to forget about the professional side of the arrangement and just get lost in the story, with Gideon's rapt and peaceful presence only adding to the pleasant quietness of the hour. But the spell was broken, and the boundaries were setting firmly in place along with all of their awkwardness and formality. "Right, so...later!" Sawyer forced, turning to head for the door, then coming back again only when she realized her empty water bottle was still on the table next to the book.

"Whoops, forgot my water," she giggled halfheartedly, then after one or two more forced platitudes she finally made a quick exit from the house.

Sawyer found the RainbowMobile idling at the end of the block in a No Parking Zone, with the windows down and its occupants singing "Jolene" along with the stereo. Groaning, the redhead looked back towards Gideon's house, hoping she wouldn't see him at the window--and then let out a laugh when she realized how stupid that was. Shaking her head, she darted down the block and climbed into the back seat of the Explorer. "You guys are going to get arrested, you know that?"

"Hey, we're not the ones prostituting ourselves to blind dudes," Joyce replied, buckling her seatbelt and pulling away fro the curb as the vehicle moved on down the street.

Ash on the other hand turned completely around her seat to look at her cousin. "Well let's see now...your hair is still flawless, lipstick isn't smudged, clothes still on...wow, he really must have just wanted you to read to him, huh?" Genuine amazement washed over her face, then she turned the right way around in her seat. "Was it at least a dirty book?"

"Actually, no. Just some old fantasy novel. You'd probably like it Joy, it's called The King of Elfland's Daughter. Ever heard of it?" Sawyer asked as she began to scroll through her phone. She was mostly looking for more job opportunities, ideally nothing that involved poorly written sex scenes or thinly-disguised ads for nutritional supplements.

"I've heard of it, never read it though," Joy answered as they turned down Lake Shore Drive. She was the self-identified nerd of their trio, and had made both of them sit through binge sessions of Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones alike, and wasn't averse to the occasional game of Dungeons and Dragons with some of the guys from her gym. "That's kind of cute though, a little old dude who likes stories about knights and elves and shit. I guess I can see why he'd want to hire someone for that. Not everyone has the patience for some of those longer fantasy books."

"He's not...that old," the redhead in the backseat remarked softly. In fact, Sawyer didn't think of Gideon as being old at all. Mature? Definitely. Experienced? Probably. Interesting? Without a question. Her audience of one had been far from what she had expected when she answered the ad, and somehow Gideon had made it easy for her to forget he was blind at all. While she really was curious to see how The King of Elfland's Daughter turned out, the truth was that Sawyer was even more curious to learn more about her eccentric new employer, although she didn't dare mention that aloud to her friends. That is, unless she wanted to be endlessly mocked for developing a fascination with her boss on day one of the new job.

Still, Ashley and Joyce could tell by Sawyer's silence that something about the man must be on her mind, but both knew her too well than to press the issue. And as it turned out, they didn't have to. By the time they pulled into the alley behind their apartment building, the redhead's face had lighted up anew.

"Ooooh, check this out!" she cried, shoving her phone in Ash's face. "A gig to beta read some guy's memoirs, and not a single Bigfoot dick to be found. Looks like things are finally starting to turn around for me, aren't they?"

*****
​

Sawyer might not have been totally surprised that Gideon wanted to continue their business arrangement (after all, what was he going to do, call Heavenly Grandma?), but nonetheless she was grateful for the work. When she arrived for their next session she was dressed much more comfortably, in jeans that hugged and emphasized her wide hips and a loose, lacy black t-shirt that set off her hair particularly well. She still wore makeup--after all, there was public transit to consider--but now that she knew the dress code wasn't exactly corporate she didn't feel so pressured to be perfect, even showing up with her hair in its naturally curly state.

Her interactions with Gideon grew more relaxed over the ensuing sessions as well. There were still plenty of awkward moments of course, she was an awkward person (and despite his elegant appearance and calm demeanor, Sawyer had more than a suspicion her boss had his share of mental blue screens too). But at least she was learning to genuinely laugh them off, and as they progressed through Elfland together it was easy to let the weirdness roll off her back. After all, if there was anything uncomfortable in the book, that was Lord Dunsany's fault, not hers. And now that she was in the habit of stopping at Starbucks on her way over to the house for a giant green tea, her vocal chords doing so well that she even managed to read for two straight hours without stopping one night.

But as Alveric and Lirazel were approaching their happily ever after, a new challenge was coming up on the horizon. Gideon had insisted on choosing the first book for their arrangement, but beyond that the ball was in her court. In theory, that meant Sawyer could pick anything she wanted to read to him, but she wasn't so naive as to forget that whatever book she chose would be carrying the load of her only regular employment for the moment. If she chose poorly, maybe Gideon would let her finish the volume out of politeness, but she didn't doubt once it was over he would probably find some excuse to let her go. That meant that like Scheherazade, she would need to figure out the best stories to keep him hooked, and keep the money coming.

During some of the lulls in their previous sessions, Sawyer had examined Gideon's book collection more closely, looking for those specimens that had clearly been read over and over for any hint at what he might like next. The French volumes he had mentioned to her in the past might have been a good option if she were still fluent in the language, but she didn't trust herself to do them justice. He had name-dropped Stephenson and Dumas previously, but it seemed too lazy to just pick those because she knew he liked them. It was hard though, choosing a book for someone she had barely known a week. Even when she bought books for Joy and Ashley half the time they went unread, although Sawyer chose to believe those two were simply too busy to read, rather than that they didn't trust her tastes.

The day she and Gideon were set to say farewell to Elfland, Sawyer stood in her room staring hopelessly at her own flawlessly curated collection of volumes. While she had no shortage of titles on the shelves, there were plenty there she knew her boss wouldn't appreciate even if they were her favorites. Jane Austen, for example, was right out. There wasn't a man alive who could sit though Pride and Prejudice no matter how much feeling someone read it with, and even her father, with his vast and diverse love of literature, enjoyed teasing both her and her mother about their love for the writer. The Brontës, whom Sawyer actually preferred to Austen, were probably a bad bet too. Maybe down the line she could talk Gideon into Wuthering Heights or The Tenant of Wildfell Hall with their gothic mystery, but it was still too soon to ask him to sit through Jane Eyre or Villette.

"Think," she told herself, pacing the tiny room as the clock ticked ever closer to seven. "He likes romances, he likes fantasy, he likes French..." Which, when she broke it down that way, made him sound like the most eligible bachelor in the city, at least to her. But her job was to entertain him, not date him. For a moment, Sawyer's gaze fell upon a barely-touched copy of Notre Dame des Paris. "No fucking way," she told herself. Not unless she was allowed to drink wine while trying to slug through that pile of depression, or just read the screenplay of the Disney movie. But next to it...

Joyce had always given her shit for organizing her books by color rather than by title or author, but if she hadn't her hand would be lingering on her collection of Washington Irving short stories (which, she made a mental note, might be fun around Halloween, assuming she would still be reading for him by then). Instead, she gripped at a good-sized B&N reprint with a sky-blue cover, smiled at the title, and tucked it into her bag. A short time later she was on the train, tea in hand, paging lovingly through her book's illustrations of pyramids, steamships, and buffalo.

When she reached Gideon's house, she knocked sharply on the door, then turned the handle to open it. Now that he was in the habit of expecting her, Sawyer often found the door unlocked, but still announced her presence to avoid surprising him. "Gideon?" she called, stepping into the entryway and removing her shoes (it seemed such a shame to track the outdoors into such a lovely home). "You around?"

 

[TheDarkScribe]

Sitting on the couch, Gideon had floated away on the woman’s voice and the story being told, lost in it all. She handled the rather complex lines well and that was no easy feat, especially for someone not familiar with the text. The hour had slipped by without even noticing the slippage of time, having silenced his phone and watch. But then he heard the slight buzz, tilting his head to the side, wondering what it was for a moment, if he’d forgotten something. But then he realized it was coming from across from him where Sawyer was sitting, feeling at least a relief that it wasn’t something he’d forgotten.

A smirk curled up the left corner of his lips hearing her whisper assuming it must be her boyfriend, probably worried about her with some stranger in their house. A laugh escaped him though at her words, shaking his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t needle,” he started, looking playfully hesitant. “Maybe safety pins.” The laugh continued as he talked feeling genuine enjoyment with the woman, which was strange enough for him, especially with a stranger. “You did wonderful with a tough subject.” He turned his ear towards her as he heard the slight rustle of something, his hearing having to become as acute as most people’s sight.

“Yes,” he said, nodding, feeling a little sad the story had to come to an end already. “And I’d say you got the job.” He smiled brightly as he started to move to the door to see her out, moving with practiced steps from the couch to the front door. Carefully unlocking the door, he opened it wide when she exclaimed, she’d forgotten something, hearing the crinkle of plastic, glad he hadn’t had to find that later. A strange crunch when he got up might just give him a heart attack in this day and age.

“Have a good night, Sawyer,” he said, as she left, nodding. Slowly, he shut the door and pressed his head against it for a moment, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. The experiment had been beyond a success, not sure if he’d get a decent reader from a random ad. But he realized it had been a long time since he’d entertained a woman in his house and it had been strangely exciting and awkward at the same time. He’d found his curiosity piqued multiple times by the woman, wanting to know more about her but it seemed wrong because of their arraignment.

Sighing, he walked over to his stereo and selected some blues, Albert King coming over the speakers in old school sweetness. The music drifted through the living room as he moved to the small bar and began to pour a drink, needing something for his nerves. He felt like a silly teenager who couldn’t have a woman in his room without getting all faint.

----

It didn’t take long to find the email she sent and ponder what was the right amount of time based on their arraignment, spending way too much time figuring out the exact days it would be best to suggest. The next reading was much more relaxed and it had been a pleasure to lose himself in it after a week that was already growing annoying at work, trying hard to not let his grumpiness show when he let Sawyer into the house. So, it had been good to just listen to her and let the story play in his imagination following her narration. It was probably a pleasure those who’d not found solace in books couldn’t understand but it was akin to going to church for him.

In truth, though, he knew, was it wasn’t only the story telling that he looked forward too but the company of the woman. He’d forgotten what it was to have company in the evening that wasn’t family or a nurse, having eschewed social pursuits much. He’d tried to be more out there after he’d finally gotten back from the darkness following losing his sight and his fiancé, but it had been briefing and annoying. Just having her in the house, a new scent filling the area, along with the little quirks of how she sipped her drink or turned a page, it all became rather fascinating for him. He had to remind himself though that this was a business arraignment and they were not friends.

As the tale came to an end, he began to grow a little sad at the fact but he found himself anticipating what Sawyer may pick out as the next novel. He’d not really given much thought on this getting that far so it made him wonder what was on the block, as it were. It may have gotten some more thought but a big case had started to pull his thoughts away from it as their next appointment came up, much to his annoyance. He’d always been dedicated to his job, it was his driving passion since the loss, but he found it growing overwhelming now that he had something else to look forward.

Work had not relented as the day for his appointment with Sawyer arrived and he was running late home, the car service finally getting him home with only an hour to spare. He didn’t even get a chance to switch into something more relaxed by the time he got home, slipping off his shoes at the door and hanging up the grey suit jacket. Grabbing ingredients, he unbuttoned his dress shirt and rolled up the sleeves, quickly wrapping the apron around his waist. He made quick work of the chicken and the ingredients. Turning the heat on to let the pan heat up, he quickly went to the front door to unlock it for his guest, the time telling him he was running late.

The meat was just finished cooking when he heard his name from the other room, pouring in the wine to the pan to make the sauce. “In here,” he called out, moving with practiced ease in his kitchen. The sauce smelled good as he finished it up with a few more splashes before pouring it over the chicken. Some spiced red potatoes he’d heated up already sat next to the chicken, left overs from the other day. “Sorry,” he muttered, wiping the back of his hand at his forehead. “I’m running a little late. Would you like some chicken marsala? I always make too much.” He waved at the two plates, one already made up and the other to let the chicken cool before he put it away for another day.

“I…” The phone on the counter began to ring as frustration visibly showed on Gideon’s face, reaching up to say ‘accept’ as hit the button on the headset. His head seemed to float back and forth as he listened to the voice in the Bluetooth headset blinking in his right ear. The smile he’d been wearing when Sawyer came in disappeared as he reached over carefully, fingers searching for a moment before it turned off the stovetop. Slowly, he placed his hands on the countertop as a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“No,” he finally said, a hint of anger in his voice. “Those bastards made every one of those residents in that project suffer with their slumlord tactics. You tell them they will settle or we will see their ass hung out on the front of the times for everyone to know just how bad it was. No deals, understand Jefferson? They take the settlement or the can fuck right off.” He paused as he drummed his fingers on the counter top a moment before starting to reach his hand up to the headset. “Ok, Jefferson. It’s well past office hours so we can finish this tomorrow.” The blue stopped blinking on his hear as he hit the button, cutting anything the man was going to say short.

“Sorry, he said, looking apologetic. “The office is used to having me at their beck and call so they find it hard to adjust to me actually doing things that aren’t work.” He pulled up a stool carefully, reaching into a drawer to pull out a knife and fork. “Um… we can read while I eat,” he said, cutting into the chicken. “I don’t want to take up your personal time, I remember our deal.” He smiled as he plopped a piece of chicken in his mouth.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

The first thing that hit Sawyer as she stepped into the living room was the heavenly scent of the chicken wafting out of the kitchen. Her stomach instinctively gurgled in response, unsurprising considering her last meal had been more than six hours earlier and had consisted of a glass of water and a slice of avocado toast. They were running low on groceries at home, but with only one vehicle between them it was always a chore to get to the grocery store. To make things worse, Joyce had been working late every night this week, and despite several reminders from both her wife and roommate she had forgotten yet again to pick up the staples. The only saving grace was that it was finally farmer's market season, so in a pinch Sawyer was able to walk the four blocks down the church parking lot to buy overpriced yet delicious fresh produce.

Originally the redhead had planned to take tonight's wages and pick up some late-night takeout after she finished reading to Gideon, but her acute sense of smell could already tell whatever he was cooking would be miles ahead of anything she'd be able to get her hands on. "Wow, that smells awesome," Sawyer commented, dropping her bag on her usual chair and sauntering into the kitchen after him. Although she'd had her concerns earlier about the blind man's culinary abilities, she had to admit that even with his back to her, Gideon seemed more than comfortable at the stove. Even she, accustomed as she was to being the primary cook of a household, wouldn't have tossed the wine into the sauce as confidently as he did, and he was wearing a white shirt on top of everything else.

Come to think of it...Sawyer thought as she sat down at his island and sipped at her tea. That's a really nice shirt. In fact, from head to toe he seemed to be dressed much more sharply than she was used to, and she couldn't help but wonder what the occasion was. Obviously not for her sake, otherwise he would have at least opted for a collared shirt on their first meeting. Maybe he had just come from work, wherever that might be. It occurred to her then how very little she still knew about her employer, but an irresistable curiosity was beginning to sink its claws into her mind. What kind of job paid a blind man so much money he could afford to live in a place like this, and use good wine (Sawyer considered any wine not from a box to be "good") so liberally in his cooking?

"Are you sure?" she hesitated, shifting her gaze from the man to the meal. Her stomach growled again as if to protest her reluctance, and she couldn't help but blush. "Sorry, I guess I should have eaten something before I came, but my dinner options were ice cream or a half-frozen slice of Hawaiian pizza--one of the three things in the world I will not eat under any circumstances," Sawyer laughed, hopping off the stool and moving to his side. "But you'll have to let me help clean up afterward, it's the least I can do in exchange for you sharing your meal with a poor starving bohemian."

She was about to ask him where to find the appropriate utensils when suddenly his phone began to ring. "Oh! Do you want me to grab that for you?" She held her hands up in front of her, but was unsure on whether she should grab his phone or his plate. At first she thought the displeased look that crossed his face was directed at her, and Sawyer took a couple steps back defensively, a fresh apology already on her lips. But after he touched the earpiece that had gone so far unnoticed by the hungry redhead, her shoulders relaxed in relief, albeit momentarily.

In the short time that she had known Gideon, he had struck her as a calm, sophisticated, classy gentleman who would probably prefer to quietly judge the people that annoyed him rather than explode in rage at them. As Sawyer listened to him on the phone, however, that was clearly not the case. Eyes wide, she inched away from him little by little until she was within reach of her tea, which she began to sip rather loudly in the hopes of preventing any accidental eavesdropping. But his personal storm, thunderous as it might have been, at least passed quickly, and Gideon seemed genuinely remorseful after he'd gotten off the call.

"Hey, what was that rule you had? No apologies in your house?" she smiled, setting her cup on the table and rejoining him at his side. "It's no big deal at all. And now I really won't feel bad if I accidentally swear in front of you. You'd make my grandma roll over in her grave with a tongue like that." Helping herself to her own share of chicken, she sat down across from him at the table and began to cut the meat into dainty pieces.

"As for reading while we eat, I really don't think that's a good idea. For one: I'd hate to spill anything on your book. It's probably worth more than my roommate's car. And for two..." Sawyer paused as she took a bite of the chicken, the perfectly balanced flavors and flawless texture nearly knocking her out of her chair. "Holy shit, that is amazing. You have to give me your recipe. I've made chicken marsala before, but mine never turned out this good. What kind of mushrooms did you use? I used crimini last time I made it, but I don't think they were the right kind. They just looked super good at the farmer's market."

Her hot tea wasn't exactly the best beverage pairing for the chicken, so excusing herself for a moment, she grabbed her water bottle from her bag. After a moment's thought, she decided to grab their new book as well, and bring it over to the table with her. Setting it aside, she retook her place across the table from Gideon, and took a bit of potato as well. "These are super good too. You know..." Sawyer tilted her head slightly as she looked into his face. Maybe it was the clothes, maybe it was watching him cook, shit--maybe it was watching him explode at some guy over the phone. But he was definitely giving her some Old Hollywood vibes, the kind she usually found irresistable in a man. "You are a really, really great cook. I'd ask if maybe you had formal training, only if you were a chef I feel like that call just now would probably have gone a little differently."

She took a few more bites, wondering if by some extra sense Gideon would be able to feel her eyes on him. "Let me take a stab in the dark here: are you a lawyer?" Sawyer asked finally, punctuating her words with a little smirk. "There isn't a chance you work for Hayward, Rao, MacKay, and Clark, is there? My roommate is pretty much their entire IT department, and from the sound of things they're just discovering fax machines over there. Pretty sure MacKay thinks it's witchcraft."

The more she watched him, the more the lawyer guess seemed to make sense, but it did leave one gaping question that she didn't dare ask: how the hell was he single? There was no doubt in her mind that he was unattached; no ring on his finger, and what kind of girlfriend would make her man pay a stranger on the internet read to him, rather than entertain him herself? Gideon was nice, smart, and even handsome. He had a good job, a gorgeous house, and he was a killer cook on top of everything else. In Sawyer's mind, all of those definitely outweighed the tiny little con of being blind (which clearly hadn't hindered his lifestyle too much). But maybe there were other cons to him as well, ones that she herself couldn't see. After all, it wouldn't be the first time she'd missed a few red flags.

Sawyer tried to shake the thoughts off as she finished the meal. It wasn't her business after all. Her job was to read the books, take the money, then go home and yell at Joyce to go to the goddamn grocery store so she could try her own hand at making chicken marsala again. Getting up, she began to gather dishes from the table. "Can I take your plate?" she asked, gently laying a hand on his shoulder to indicate where she was standing. "I don't mind cleaning up if you can tell me where everything goes."

It did not occur to her that this was the first time she had ever touched him. Somehow, it didn't seem important.

 

[TheDarkScribe]

"Complements to the chef are always appreciated," Gideon laughed, breathing in the aroma. Cooking was his passion and he loved the olfactory experience, it was something he could get lost in for a little while. It was really a sensory experience for him using touch, taste and smell in combinations that made the palate soar. It had taken years to perfect the dance in the kitchen and he had the cuts, burns and stains to prove it. But he'd found a renewed stubbornness as he rebuilt his life, not willing to slip back into that dark hole that had been his life after the diagnosis.

He remembered the first time he'd brought it up to his brother who'd outright refused to let him do it, picturing severed fingers everywhere he'd guessed. But he'd found a working chef who was legally blind in the northern suburbs and convinced him and his assistant to help him learned. It required some additional additions to the kitchen like talking timers and stoves along with some silicon gloves early on as he got comfortable. He'd forgotten what it was like to get in with his hands and create, to bring something to fruition. Once it had started, he'd become addicted to it, maybe even amused at the hint of danger for some of the more interesting meals he'd try early on. It kept him busy and he didn't feel that bit of loneliness that could come just coming home to listen to the stereo.

A smile brightened on his lips as he turned in her general direction, pouring the sauce over both chicken breasts. "I wouldn't offer if I wasn't sure," he replied, his words light hearted. "You are my guest after all, what kind of host would I be if I left you with a grumbling stomach for two hours." He placed the pan back on top of the stove before turning back to her and holding a finger up to here. "Though if you were a Hawaiian pizza eater, I would have to ask you to leave my home immediately and never return." He laughed loudly as he undid the white apron, folded it and set it carefully on top of the countertop.

The phone call had left him unsettled which was not his norm to lose his cool but he’d heard each and every story from those residence, it shocked him the callousness of humanity sometimes. It brought back that helplessness he felt in his darkness days, alone and broken with nothing to hold onto. Still, her calling him out on apologizing brought a smile to his lips and he nodded, conceding her point. “You have me, Sawyer,” he said, smirking. “Hoisted on my own petard.” His hands slid along the counter as he moved his way down, fingers waving out a little as he was sure he was near his plate. Pinching the plate he drew it a little closer before grabbing a knife and fork, cutting the chicken into squares with the very sharp knife. As he lifted the fork, he leaned forward a little so if anything fell it wouldn’t hit his shirt.

“If you think that was bad,” he said, swallowing the bite. “You should have heard me when all of this happened.” He waived his hand in front of his face as he looked generally towards her. “I think just about every word was a curse word. I usually try to not be like that but… sometimes when things get in my craw my mouth regresses.” A hint of red showed on his cheeks as he ate another bite quietly, feeling the heat on his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why he felt embarrassed acting like that in front of her but it bothered him for some reason.

Pursing his lips, he had to agree that it would be very bad to get anything on the book, not so much about he monetary value but foe the essence of the book. He hated to think of himself as a collector but more as a keeper, a preserver, of the unique essence that a book is, from the scent to the print and the cover. He smiled hearing her enjoying the chicken, an almost childlike glee as he faced towards her. “I prefer porcini mushrooms myself,” he said, licking a little of the sauce off his lower lip. “The real secret to making it so much better is to put in some prosciutto in the pan a little before the mushrooms to render out some of it’s fat. An perfect slices of the mushroom is essential to make them heat right through evenly. If you cut them too differently you start to get different textures and it can throw off the pallet.”

Reaching over to the cutting block on the island, he pulled out a knife that was a full tang of steel, handle and blade one. “The most important too,” he said, holding the blade near where blade and handle met so it balanced there. “Is a good knife. I learned this from the guy who taught me.” He moved his hand suddenly so the blade was in the air as his hand moved around it but quickly caught it wrapping his hands around the handle. Placing his other hand on the table, he curled his fingers into a partial fist, fingernails touching the counter top. “The fingers tips are the measuring device and the knuckles the guide to ensure no fingers lost.” He held the flat of the blade against his knuckles and made a rocking motion to demonstrate before tossing the blade back in the block.

The blush was back and deeper at her complement, chewing away on his food as she called him a great cook, feeling strange under the complement. He wasn’t used to getting praise, at least not about the things he really cared about, it made his gut twist up a little. “Thank you,” he said, facing down towards the plate. “I don’t get many other outlets so I guess I put a lot into my cooking. It’s not often I get to share it with others, so I’m glad you like it.” He fell silent as he moved to finish the last of the chicken but he had to give up on half the potatoes as the starch was not sitting well with him. It was probably the stress of the day getting to him but thankfully it was now over.

Gideon looked up from his plate hearing her guessing, smirking at her words for a moment before a look of concern came over his face. “Do I look that much like a lawyer,” he asked, a look of distaste on his face. “This is what happens when you let your sister in law pick out all of your work clothes.” The look quickly changed though to one of amusement as he shifted on the stool, readjusting himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that firm. Yes, sadly, I am a lawyer. I am part of a small firm that specializes in corporate and international law, you’ve probably never heard of us. Yochum, Hannigan, Behm and Wallace. And our tech guy is a Star Wars obsessed who gladly keeps us on the pretty up to date. With my condition we have to be very tech friendly.”

He picked up his glass of water and sipped at it, feeling weird talking about himself. It was rare to have to discuss his job, or his love of cooking, in most things since the work was the main reason he ended up at any gatherings. And the cooking was his own little thing he didn’t go out of way to talk about beyond critiques of restaurants. “I original wanted to be a great artist but sh.. stuff happens.” He smiled over at her as he set his fork down on his plate. “But this at least lets me help others with side cases. People in positions like I had been in who are getting discriminated against or mistreated. Tenants getting screwed by slumlords. The bullies of the world as it were.”

Lost in thought for a moment, he heard Sawyer moving but didn’t realize she was next to him until her hand fell on his shoulder. A small gasp left his lips at the sudden touch as his body shivered for a moment, head turning towards his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her hand though his thin shirt and it was not unpleasant, a fact he quickly pushed away as he grabbed his plate and lifted it above his head. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter. “I have a dishwasher if you want, though if you want to quickly wash them up I can help. I am amazing with a drying towel.” Gideon slowly rose from his seat and took a step back. “I mean, not really, but I have issues about just standing around helplessly so I’ll gladly help. The plates go in the cabinet to the right of the sink and the silver ware goes in the drawer to the left of the sink. And the pan goes in the big cabinet under the silverware drawer.” His hands moved as if he was at the sink and opening them, accidentally brushing against Sawyer as he did.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"I'll wash the dishes however you want. Just please don't throw any more knives, I don't have health insurance," Sawyer laughed, but with a noticeable edge of nervousness in her voice. As she began to gather the dishes from him, she couldn't help but glance with some envy at the block. She'd had a set of knives like that once, a wedding gift from one of Jack's cousins. The son of a bitch probably still had them on his kitchen counter gathering dust, while he lived off of takeout and frozen pizzas. She shook her head violently to drive the thoughts away. Gideon's kitchen was not a place she wanted to associate with that kind of bad vibe.

Instead she turned on the tap of the sink and began to rinse off the plates. "So, you're not only a lawyer, you're a partner. That's pretty cool," she continued, raising her voice over the sound of the water. "Unless one of your family members has you working for them? Can't imagine that would be much fun though. Still, it's nice to know you're the good kind of lawyer. Joy's bosses usually handle inheritance and real estate type stuff. Rich people squabbling over each other's money." Sawyer let out a heavy sigh, doubting she would ever have a reason to deal personally with Hayward, Rao, MacKay, and Clark. The odds of ever being able to buy a house in the city grew smaller every year, and the only substantial inheritance she had to look forward to was her parents' book collection.

"I can't complain too much though," Sawyer continued as she filled the sink with hot, soapy water. "Joy's the only one of us that has a real career. My other roommate, Ash, and I both freelance mostly. She's an artist too, but..." The redhead paused for a moment, wondering how in the world she could describe Ashley's art to a blind man. "She's good, but she's not very organized. I think she's still searching for the perfect medium right now." A little smile twisted her lips as she recalled that painting cars and sculpting were probably far from the artist's strongest option.

Her body tensed momentarily when Gideon brushed against her to open the cabinet. Not that he could help it; with her wide hips she brushed and bumped against things all the time. In her employer's house she always took extra care to avoid anything that looked breakable just to be safe, but beyond that she had never felt particularly self conscious in his home. It wasn't until that moment she realized what a relief it had been that Gideon had never looked at her the way other men did, fixing his eyes on her chest or her ass and never looking away until she had made a cutting remark or loudly cleared her throat. Sawyer couldn't imagine what he thought she looked like, and maybe it didn't matter.

Until now.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to get in your way," she said quickly, stepping quickly to the side to allow him more room to reach whatever it was he needed. The touch had been brief, and the idea he might have been able to guess her measurements from such a swift contact was laughable. But still, wasn't it fair for her to want one man (who wasn't related to her) to see her as a person, instead of a walking sex doll? Even if he couldn't really see her at all, at least Sawyer could be sure that when she said something Gideon would probably make some minimal effort to listen. If he knew what she really looked like though, who knew? He was a man after all.

Oh get over yourself and quit being such a drama queen. You're probably not even his type her inner voice scolded. Intellectucal, artistic types like him probably prefer skinny brunettes with glasses, not redheads who got a double helping of T-n-A. Well great, now she felt even worse.

Whether he might think she was a floozy or completely repulsive, Sawyer decided it would probably be best if she avoided letting him touch her in general, at least not in any way more intimate than a handshake. They were adults after all, and this was a professional relationship. So when she tried to gloss the tension over with continued conversation it was in an even more casual, professional tone. "Do you mind if I ask--how long ago did you lose your sight?" she asked, beginning to set aside dishes for him to dry. "Was it sudden, or...?"

She relaxed somewhat as she let him speak. It was easy to forget about herself and her own issues while she was learning more about him, and while with anyone else she might have worried about coming off as nosy, so far he'd proved more than willing to talk. As long as she wasn't making him uncomfortable, she didn't see why she shouldn't keep asking questions. After all, he was the first blind person she'd ever known personally, so it was natural for her to be at least a little bit curious.

"That's the last one," Sawyer remarked as she passed him one final fork to dry. "I can take care of putting the dishes away for you if you want to go get more comfortable. Not that you don't look great in that shirt, but I don't want to wrap things up with our old buddy Alveric if you still feel like you're stuck in work mode. I can't imagine your evening has exactly been relaxing, between me and your job. And I wouldn't feel right accepting payment if you were too tense to get through the last chapter. I promise, I'm not going to make off with the silver." Grinning playfully, she carefully put the dishes away as he instructed, then grabbed her lukewarm, half-empty tea and carried it over to her usual spot, where The King of Elfland's Daughter was still waiting for her on the side table, her bookmark almost all the way at the back of the book.

While waiting for Gideon to join her, she pulled up one of her other jobs on her phone: the memoirs she was beta reading for a young writer out of Joliet. Sawyer still had plenty of time to send the author her notes, but so far the book had been fascinating, if riddled with spelling and grammar errors. She was so engrossed in the language that she completely forgot where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, and it wasn't until she glanced at the clock she realized she was wasting time and quickly put the phone away, taking the book instead.

"Ready?" she asked, looking over towards the employer she was supposed to be focused on.

 

[TheDarkScribe]

“If I knew that was all it took to get you to comply,” Gideon started, a chuckle in his voice. “I could have saved myself thirty dollars.” Reaching out to the counter, he found his way down it before crossing over to the counter, hands feeling along to where a towel hung over the large metal bar that was one of the drawers pulls. His fingers curled into the fluffy rough texture of the fabric so he had a good grip, moving over towards the sink, trying not to run into her as he got closer.

Tilting his head to the side, he focused on Sawyer’s words over the sound of the rushing water, smiling at her words. “No family member there,” he said, the smile slipping for a moment. “My brother had gotten me in there when I got out of law school after everything. But he would never have practiced anything as poring as corporate law, he preferred criminal law. I like to think I’m the good kind of lawyer, if there is such a thing.” He laughed at his own joke knowing the reputation most lawyers had not that they hadn’t earned it over the years. He’d met a few ambulance chasers in his years. “Rich people squabbling, the poor girl.”

“An artist,” Gideon stated, his voice rising a bit as his face brightened a little. “Fascinating. You have an IT person and an artist in residence, your place must be top notch.” He wondered for a moment what her place must be like, probably a hell for him trying to blindly find his way around. Not that he was getting invited there anytime soon but the thought amused him non the less. “Finding a medium can be tough, I sympathize with her. I was never very good with anything until I found photography in my youth.” A deep sigh rose his chest as he turned away and his face fell a little, remembering the pleasure of a trip just to take pictures.

“You’re fine,” Gideon said, a weak smile on his lips after brushing against her. “I’m just not used to company in the kitchen.” He threw the towel over his shoulder so it was in a coinvent spot to grab as he helped her. His eyebrows raised though at her question surprised it took her this long to ask and with such care, most people were overly curious that he’d taken to making things up when at work functions. “I don’t mind, It started in my early 20s so a good while ago. And it wasn’t suddenly. It has a very long and complicated name but it basically was a rare genetic condition that causes macular degeneration. The world faded away around the edges for about six months, a little longer, until it was all gone.” He sighed as his hands stroked the counter while he spoke, memories of the time floating in his head.

Taking plates from her, he dried them off and handed them back to her to put away, letting her know there they went. It was easier than bumping heads or other body parts to get in somewhere. Letting them stack up, he quirked his head at the mention the plate he was drying off was the last one, smiling at her words about relaxing. Though his brow creased even as his eyebrows rose at lumping herself in with his work. “I am kind of stuck in work mode, I could certainly do with a change. Though you have been nothing but entertaining Sawyer, certainly not equal to work.” Turning, he began to walk away towards the door way into the living room, hand trailing over the counter top before pausing to turn back around at her. “And no playing with the knives.”

The jaunt upstairs was as quick as he could make it which for him was probably slower than most men with sight. At the top of the steps, he began to unbutton the dress shirt and folded it over to set on the end board of his bed as he entered his bedroom. Pulling of the undershirt, pants and boxers, he placed it all aside to deal with later before padding over to his shower to quickly wash off. It felt an eternity to scruff off the scent of the day leaving him with just the hint of sandalwood his soap left him selling like. He’d learned long ago that most products were too overwhelming to his senses and had adjusted accordingly. Driving off, he trotted back to the bedroom trying to shave a little time off, sure of his path, only to collide his shoulder into the doorway.

“Argh,” he spat, rubbing his arm. It was a stupid move; he knew despite it feeling like it was taking forever he had not taken that long up here. Pulling out the drawer he had for night clothes, putting away a week’s worth on the weekend when he could get his sister in law’s help, pulling the next layer out. A pair of navy-blue lounge pants hung loosely on his body, the string tie bouncing around in front of him. Then he pulled on a short sleeve grey t-shrit, brushing a hand through his damp hair so he didn’t look a mess. Sighing, he started back down the stairs slowly, taking each step carefully. He didn’t need any more accidents to look like a fool in front of Sawyer.

“Ready,” he replied. Moving carefully behind the chair she was sitting in, he nodded to her as he found his spot on the sofa, sitting down to curl his legs under him. Slowly, he adjusted himself and settled down into the soft cushions. But just when he seemed settled, he raised a finger up to her as he leaned forward. “Ok, this is going to sound strange, but I’m going to ask you anyway since we seem to be ok with this arraignment. What is your favorite color?” He laughed realizing just how stupid it probably sounded, shaking his head at his own awkwardness. “It’s just, I find it easier to associate colors with people. I remember what green looked like or blue so I can still picture it in my head. I guess it helps to personalize people in my life.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Sawyer's mouth was open and ready to begin the last chapter, but Gideon's question took her aback. "My favorite color?" she repeated, tilting her head and looking up towards the ceiling as she thought. "I guess I'd have to say yellow. It's a nice, happy color, and it's the color of all of my favorite flowers. Dandelions, sunflowers, black-eyed Susans...oh, and lemons! Not that lemons are a flower, but I really like lemon-flavored stuff. I have a great recipe for lemon chicken if you want it, I'll email it to you later." She was beginning to realize she was rambling yet again, but Gideon didn't seem to mind. How does he have the patience to put up with me? she wondered, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked more closely at him.

"What's your favorite color, Gideon?" she asked, observing his outfit change for hints. He always wore such dark colors, other than the white shirt she'd seen him wearing earlier. To be fair, the grays and navies and blacks did set off his complexion nicely and definitely gave him a debonair look, but somehow the darkness didn't seem to match his personality. If it had been up to her, she would have found some lighter shades of blue, or maybe some rich greens. Maybe even a really deep, dark red; that would be kind of sexy on a lithe frame like his.

The fuck is wrong with you? He is your boss, AND he's way older than you. Not to mention the whole disability thing. Jesus the inner voice was not giving her any slack tonight. Well so what? Objectively speaking, he had very nice cheekbones, and he smelled nice. She liked his smile too, and particularly his laugh. It always made her feel better whenever the awkwardness of the situation was beginning to creep in and made her feel more like she was joking around with a friend rather than getting paid to keep someone company. In fact, if she weren't so hard up for cash all the time, Sawyer could even see herself reading to him on a volunteer basis, but not until she'd managed to land a "real" job.

But not because she was attracted to him. Absolutely not. Maybe because she liked his cooking and his knives, but that was as far as it went. Other than that she was just a very nice person who wanted to be kind to an equally nice person.

"A-anyway," Sawyer stammered, opening the book again. "I know you're just trying to stall me finishing this, but all good things must come to an end, mustn't they?" A soft sigh passed over her lips. It really was a shame to come to the end of the book, but at least there was something to look forward to on the kitchen table. Glancing back towards Gideon to make sure he was ready, she finally began. "As Alveric hastened back, led by two madmen, to those lands over which he had long ago been lord..."

Her voice had no trouble completing the chapter, but on more than one occasion she took a pause that was not intentional as her eyes wandered from the page to Gideon's face. She was trying yet again to gauge how old he was, but coming up dry. He said he had started losing his sight in his early twenties, but how long did macular degeneration take? He was also a partner at his firm, so he must have completed law school and been in the business for quite a while, unless he was some kind of genius. Which, for all Sawyer knew, he was. Her gaze also fell upon several of the photographs on the wall. She'd noticed them before, but had never asked about them, assuming that, like the rest of his home, they were just a product of a really good interior decorator. Now she began to wonder if he'd taken them himself, and wished she'd looked more closely.

Despite these distractions, eventually Sawyer did come to the closing line of the book. "For the twelve that were of the parliament of Erl looked through the window of that inner room," she murmured, running her hand down the yellowing final page. "...gazing over their familiar lands, perceived that they were no longer the fields we know."

She shut the book gently, then turned back towards Gideon. "And that's the end," Sawyer said finally, smiling a little. "I liked it. I'm glad they all got to be together again at the end, and I really liked Ziroonderel. She was more interesting than Lirazel, in my opinion. But what did you think, did I do it justice?" Pulling her bookmark free of the pages, she rose to her feet and carefully returned the book to its spot on the shelf, making doubly sure it wasn't even one volume off. While she couldn't read them, she was beginning to recognize the braille labels that kept Gideon's house organized, and she would have hated to have thrown anything off or cause any confusion for him.

Returning to the kitchen, she took her own book off the table, then went to sit beside the man on the couch, taking care not to get too close to him. She was still worried about him touching her body, but she was less nervous about touching his hands as she placed the book in his grasp. "I uh...went ahead and picked another one, like you said," Sawyer asked. "It was kind of a random guess, so if it's not something you're into that's totally fine. Just let me know and I can pick something from your collection, or bring something else from mine. But I was going to just leave this one here until we finish. I can be kind of a ditz sometimes, and I'd hate to forget to bring it one day," Sawyer laughed.

"It's one of my favorites though, and I thought it would be fun," she continued, brushing her fingers against his to guide them over the slightly raised gold lettering on the cover. "Want to guess what it is? I'll give you a hint if you want: it's nineteenth century, translated from French, and no one has ever made a good movie version of it. At least, not that I've ever seen."

After a while, Sawyer grinned again and gently took the book back. "Le Tour du Monde en Quatre-Vingts Jours," she said finally with a nervous little giggle. "Or if my French is as bad as I think it is: Around the World in Eighty Days. What do you say? Sound good?" Hugging the book to her chest, the young woman leaned back against the couch cushions, noticing how much more comfortable the seat was than the stiff armchair. "I always wanted to travel around the world," she sighed wistfully. "But the farthest from home I've ever been is the Grand Canyon. Or Florida. Not sure which one is farther from Iowa, but that's the extent of my adventures, other than a few trips down to New Orleans in college." And those did not seem very appropriate to discuss with the man who paid her only regular wages. Instead, she decided to change the subject. "How about you? Have you traveled much?" she asked, turning back towards him.

No sooner had she asked the question than her phone began to ring, and this time it wasn't a quiet vibration, but a screechingly loud melody that sounded like a Caribbean nightmare. Sawyer immediately dropped the book and jumped up from the couch as though she'd been stuck with a pin, practically racing across the room to shut it off. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I thought I'd shut that off," she apologized, immediately silencing the phone. It was Ash of course, but Sawyer couldn't exactly blame her for calling when she realized it was after ten o'clock. "Oh wow, it's really late. No wonder she's calling me. Probably thinks I got murdered or something," she remarked, putting the phone back in her bag. "Can't say I blame her though, considering someone was out here throwing knives before."

With a teasing little laugh, Sawyer began to gather her things. "Let me know if that book doesn't work for you, and I can pick something else. I've only got about a hundred more. Otherwise...same time tomorrow? No dinner required though." She paused as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "Seriously, thanks again for that. It was great. I'll definitely pay you back once my kitchen is functional again. Do you like sweets? I'd be happy to bake you something..." Somehow it seemed hard to imagine Gideon digging in to a batch of chocolate chip cookies or a slice of angel food cake, but he'd surprised her more than once during their short acquaintance.

Although she was on her feet, standing directly in front of him, Sawyer hesitated to move towards the door, even though she knew it was selfish to stay longer. She could sleep in until noon tomorrow if she wanted and it wouldn't bother anyone, but Gideon probably had work. She ought to let him get to bed, but just like it was sad to let The King of Elfland's Daughter come to an end, somehow she wasn't ready to finish the evening either.

 

[TheDarkScribe]

“Yellow,” Gideon repeated quizzically. His head tilted to the side slightly as he considered this, his face looking puzzled for a moment but quickly brightening. “I don’t know anyone has ever said Yellow in response to that question. And lemons are nice,” he added with a smirk. “I’ll take that recipe and trace you a marvelous lemon pepper salmon.” The color prompted the question if she was a blonde and was tempted to ask but it seemed a personal question, perhaps a little creepy. The poor woman didn’t need to think her boss was trying to get weird with her, and he certainly didn’t want to make her want out of their arrangement.

Though the follow up question from her threw him for a surprise and it clearly showed on his face, his lips laying open for a moment. “I, uh, guess it had been red. Not that garish fire engine red though. Brick red or crimson. I had wanted to paint my room that color but my mother told me it was too drab.” He shrugged at the idea and the absurdity of it all, the world was now too drab for him. There was a bit of a sting in the thought but he’d had issues with his parents growing up and going blind had not improved them in the long run.

It struck him that it was the first time he’d wondered about what a woman had looked like in a long while, and it provoked a furrow of his forehead. What did it matter what color hair she had or what she looked like even to his mind's eye when she was just someone here to do their job. He needed to look at her like any visiting nurse or such and not a friend, she wasn’t hear to make friends, she seemed to have plenty. And probably a man in her life, though she was quick too assure him she wasn’t married. Perhaps she had a perchance for women, it was fairly common anymore and she was living with two women. He could only imagine what a fool she’d think of the old man sitting there pondering her for far too long.

“Found out,” Gideon muttered with a smile. He settled back onto the couch quietly knowing he couldn’t keep the company here all night like some sad old man, he needed to let her get on with things. Breathing in deeply, he turned his head to hear her best as she spoke and drifted on her words, hanging on every word. It dawned on him that letting her start with this book was letting her override the sound of Marcy in his mind, maybe that had been a subconscious hope. Every time he thought of the book her voice played in his mind and it all came back, but he knew it wasn’t the only reason. The words provoked and brought worlds to his mind in ways that reading braille could not, it let him get lost away from himself for a few hours.

A sad smile played over his lips as the tale came to an end but happy nonetheless, blinking a bit as he felt a hint of emotion roiling up. Taking a deep breath, he breathed out with a broader smile blooming as he turned more to face her. “You did lovely,” he said. And I agree, Ziroonderel is a fascinating character. Lirazel suffers sadly as most female characters do in Victorian fated romances, just there. Though I do think it is a more fascinating relationship than Aragorn and Arwen, though I know that is sacrilegious in some circles.” If he could roll his eyes he would have, he could only assume what this poor girl thought of him, some strange shut in who liked fantasies of elves and such. He had to bite back listing off all of the books he’d read over the years to prove his literature chops.

He heard her get up and turned his head to look out into the room, following her footsteps out into the kitchen, curious what she was doing. The cushions moved on the couch and he realized she was sitting next to him, surprised at her suddenly being close. A book was placed in his hand and he clasped it in both, the left hand cradling it from underneath while his right hand ran over the cover. “I’m sure it will be fine,” he said, smiling at her apprehension, surprised at it. It was just a book choice it didn’t seem like it was much of a thing to worry about. “And that’s fine to leave it here. I promise I won’t spill anything on it.”

A curious eyebrow rose at her mention it was her favorite and his lips parted to say something but only a small huff of air left them as he felt her fingers brush over his. Blinking, he followed the prompt to find the embossing but all he could think of was how long it had been since he’d held someone’s hand. The coolness of the raised letter was hard to figure out with his mind distracted, wandering about what it would feel like to hold Sawyers hand. It was a weird thought and he tried to brush it aside but it did not like going away easily. All he could do was turn towards her and shake his head, confounded by his own mind.

His lips curled up hearing the title, first in sketchy French and then in English, amused at the selection. It surprised him that it was her favorite after learning her parents were literature professors, he’d expected it to be something much weightier. He’d read a few Jules Verne’s books but never this one which intrigued him even more, a new adventure for him. A gentle laugh rippled from him as she mentioned her travels in the past, eyebrows raising in question at the mention of New Orleans, curious. His lips parted to answer her question enjoying being back in a simple conversation with the woman when something loud went off.

“Argh,” Gideon growled, bring his hands up to his ears for a moment. He’d been focused on her voice and the sudden noise just tore into his eardrums like razor, collapsing in on himself a little on the couch. Pursing his lips, he took in a deep breath once it was off, head turning in her direction. Though he had to blink when she mentioned the time, not realizing how late it was, shaking his head at where all the time had gone. Apparently reading time was becoming dangerous for his schedule as he’d usually be in bed at this point, ready to get up early. “It was more tossing than throwing,” Gideon corrected,

He felt a blur of motion in front of him with a lot of questions coming out, turning his head so his ear faced her. Finally, she stilled long enough to make a basic guess of where she was, reaching a hand out until his fingers wrapped around her forearm, stilling her for a moment. “Verne is fine and lovely, Sawyer,” he said, unfolding his legs from under him. “I think any person who doesn’t like sweets is a bit strange, though I’m not a fan of nuts in my sweets. But really, you don’t have to go out of your way.” He had the strange urge to offer to cook for her anyway but again he chalked that in the creepy boss column, it would be a strange thing to offer. But he had enjoyed the company and it had been the first outside of a select few he’d had at his table.

Leaning forward, he placed his feet flat on the floor and lifted himself up to stand, coming upright only to realize he was almost against Sawyer. He stood there for an awkward long moment before he finally stepped to the side, realizing he was crowding her. As he did, his hand slipped from her arm, realizing he’d been clutching her until he stood. “I’m terribly sorry for keeping you though,” he said, though he didn’t look overly sorry. And he stood there again for a long moment before he finally started to move towards the door. “Until then, I will look forward to how exactly we’ll be getting around the world in 90 days. And please tell Ash I’m sorry.” The last words were spoken as he opened the door and held it for her, the house already feeling a little bit emptier. The thought made him yell at himself to stop being a fool.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Sawyer couldn't help but gulp a little as she felt Gideon gripping her arm. It wasn't a threatening gesture, she knew that, and in truth it didn't even make her uncomfortable. The problem was that she felt quite the opposite of discomfort at his touch, and that was rather frightening. For a moment, she tried to remember everyone who might have extended such a gesture towards her since she'd parted ways with her ex. Her parents of course, but she only saw them a couple times a year. Ash and Joy naturally, especially the former, who had a hard time adhering to appropriate physical contact. But beyond that...no one.

Gideon must have felt as awkward about it as she did though, and before she could say anything he'd dropped his hand. Smiling, Sawyer shook her head. "That's twice in one night you've broken your own rule, mister. And never apologize to Ash for anything, because she won't apologize to you. She can't help it though, she's a Leo." Sighing, she took her coat from its hook near the door and began to put it on. "You know, it's funny you mentioned your favorite color is red," the young woman continued as she picked her bag up again. "That's actually what my friends all call me: Red. I guess I should have disclosed this sooner, but I might as well admit it now. I'm a ginger. But I swear not the creepy kind," she laughed, glancing at her reflection in the hall mirror. Her skin was on the lighter side, but definitely more rosy than white, and her freckles were hardly noticeable beneath her makeup.

"So, yeah, crazy coincidence, right? Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow." Sawyer's hand lingered for a moment on the door as it opened, and she looked at her boss one more time. She was yet again picturing him in red, the dark red he had described to her as his favorite. Yeah, he could definitely pull that off she thought with a smile. "Good night, Gideon," she said finally, stepping out the door and shutting it behind him.

*****​

As promised she showed up promptly at seven the next night, and was pleased to see Gideon wasn't quite as bogged down with work as he had been the previous night. After a few more pleasantries and a brief argument on the correct pronunciation of "Passepartout" they were on their way around the world with Phileas Fogg and his hapless valet. Despite having discovered that Gideon's couch was way more comfortable than the chair Sawyer was quickly beginning to consider "hers," she was still careful to maintain an appropriate distance from him. If she was developing a little crush, well, that was her business, and okay as long as she didn't act on it. As far as she was concerned, no good could come of making any kind of advances towards her boss, even though the temptation grew with every chapter they completed.

For one, what if the feeling wasn't mutual? Best case scenario the work was going to get very awkward, and in the worst case she'd be out of a job. Sawyer didn't doubt that Gideon liked her of course, but she got the feeling he simply liked her as a person. Maybe as a friend, but that had to be it. He never treated her the way other guys did when they had been interested in her. No flirty conversation, no compliment of her looks, no long, drawn out stares when they thought she wasn't looking. Granted she didn't expect the latter of these to come from the blind man, but if he was interested in her, the least he could have done was ask her to have dinner or something. Even another meal at his house would have been plenty for her if he'd intentionally asked, rather than have her accidentally stumble into one of his meals.

And even if he was interested in her romantically...was she really ready for that? In the two years since the annulment she'd been on a handful of dates, but nothing in the past six months. She'd also had one or two meaningless hookups where either she or the guy had never called the other person again, and Sawyer would have been more than happy to forget those had ever happened. It wasn't that she was against the idea of having a boyfriend, or maybe even a husband someday. But every time she felt herself getting closer to a guy, she could feel the same old suspicions creeping into her heart. If he didn't answer the phone, did that mean he was fucking some other girl? Or just snorting coke off of her tits? If he was late meeting her, was it because he had gotten arrested, or had he simply decided to skip off to Vegas with a stripper and forgot to tell her?

"Not all guys are like Jack," Joyce had reminded her. She had more than one male friend who had tried to score an introduction with the blue-haired woman's cute (and thankfully straight) friend. "In fact, most guys are not like Jack. Most human beings are not like Jack. Then again, I'm not sure Jack even was human. But anyway...most guys are perfectly decent people without sex or drug addictions. You should give them the benefit of the doubt, Red."

Sawyer had tried, she really did. And so far, it was easy not to think about Jack and what he'd done when she was with Gideon. After all, the two men couldn't be more different. But what if the older man really did like her back, and they did start dating, and she suddenly felt a compulsion to go through his phone, or hide the liquor bottles? It would be over in a flash, and she'd be more heartbroken than ever. And still out of a job on top of everything else.

So it was she had decided to earn his friendship and be satisfied with that, and she could keep everything else between herself and her diary. In the meantime, the readers had made it well into the depths of India and were prepared to follow Fogg and Passepartout on a steamship to Hong Kong when Sawyer arrived at her usual time, this time carrying a small covered basket along with her usual brown leather bag.

"Happy Wednesday!" she called out as she entered, looking around for Gideon before glancing up the stairs. Over the past month she'd become familiar enough with the first floor of his home, but the second story still held her curiosity. She knew his room was up there, but what else? And did the turret she could see from outside stretch into a third story, or was it just particularly tall? Maybe one of these days she would just have to buckle down and ask for the grand tour, before her inquisitiveness got the better of her.

Once she'd finally located her boss, she pressed the basket triumphantly into his hands. "Here. I told you I'd pay you back for that dinner a couple weeks ago. I made macarons!" And they'd been a bitch to make too, what with all of the humidity in the air lately. Her roommates had been tasked with devouring the less-than-perfect specimens, but there were still a good two dozen in the basket she'd given Gideon. "I made lemon-raspberry, chocolate-peanut butter, vanilla-honey, and blueberry-lavender. I figured you must like at least one of those flavors," she laughed. "If not, I'll just run down to the convenience store and pick you up my "homemade" 3 Musketeers bar, because I'm pretty sure I've been banned from the kitchen for at least a week. I guess the others wanted their clutter space back."

It was a shame. While she'd been on her baking extravaganza the kitchen was probably the cleanest it had been in months, but no sooner had she piped her last filling than already Ash had dumped an inordinate number of red legos on the counter, insisting she was going to recreate a Picasso piece as a three-dimensional diorama. With a little sigh, Sawyer passed by Gideon and sank into her chair, draping her legs over the arm lazily as she picked up the book from the side table. "How was work today?" she asked, looking again at the well-loved illustrations as she waited for him to join her.

 

[TheDarkScribe]

“I guess I’m just a rebel,” Gideon said with a laugh, shrugging. He was not one to apologize much but he found himself stumbling over himself, hesitant with her, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Or more to the point, he could put his finger on it and that was why it bothered him so. Other than his sister in law he didn’t entertain female company much and now he’d allowed himself to grow comfortable with Sawyer. It was a typical male behavior to want to let the walls down, but he wasn’t a typical male. He was broken and few wanted to deal with that, some things were just too complicated to get past he’d found out in his life.

A curious eyebrow rose at the mention of her being called red, his mind racing with why that would be when she finally said he was a ginger, understanding dawning on his face. “Not creepy,” he said, with a gentle laugh. “You should lead with that on your resume.” He couldn’t remember the last time he teased anyone but family and it was kind of nice to just let himself go, to be human. For the first time since they’d met, he really wished he could know what she looked like, experience it but that was not possible or too personal and idea. What did red hair feel like on his fingers, and did it matter or did he just want to run his hands through her hair like some silly school boy.

“Crazy,” he agreed, smiling. He was beginning to think that perhaps it wasn’t the lack of sight keeping the women away but the lack of personality If that was the best come back he had for her. A part of him wanted to offer her to stay and have a drink or food or anything but she’d already mentioned it was late, it was selfish. “Tomorrow it is Sawyer. Have a wonderfully night.”

The door hung open for a while before he shut the door, pressing his forehead against the wood, feeling lost. What had started as a need to just hear the written word was making him miss company, miss the human experience. But more importantly, it was making him miss Sawyer.

************************************​

Already ready for their appointment, Gideon was happy to know another few hours with Sawyer and their new adventure was coming tonight. He’d been in a good enough mood to continue his joy of playing with the young woman, explaining the proper French pronunciation of the valet. It didn’t matter but it felt good to play, to forget about all the drudgery of life. Still, he was surprised that she’d chose to sit on the couch this time, adjusting himself accordingly. He found himself twisting a little to face her more with his body, trying not to move too close.

This reading venture had not gone the way he’d expected which was slightly vexing. After the lost of his vision, Gideon had drawn up clear and distinct separations in his life, everything in its place and him kept safe. He’d closed himself off after Marcy but as he’d recovered those close to him had insisted on interfering, trying to set him up and get him back into the social world. The women they’d insisted were so nice had voices that dripped with pity and treated him like an invalid, one had even started cutting his food up on a date. Indifference was at least something he could deal with and understand. So, he’d become the Montresor to his Fortunato social life, walling it behind brick and mortar for all of eternity, to decay hidden away. It had been a righteous murder in his eyes and had let him concentrate on getting better, dealing with his disability while making a new career for himself, putting all that energy he once squandered on another into learning to live again.

The idea had been his own private but he remembered how after his brother had passed Alice had renewed her interest in being a match maker. After brushing it off a few times, her pushing had finally forced his hand to let her ideas die. “Some people are meant to be alone,” he’d told her. “I’m ok with this, Alice. My life is complete as is and I don’t need someone wanting to be a nurse maid. I know, they have good hearts, everyone has good hearts, but some things are broken and cannot be fixed. Please, just let it be.”

Speaking the words aloud had left him cold but he knew they were hard truths he’d long ago accepted. So why did the beautiful red head sitting so close ease the tension he always held so often. Why did he find himself thinking about her thought the day if this was just a simple business transaction and he’d accepted this hard truth. More importantly, why did that stray thought that had come to him listening to her, wondering what her lips felt like, those lips who read so wonderfully to him, caused him to blush quietly to himself.

A quiet song played over the stereo as he heard the call from the downstairs, a smile coming to his lips unbidden. He finished button up the simple Cuban style white shirt with black slacks sticking out from the untucked hem. Bare feet padded down the carpeted steps, hand trialing down the wood bannister, nostrils flaring as he smelled something different in the air. The smile lingered on his lips as he finally got the to floor, the song swelling for a moment as he moved into the living room, surprised when a felt the basket thrust into him. His hands lifted to curl around the basket, one moving around to find the handle and finding her hand, feeing little pops of electricity as he touched her. The breath caught for a moment as he wrapped his fingers wrapped around the handle.

“Thank you,” he said, a strange smile on his lips. “Would it sound strange if I said I’ve never had a macaroon?” A slightly worried look crossed his face as he started to move towards the kitchen, not wanting to make her feel bad. “Not that I have anything against it but I remember my grandmother feeding me American coconut macaroons and it scared me. I haven’t touched anything with coconut since.” Setting it on the counter, he turned back around to her and held up a hand, holding it up in the general direction of the living room. “Not that I want that home-made candy bar, this is fine. Perhaps you can help me pick out a selection so I can try and judge them properly.”

Reaching around the counter, he found the wide glass filled with ice and bourbon, carefully holding it in his hand and taking a sip. The liquid sloshed around, full of the amber liquid, as he carefully made his way back into the living room, setting it down on the end table next to the couch. Sighing, he carefully sat down as he folded his legs under him, hand finding the remote next to him, turning off the stereo. He then wrapped his fingers back around the glass, though didn’t lift it, hearing her question for a moment, hesitation in his lips. Licking his lips, he turned towards her for a moment as if considering his words before he finally managed to make his lips work. “I didn’t go to work today,” he managed, his features growing downcast. “I never work on this day for the last four years.”

He lifted the glass and took a good sip, Adams apple bobbing with the warm liquid pouring down his throat. “I went with my sister in law, Alice, to visit my big brothers grave. He passed four years ago today. We go out every year to visit him, pay our respects and tell tales.” The glass clinked on the glass of the table before he leaned forward, an arm outstretched towards her before it fell down into his lap. “I don’t mean to be a damper. I… I probably should have called this off. But truth is, I didn’t really want to sit here alone another year. And I have grown to enjoy our story time.” He ran finger along the seam of the pants, feeling the solidness of the material. His brother’s death had been hard but they’d known it was coming and he’d long since finished mourning. But it was a private affair and it felt strange to share with a stranger, Sawyer was a stranger, even if she didn’t feel like it.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Okay first of all: macarons, macaroons...not the same," Sawyer laughed, setting aside the book and getting back onto her feet. "The former are delicious, ridiculously-frustrating-to-make little bites of meringue and buttercream that taste like heaven and will cost you about four bucks a pop at any decent French pastry shop. The latter are everyone's least favorite cookie. Although I did figure out if you shave the coconut really thin, mix it with rum before baking, and dip the finished product in extra dark chocolate they are pretty palatable. But what isn't, right?"

She had expected a chuckle or at least a warm smile at that remark, but Gideon seemed curiously quiet today. Not that he was ever loud exactly, but over the course of their acquaintance he had seemed to pick up on all the right opportunities to tease and laugh with her. That was one of the reasons she enjoyed coming over to his house so much, beyond just the money. If she'd ever had a bad or boring day, she could always count on her boss to cheer her up at least a little, or at the very least humor her attempts to cheer herself up. Today though she could sense a palpable tension in the air that she hadn't noticed when she'd first walked in, and she could feel a little flutter of panic in her chest. Had she done something wrong? Was he sick of the book, or were macarons an inappropriate thank-you gift? Was she about to lose her only reliable source of income?

Coming up behind him in the kitchen, her sense of alarm only grew when she saw him take the glass of dark brown liquid--bourbon, by the smell. Gideon had never touched the stuff in front of her before. In fact, Sawyer had half-suspected he didn't drink at all, considering he sat through their sessions without so much as a glass of wine beside him. She'd liked that about him too, which wasn't surprising considering the last meaningful relationship she'd had with a man had been heavily soaked in vodka and tequila (not to mention cocaine). But how could she complain when she'd drowned her own sorrows in a bottle of merlot on more than one occasion? That'd make her--well, not the biggest hypocrite in the world, but still a pretty damn considerable one. And as it turned out, her boss wasn't totally above indulging either, but her gut told her it wasn't because he'd had a stressful day, or even because he liked the taste of it. No, Sawyer knew the look of a man who liked to drink away his suffering. She'd spent four years looking at one.

"Hey, Gideon..." she asked softly, reaching out a hand to touch his arm, then thinking better of it and letting it drop. "Is everything okay?"

No, it most certainly was not. Sawyer knew about Alice of course, having encountered her once or twice in the entrance hall of Gideon's house, and she knew she was married to his brother: the handsome, blue-eyed man she'd noticed in a couple of pictures around the house. It had never been her business to ask about him, but she recalled the way her boss had spoken about his brother when he was telling her about his job. There had been so much pride and admiration in his voice...so why was it Alice was the one who came by to help Gideon with things, and not his brother? You should have figured it out, idiot she scolded herself, feeling her face growing hot. How the hell were macarons supposed to cheer him up on the day of a loved one's death, even if it was years ago?

"I'm...so sorry," Sawyer replied weakly, wishing she could offer him more but for once finding absolutely no words to say. Her only losses in life (to death, at least) had been her grandparents, who had all lived to ripe seniority and gone relatively quickly after a rapid decline in health. Even though she wasn't particularly close to her older brother, it still would have been a shock to lose him, and she couldn't imagine Fourth of July or Christmas at her parents' house without the big dumb blonde fixing his gaze on some football game or another while his kids ran around screaming and his wife managed to set one side dish or another on fire. But to grieve for a brother with no one else besides his widow...the idea was heartbreaking to her.

"I can go, if you want to be alone," she said finally, although when she moved again it was towards the couch, not the door. She swallowed hard and looked him in the face, wishing she had grabbed the book or the basket of macarons or something. Her hands were twitching uncertainly as she approached. "Or...I'll stay, if that's what you want. Fuck...I'm really, really sorry Gideon. I wish I knew the right thing to say, but I'm worried I'm just going to blurt out something stupid and thoughtless and make you feel worse. And I really don't want to do that, especially not today. But if there's anything I can do to make you feel better, just name it, okay? I'm all yours."

When his arm reached out towards her, Sawyer instinctively raised her own arms in response, assuming he just needed a hug. Maybe it went against the rules she'd set for herself, but clearly he was having a hard time right now. She would have been happy to grant him an exception, just this once, but before she could embrace him the arm dropped. Well, that was almost embarrassing the redhead thought grimly as she froze in place. For neither the first nor the last time, she had to admit she was grateful for his blindness in that particular moment. At least he couldn't see how sheepish she looked.

Instead she sat down beside him, a little closer than she was used to, but not quite touching him. "Would it help to talk about him?" she asked, tilting her head and letting a single loose red curl fall over her shoulder. "I know you mentioned he was a criminal justice lawyer. How much older was he than you?"

By her estimation, the age different couldn't have been that great, unless Gideon's brother was into women way younger than himself. When she'd met Alice, Sawyer had estimated her to be about the same age as Gideon, maybe slightly younger. It was hard to determine the woman's age behind her beautiful face, chic haircut, and perfect body. In fact when she'd seen his sister-in-law for the first time, she'd even felt the slightest twinge of jealousy, stupid as it might have been. But Alice was exactly the type of woman who looked like she belonged with a handsome, successful lawyer of any age. It was just a relief that Gideon didn't seem like the kind of guy who would date his brother's widow.

"Do you mind if I ask..." Sawyer continued, voice still soft and uncertain. "How did he die? Was it--I mean, was he sick?" She was almost about to ask if it had been a sudden, but it occurred to her she'd asked him the same exact question about his eyes, and it seemed a little insensitive. What an unlucky family she couldn't help but think, wondering what other misfortunes Gideon might have suffered while she was blissfully going about her life. It was so strange: on the surface his life had seemed so perfect to her, even with the blindness. Great job, gorgeous house, a sister-in-law who loved him enough to help out without being asked, but she was starting to notice the shadows around the edges. It scared her a little, but at the same time she found herself wanting to light them up more, and do whatever she could to ease whatever pain he might be feeling. After all of the kindness he'd shown her, it seemed like the least she could do.

"If I'm being too nosy, just say so," she cut in quickly, realizing that what she might have meant as gentle interest might be coming off as an intrusion. "I can just cut straight to the reading if that's best. Let me just grab the book here--" Sawyer got to her feet again and went back to her chair to fetch the volume, and she was about to sit down when she paused and looked back towards Gideon on the couch. He still seemed so sad...well, just this once it might be all right. Grabbing the book and her tall white cup of mint tea, she settled in beside him again. If he didn't like it, well, he could just scoot away from her then, she wouldn't be offended. And if for some reason he wanted to be closer, that was fine too. She only hoped he wouldn't hear her heart pounding in her chest if he did.

Setting aside her cup, she opened the book back up to where they left off, her fingers brushing the illustration of the beautiful Aouda on her pyre. "So, where were we then? A funeral? Awesome." Oh god, maybe this was a bad idea. Still, Gideon made it pretty clear he still wanted her to read to him, and if that was what he wanted, she would do it. She would just need to make sure they got to a particularly uplifting part before she finished for the night. After taking another drink of her tea, she cleared her throat and began to read.

"The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable. Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore the success of his tour..."

 

[TheDarkScribe]

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Gideon said, raising a glass to her. “I’m so sick of people being sorry for me.” He blinked as mouth widened realizing his tone, turning towards Sawyer as his face turned apologetic, shaking his head. “I… I don’t mean it that way… or about you…” A deep sigh lifted his chest as he held out a hand into the air, pushing with it as if to emphasize something. “You have been nothing but great and I am happy to have you in my house. Bourbon I guess just makes me a bit bitter.”

The idea of her leaving filled him with dread and he wanted to keep her hair, reaching out to stop her but his fingers brushed against a hand, unable to grab ahold. It was hard to figure out where she was and frustration showed for a moment on his face. “Please, don’t go,” he said, a hint of sadness showing on his features. “You could never make this worse, don’t talk about yourself that way. I have never seen you thoughtless or stupid once in the time I’ve known you. I’d rather you here then sit here and finish this glass by myself Sawyer Thompson.” His voice was stern but full of care, perhaps too much emotion slipping in having grown to enjoy her company, enjoy the woman.

It was strange to have such conviction of the woman but he’d always considered himself a good judge of character, having learned to hear what is under people’s words. To judge them beyond what eyes show others. He’d never felt like a broken man with her, if anything he’d almost felt normal in her company. That was not something that came easy or anything he’d found in most of his life since the loss, he was not about to let her think she had ever done anything wrong. It was a curious feeling he felt in the spate of defending her, a warmth he was realizing he’d started to feel with her around. The whole thing was confusing and aggravating, he’d gotten used to the boxes he’d made of his life.

Sawyer’s question run in his head as he moved to face her a little more, hesitation in his lips as the opened. Not because he didn’t want to share, but he’d kept her compartmentalized so far and this felt like opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close. He wasn’t even sure he’d want to close. “Jacob,” he started, his voice quiet and warm. “He was actually a year and a half younger than me but he’d always been the big brother of the family. The stable son. The good son. He excelled in law and when I lost my sight soon after graduating, he dragged me out of my hole. Got my father to put a little pressure to get me accepted into law school.”

Her next questions brought memories flooding back, his hand groping to the side table and grabbing the glass. Gulping a healthy swig down, amber liquid clung to his lower lip as he remembered the long road with him, though not nearly as long as it had been for him. “It was slow,” he said, pain tinging his words. “But not slow enough, or maybe too slow. He started having these headaches but he brushed them off, he was busy with his life. But then they got bad enough Alice insisted he see someone. They diagnosed him with a brain tumor, it had started to spread that they said….” He paused and too another healthy swig of the bourbon before putting it back on the table. “They said they could try but the prognosis was not good, he could suffer though painful surgeries that may kill him and then go through chemo that might kill him and still die. So the stubborn bastard said he wanted to spend what time he had in peace with his family.”

Gideon shivered sitting there and suddenly felt more alone then he had in a long time, not sharing that story with anyone other than Alice who’d been there. He turned on the couch as a hand reached out tentatively, searching until fingers touched her arm and followed it up to her shoulder. With some understanding of her position, he brought another hand around and touched the arm on the other side. “You did say anything,” he whispered. Then, he slid his arms around her as he leaned into Sawyer, hugging her gently as if he might break her. A shuddered breath escaped him as he held her, his chin on her shoulder for a moment, just needing that moment of human touch. But already it was feeling like he was intruding on her space too much, intruding on her life, and he pulled back, falling back onto his spot on the couch, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he started, taking in a deep breath to center him. “I’ve had my time to grieve but I.. I don’t normally… go over that with people.” He turned his head to crack it a little, realizing tensing had moved though his body with everything. A hint of embarrassment showed on his cheeks as he hung his head so it was like he was looking down onto the floor. Dexterous fingers moved over the hem of his pants and along the inseam, tracing it. “Now, we have an adventure to get though, a story to hear.”

He sat half sagging in his seat as she told the tale, his mind half listening half flying all over the place. A part of him felt completely embarrassed about the whole thing, having overstepped the boundaries of their arraignments. He was paying her to read the book and only that, not be his friend. She had plenty of friends and adding a sad, old man who sat in the dark always didn’t seem high on anyone’s list. Every so often he’d reach over and sip off the glass realizing he’d probably put way too much liquor in it but it was softening the edges which was good, at least tonight. The hard edges all hurt tonight.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

For one brief, rather guilty moment, Sawyer wished she really had allowed Gideon to pay her more for her services, because she sure as hell was earning it. Her voice continued to transmit the words on the page in a steady, even tone without so much as a hint of emotion, even though her mind and heart were racing. It's the bourbon she reminded herself silently as she read. It's only the bourbon that's making him feel bad, he doesn't mean anything by it. Stop overthinking things and just turn the goddamn page.

The young woman had had no trouble returning his embrace when it came. Indeed, she even wrapped her own arms around him and gave him a squeeze in return, feeling his lean muscles beneath his shirt and noticing how they contrasted with her own soft curves. "It's okay, it's okay," she had whispered, patting him on the back and trying not to shiver at the feel of his breath on her neck. When he pulled away from her she even resisted somewhat, but at least had the presence of mind to let him go before he could notice. Good God, the man was drunk and grieving and she was enjoying this. What kind of a monster was she? Well, Sawyer couldn't exactly deny the fact that she liked to feel needed. After all, wasn't that the main reason she had put up with Jack so long? And looking over at the man beside her, she couldn't argue that Gideon was in bad shape, even if it was only a temporary condition.

Tonight's an exception she told herself for the hundredth time once he'd settled back in and prepared to listen. "Hey, it's all right. Sometimes we all just need a good hug, right? Just sit back and relax," Sawyer had instructed, but every time she glanced over towards her listener she could see he wasn't following orders. His posture was more dejected than relaxed, and every time her brown eyes fell upon the glass it had less and less liquor in it. Her voice never faltered in the process, but part of that was due to the fact that she'd read the book so many times she practically had it memorized. It was hard for her eyes to focus on the page, and they kept being drawn to Gideon's fidgeting hand on his leg.

Finally, she'd had enough of the distraction. Willing herself to keep her gaze focused on the words, she held the book in one hand and reached towards Gideon with the other. She didn't say a word that wasn't written down in front of her, but her fingers found his all the same, and Sawyer gave his hand a firm squeeze. I'm still right here she wanted to say, but at the same time she knew he'd had enough of her pity. The best thing to do was to keep cruising right along through the jungles of India, letting go of his hand only to turn the pages, then immediately finding it again. Never once did she look at him until three chapters had passed, and she finally let the book rest in her lap and gently took her hand away.

"I think that's probably enough for tonight," she said finally. "You look pretty tired, Gideon. I know it's none of my business, but I'd think about heading to bed if I were you. Do you...need any help?" He'd probably get annoyed at the question, but Sawyer had to ask it anyway. She couldn't tell if he'd eaten anything before he'd started drinking, and while she'd only seen him finish the one glass, it had been a big one, and she couldn't be sure it had been his first. What if he lost his balance and fell down the stairs or something? She bit her lip in worry at the thought.

"Come on, time to get up. Walk me to the door at the very least," Sawyer insisted, taking both of his hands in hers now and pulling him to his feet, watching closely to see if he swayed at all. If he seemed unsteady on his feet she would make sure he got to bed, then maybe see if she could text Alice with a suggestion to check on him in the morning. She wasn't totally sure how she would lock the door behind her when she left, but she didn't need to worry about that right this second. Instead she focused on looking over her employer, and it was with some shame in her own ability to distract that the reader realized he somehow looked even sadder than he had when she first arrived.

It might have been a poor judgment call, but Sawyer didn't care. Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around him a second time and gave him another firm squeeze. Standing in front of one another, the top of her head only brushed his chin, and her cheek rested for a moment in the middle of his chest. She could hear his heart beating, quiet in her ear, and could smell the bourbon mixed with the familiar fragrance of sandalwood. It didn't even occur to her that standing up like this he could probably finally get an idea of what her body was like, but then again he didn't exactly seem to be in the mood to get handsy with her.

"You looked like you needed another one," she said finally, stepping back with a little laugh but still holding both of his hands in hers. "You know, my mom always said you should never be ashamed of missing someone. Missing people is how you know you love them. Your brother sounds to me like a wonderful person, and I'd probably miss him too if I knew him. So please don't feel guilty, Gideon. It's one thing if you want to keep things private, and people should respect that. Yours truly included," Sawyer added, dropping her face sheepishly. "But feel what you need to feel, when you need to feel it. Nobody's going to judge you for not being 'over it.' Nobody who isn't a total asshole anyway. Some people you never get over, and that's not necessarily a bad thing."

A shadow passed over her face, but Sawyer shook her head vigorously. Her own experiences were absolutely nothing like Gideon's, and it seemed like an insult to even compare the two. She would stop missing Jack eventually. She just needed hate him a little bit more first.

"Anyway, I think some sleep will help," she continued, dropping his hands and moving towards the door. She still kept one eye on him as she began to gather her things, but held off on putting on her shoes or jacket just yet. Her eyes continued to watch him as she prepared to leave, and despite everything she couldn't help but smile a little. "You know, it's funny how you mentioned Jacob was the good and stable one. You're probably one of the most stable people I know, Gideon. Not sure what that says about my circle of acquaintance, but I figured I'd let you know." After all, he might not even remember it in the morning.

She took another stocking-footed step towards him. "Are you gonna be okay?" Sawyer asked gently, touching his hand again. "Did...did you want me to stick around a little bit longer?" Not for anything untoward, of course. She just wanted to make sure he got to bed okay, and that was it. At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

 

[TheDarkScribe]

Gideon could feel the tension in the air and he knew it was him, regretting not canceling this for Sawyers sake. He’d been though this anniversary a few times by himself, he shouldn’t have inflicted it on her, the regret adding to the sadness roiling inside of him. It only added to the weight he felt pulling him down and he wanted to just stop the woman and tell her to go home, to tell her he was sorry for inflicting himself on her. But at the same time, he tried to remind him that they weren’t friends, right, so why did it matter, but he knew that was an asshole thought. She didn’t deserve to be subjected to his sadness even if she was practically a stranger.

He finally seemed to uncurl as she finished, his head pulling up until he was facing up, trying to figure out where she was. His head floated a little with the motion and he regretted it immediately, hands clutching his calves for a moment. “I should be fine,” he said, slowly stretching his body out. Perhaps it was the alcohol or the lack of food but his body felt more camped sitting as he had and his body protested a bit as he unfurled. “I’ll probably just sleep down here for tonight. No reason to bother yourself.”

But suddenly she was in front of him and he felt her hands in his, sensing the coolness and warmth rather strongly than normal. It must have been the bourbon as his skin tingled where she touched him and it bothered him in a good way, thoughts that didn’t normally seep in. “Ok,” he murmured, bare feet pressing into the carpet. His legs wobbled a little from sitting for so long and there was a bit of swimming feeling, his fingers clutching a little tighter at her hands. Moving was certainly a lot less fluid and steady as he started to take a few steps, needing to lean on the woman more. It had been a long while since he’d drunk this much with so little in his stomach, and he’d not had to get up much then.

Then, suddenly, he felt her move into him and her arms wrap around him to hug him, his hands not instinctively wrapping around her. It required thought, movement, slowly lifting his arms up and hugging her, gently at first as he clearly not used to it. His hands splayed over her back for a moment and her scent filled his nostrils, warm and sweet, yellow filling his senses. For the first time he was suddenly aware of her curves, the softness of her, the femininity of her, in ways that had not been pushed into him before. The simple act though brought tears streaming down his cheeks, crying for the first time she’d been here, though no sobs came.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, swaying a little as he stood there. His thumbs moved up to slide over the back of her hands as she held his hands, feeling her under the pads of his fingers for the first time. “Your mother Is not wrong,” he started, his words slow and halted. “And you’re not wrong either. I will never get over loosing my brother. I… sometimes I wish… I could be another way… but after this..” He lifted her hand to waive at his face. “When I lost my sight I lost a lot of other things. And it.. it was just easy to compartmentalize my life. And to leave some areas just alone in the dark. I don’t know if that makes sense.” He sighed deeply so his chest rose and fell, head dipping down a little. “It makes some things easier, but it makes some things more difficult.”

Her hands slipped away and the spell was broken, his head slowly coming up and the smile slowly forming back on his lips. Reaching up, he whipped at the drying tears on his cheek with the back of his hand. Carefully, he stepped forward an opened the door, leaning a more heavily on the heavy door. A sharp laugh left his lips at her comment, pursing him lips for a moment as he turned towards her direction. “I was a lot different in my youth,” he said, a rueful smile on his lips. “Life changes you.” He could remember when he wanted to run away and practice his art in Europe, be a wandering spirit, a force of nature.

Gideon felt her hand on him and her question hung in the air for a moment, not facing her fully as he stood there. “I am always ok,” he said slowly, the tone of his voice adding a strange tenor to his words. Suddenly, he pulled away from her and walked carefully along the wall, his gait unsteady as h moved by the large opening into the kitchen, threatening to topple over, until he reached the entertainment center. A small dish lay on top with various bits in it, his hand sliding in as his fingers searched, finally pulling something out. He held it out to her until she took the small key with a yellow rubber key cover over the end. “There is no reason for you to spend any longer with an old fool, I don’t pay you enough. This is the key to the front door. So you can be assured.”

Once she’d taken the key, he slowly made his way to the couch, nearly tripping over as his shins ran into it, hands grasping out Infront of him. Spreading his hands out over the couch, he found the grey cover that matched the grey furniture. He slowly laid down, pulling the cover around him, curling on the cushions with a little shiver. “I’m going to break my rule again,” he said, his voice more muffled by the couch. “I’m sorry I was not a great host, Sawyer. You deserve better.” He pulled the cover tighter and shifted on the couch. “We grow accustomed to the Dark – When the light is put away – As when the neighbor holds the Lamp – To witness her Goodbye.” The poem slowly drifted away as his voice grew softer, slowly falling out.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Whoa...okay, okay, let's just hold on a minute here. What do you need, Gideon?" Apparently he needed to stagger his way into the kitchen, which to Sawyer's sober mind seemed to be a very bad idea. She followed close behind him, ready to catch him if a wrong step should send him falling, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet. And as it turned out, the kitchen wasn't even his final destination anyway. "Look, I think you should just lay down and go to sleep," she sighed, unable to keep the slight edge of annoyance out of her voice. How many times had she had to do this before? Chasing a drunk guy around the house while he wallowed in his own self pity...hadn't she sworn she would be done with this shit?

She accepted the key from him automatically, not thinking too much about it as she tucked it into her pocket. "Okay, I've got it. I'll lock up when I go I promise. Now will you please just lay down before you hurt yourself? No no no...not on your face. That's how Hendrix died," Sawyer sighed heavily as she rolled him over and adjusted the cover on him slightly. It wasn't that chilly in the room, but who knew what his thermostat was set to? She ought to try to find it and make sure it wouldn't get too cold for him while he was passed out. While she was at it, she'd better make sure he had some water close at hand, ideally in a bottle he couldn't accidentally spill. And his phone too, he should have that nearby in case there was an alarm or anything set on it for the morning.

For a moment, Sawyer sat on the couch beside him, observing the face that was slipping into unconsciousness. He was definitely not going to have fun when he woke up. But...what if he didn't? Gideon lived alone, she knew that, and there was no telling when someone would be by to check on him. She still wasn't totally clear on what the whole Alice situation was, or even his work schedule for that matter. If he really did choke on vomit, or stop breathing, or anything like that, no one might find him until she came by the next time she was going to read for him.

Of course, the likelihood of all of the scenarios were slim, and in the back of her mind she knew that. But she hadn't taken Jack to get his stomach pumped three times just to throw all of that anxiety out the window. Besides, if anything did happen to Gideon, she'd be the last person who'd seen him alive. That was the last thing she needed--to be connected to the suspicious death of a blind man. Well, that settled it.

"Hey, Gideon," she said softly, not entirely sure he could hear her. "Listen, it's late. I'm not going to make it to the station in time to catch the last train home, and an Uber is going to cost a fortune this time of night. If it's okay with you, I'm just going to hang out here for a few hours until the trains start running again." It wasn't exactly the truth; there were still a handful of trains she could probably have made, but how was Gideon going to know that? It wasn't like he could look at a clock. And since it wasn't like she herself needed to be up early to get to the office the next day, she might as well see him through the night at least. From her experience, he'd probably only need to sleep it off for four or five hours before he woke up with a headache, and she could always head out then.

Considering the matter settled, Sawyer rose to her feet and began to shut off lights around the room. Her macarons went straight into the fridge to keep them from drying out; at first she thought they might make a good breakfast, but the thought of eating something that sweet first thing in the morning after a night of drinking turned her own stomach, god forbid Gideon's. She also found a sport bottle in the cupboard and filled it up with water, making sure it was sealed tight before placing it near the drunk man. His phone went on a nearby table, just in case, and after she'd adjusted the thermostat to what she thought would be an appropriate level she returned to her armchair, ready to entertain herself with her phone for a few hours.

In all truth a book would have been better, but she didn't want to leave the light on beside her, and it would have seemed like an invasion of privacy to help herself to any of Gideon's collection. So instead she sat in the dark, her face illuminated by the white glow of the little screen in her hands. After texting her roommates that she wouldn't be home that night (and ignoring the innuendo-filled responses from Ash), she decided to put the finishing touches on her notes for the memoirs she had been editing. The writer had asked for them by the coming weekend, and once Sawyer had sent them she could expect an additional fifty dollars to come her way. In the meantime, she dug her headphones out of her bag and plugged them in, soothing herself with some soft folk music as she worked.

Every now and then she'd pull the headphones out of her ears and listen for the sound of Gideon's breathing, and so far she'd heard it. As the night went on though, weariness began to nibble hard at her, and long after she'd finished the notes and was on a Pinterest deep dive looking for new pastry recipes, Sawyer's head finally went slack against the back of the chair as her eyes drifted shut.

She awoke a few hours later just as the sun was beginning to come up, and at first the redhead couldn't remember where she was or what had happened. Her back hurt like hell from the awkward, curled-up posture she'd slept in, and she was still dressed in the clothes she'd worn the previous day. It was only when she looked over towards the couch that she recalled everything from the night before, and couldn't help but blush a little at it. Still, Sawyer remembered why she'd stayed, and after rising to her feet she tiptoed gently over towards the couch to check on Gideon. Still alive as far as she could tell, and he'd probably be up soon. Would he be mad that she stayed the night?

Sawyer didn't want to know. Figuring she'd done more than her duty in looking out for him, she adjusted the covers on his body, then headed for the door. She slipped out of the house and locked the door behind her as quietly as she could. Her whole body ached with the bad night's sleep she'd gotten, and nothing sounded better to her than getting into her own bed. Unfortunately, when she got to the station she saw that her train had just left, and she would need to wait at least another fifteen minutes for the next one. Sighing heavily, she pulled out her phone again, ready to send a text to GIdeon to see how he felt when he woke up.

Then she recalled how grating the text-to-speech feature on her own phone was, and realized that the computer voice might not be the most pleasant thing for him to hear first thing in the morning. And since she was alone in the station, there didn't see any harm in sending him a voice message.

"Hey you, hope you're feeling better. I put those macarons in the fridge for you. Let me know if you want to do a session tonight, but I might be a little late. I'm SUPER tired. By the way, your chairs are uncomfortable as shit." It might have been her exhaustion, but she couldn't help but laugh a little in the middle of the message. "Anyways, let me know how you're doing either way. Talk to you later."

Satisfied, she sent off the message just as her train arrived, and within the hour she was stumbling down the stairs into her apartment, bypassing a rather surprised-looking Joyce in the kitchen and collapsing into her own dark hole of a bedroom. For once Sawyer was grateful her room only had a single tiny, high window to illuminate the space, and it was easily blocked with a canvas panel painted with Stevie Nicks' face (yet another of Ashley's creations). Wrapped in darkness she curled up in her bed, she fell asleep almost instantly, and didn't wake up again until the middle of the afternoon.

 

[TheDarkScribe]

“You’re an angel,” Gideon murmured as she forced him to turn over. “Is that really how Hendrix died,” he asked, his brain feeling confused. He swore it was another way but his brain was just nodding along with Sawyer at this point, curling up on the bed. Drawing up his knees, he curled in on himself on the couch as best as he could, feeling a little worn out and rough around the edges as well. He wasn’t sure why she hadn’t gone yet, she had the chance yet she was dwelling still here. Most people didn’t linger with him, dealing with the broken people of the world made people uncomfortable all too often.

The heavy inhale and exhale filled the quiet room as he slipped further down, his thoughts drowned in the brown fog of the bourbon. He thought about his brother that first day after Mary left him, that coldness which had settled inside him, the fact that he wouldn’t freaking leave him alone. He saw the pain and desperation in his eyes and wasn’t about to give him a chance to be stupid, always the big brother. He stayed with him as much as possible along with Alice, Jacob’s girlfriend at the time. The forced him out of the abyss and made him consider other alternatives. They had talked about there being more understanding women out there but his talk about making a difference it what pulled him along, he would put all his energy into doing good, making a difference.

A voice broke into his revelry as he was half asleep, Gideon shifting onto his back, strechign out more. “Ok,” he murmured in his sleep. “You don’t have to go Mary. Please… we.. we can make this work… you don’t need to get on that train…” His words trailed off into heavy breathing that quickly turned into a snore, coughing then until he turned onto his side, breathing with less noise. His arms pulled tight around him as he lay there, clutching at him as he slept.

Dreams eventually came to him, the only time he could see again. People born without sight didn’t dream but those who lost their sight after having been able to see still would dream. He dreamed of sitting at his brother’s grave as they set him into the ground next to his father and the reserved plot for his mother. Alice knelt in front of the grave of Jacob, setting flowers and crying. He stood behind her and was about to step forward when he felt a hand on his shoulder, warmth flowing through his shoulder. Looking around, his eyes couldn’t focus on the face behind him, it was just a warm light like bathing in the sun. The only thing he could make out was the waves of red hair curling down around the face he couldn’t see.

As he examined the face that wouldn’t focus, the world changed and he found himself sitting in his house, with furniture he only could guess at from their feel. Reaching a hand out, he felt her cheek under his palm and felt like his heart was filling. “Sawyer,” he asked, blinking. She leaned into him and their lips touched, warm and gentle, tentative kisses that deepened. And then she was pulling back, smiling at him. She leaned in to whisper in his ear, lips brushing along his lobe. “I could never love someone as broken as you, Gideon. You truly are blind.” A strange noise bellowed in his ears as the world turned to darkness, light fading and pain hiding away in its usual places.

Gideon’s phone was beeping way too loudly so it felt like his head was cracking with each beep. He flung an arm above him where the noise was coming from, hitting something plastic but thankfully not too hard, his hands finally finding the phone. Hitting a button, he phone said he had a voice mail and he quietly told it to play it for him as he sat up straight, his body hurting with each movement. It was Sawyer’s voice and he found himself smiling hearing it despite the throbbing going on in his brain. But then he heard her talk about his chair being uncomfortable, his breathing almost stopping hearing that, confused for a moment as he puzzled it out. She’d slept here, at least for a point? He didn’t remember putting a water bottle at the side or his phone, the realization bringing a sinking sensation into his gut. He could only imagine what a fool he’d made of himself if she’d felt the need to stay.

Sipping on some water, he slowly made his way upstairs to get some aspirin and jump in a shower before grabbing his keyboard extension for the phone. The braille pads made it easier for lengthier text, and he had no idea what he was going to say. He sat on his bed wet and fingers resting on the pads, thinking about her sleeping on his chair. Finally, his fingers started to move. “Sorry about last night. And thank you. You made a difficult night less difficult. I’ll work on getting better chairs so you can be less tired.” He paused in the writing considering what he was going to say, part of him wanting to hear her again but knowing it was a selfish want. “For your sleep sake, let’s call it and make it the next day if that’s good for you.”

“Gideon” he heard Alice’s call from the hallway. Her way of making sure he was decent on morning visits.

“In here,” he called out. “It’s safe, you won’t scar you retinas.” He chuckles as h slipped on a fresh t-shirt that matched the lounge wear, turning towards the doorway when he heard it open.

“I see the bourbon bottle fared better this time than before,” he said, a chuckle in her voice to mask concern. “Do I have Miss Thompson to thank for that? Because God knows I never kept you from emptying the bottle.”

“Sawyer. She did keep me company, yes, though sadly I think I may have… not sure.. embarrassed her. Made her uncomfortable.” He took in a deep, shuddering breath as he reached up to rub at his temple. “I’d be surprised if she doesn’t start canceling her appointments.”

He felt her hand on his shoulder though he’d already heard her bare feet padding on the floor, moving over to him. She gave him a squeeze before moving into a hug, he could hear the wheeze in her breath from having cried too much last night herself. “Stop talking yourself down,” she said, pressing her forehead into the back of his head. “She made macarons, dear Gideon. That’s commitment.” He could feel her smile that crossed her lips as she stood behind him. “You may not be able to drive this one away from you.”

“I don’t want to drive her away,” he said, hands clutching the dresser in front of him. “It just happens naturally.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Even though she fell asleep quickly, Sawyer's rest was far from peaceful. She kept dreaming she was still at Gideon's house, curled up in his chair and waking up over and over to check on him. Sometimes he would still be sleeping on the couch as normal, but sometimes he was stone cold and not breathing. A few times he was missing entirely, and she would wander through his house (which had suddenly taken on some very Escher-like qualities) only to find herself back in the chair again. Once she even woke up and saw that the person laying on the couch wasn't Gideon at all, but Jack, with blood caked around his nostrils and no pulse to be found. Even this dream though wasn't as alarming as the one that had finally woke her up for real.

Gideon was laying on the couch on his back, apparently sleeping much more peacefully than he had in real life. A full moon was shining through the windows and illuminating the aristocratic angles of his face perfectly, and Sawyer couldn't help but run her fingers through his hair and down the side of his cheek. But she didn't stop there. Her hands wandered lower until they came to the buttons of his shirt, which she began to undo one by one. Somewhere along the line she had straddled his hips, and by the time his shirt was open completely it was easy for her to lean forward and bring her lips to his chest, and the sound of his breath hitching sent a shiver through her entire body. Her hips pressed more closely into his as her mouth moved upward, lingering in the crook of his neck for a moment and sucking hard enough at his skin to leave a mark. One hand reached downward, raising her skirt over her hips before beginning to fumble with his pants, and then--

The sound of her phone ringing made her sit up straight in the darkness, banging her head on the low-hung bookshelf above. Letting out a series of groggy curses, she realized it was her mother calling, and not ready to speak to anyone after just having a dream about molesting her blind, drunk boss, Sawyer sent the call to voicemail. Her hand fumbled for the bedside lamp for a moment, found it, and a warm orange glow filled the room as she finally caught her breath, albeit when she looked at the mirror across the room she saw her face was beet-red. God, maybe Ash and Joy were right. Going ten months without sex really was starting to fuck with her head if this was the kind of dreams she was having.

Despite the fact that it was midafternoon, Sawyer was in no hurry to get out of bed just yet. Not until she looked a little less flustered at least. Instead, she passed a quarter of an hour scanning her social media, checking emails, and looking over a few interesting recipes when suddenly she received the text from Gideon. For a moment her heart skipped a beat, but there was nothing super unusual in his message. Brief and to the point, just like all of his texts to her were. That was a good thing though, right? It meant things hadn't changed between them. So why did she feel so disappointed in it?

She didn't trust her voice not to betray her emotions, so the young woman decided to trust his text-to-speak to deliver the message for her.

Sounds good, I just woke up haha. Glad you're feeling better! I'll see you tomorrow.

Her finger had lingered over the emojis, wanting to send him a little heart or a smiley face to let him know that for her part, there was nothing wrong. But she wasn't sure if the little images could be translated to him correctly, and even if they did, Gideon was probably the kind of guy who'd find them stupid or childish. So she sent the text off with letters only, then finally climbed out of bed and began to dress.

As she was finishing putting her hair up in a messy bun on the top of her head, Sawyer heard the email noise chime on her phone, and while typically she would assume it was nothing more than spam, once she saw the name on it her face lit up. A few minutes later, she burst out into the living room, where Joyce was unwinding with video games after a long day of work and Ashley was hard at work playing with Legos.

"You guys, I have amazing news!" Sawyer cried, collapsing on the couch between her friends.

"You got laid," they replied in unison, neither one looking up from their activities.

The redhead's expression soured, and her cheeks darkened until they matched her hair. "No I did not. That's not the--"

"Wait, you were out all night at a guy's house, and you didn't get laid?" Ash looked up from her bricks and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her friend. "Sawyer, are you gay after all?"

"What? No! I was just helping Gideon with...some stuff," she stammered. "He was having a bad night, and I just wanted to cheer him up a little."

"You'd have cheered him up a lot if you took your shirt off," Joyce commented as she blew off a zombie's head. "How do you cheer someone up until five in the morning without fucking them, anyway?"

"I just...look you guys, we just read and talked, like always," Sawyer said finally, rising to her feet and heading into the kitchen to make coffee. This conversation was already beginning to give her a headache.

"Well that doesn't sound like amazing news," Ash remarked, turning her attention back to her blocks. "I can read and talk to people all night too, and I don't even get paid for it. You don't see me bragging about it."

"That's because you're not very good at it," Joyce piped in.

"No, you guys, shut up for one goddamn minute," Sawyer snapped, nearly breaking the handle off her coffee cup in frustration. "I really do have good news..."

*****
​

The next night Sawyer when arrived at Gideon's at the regular time, she still knocked on the door as a matter of courtesy, but since he had given her a key she figured she might as well use it once before she would undoubtedly have to give it back. With every hour that had passed since she last left his house she could feel a ball of nervousness growing in her stomach at the prospect this would be their last session together, even though they still had half the world to get through in forty more days. But the more she had thought about what had happened, the more times she had asked herself if she would keep paying someone to read to her after they'd seen her make a drunken mess of themselves. Of course that was assuming she could afford to pay someone to read to her in the first place, but still, if she were in that situation she'd probably want to cut all ties with that person as quickly as possible.

But the idea of no longer walking up to the house or sitting in Gideon's uncomfortable armchair mad her feel sad, and the idea of no longer seeing or speaking with him left her feeling rather hollow. She couldn't talk literature with her friends, and while they were certainly grateful to her for her cooking and her share of the rent, they never made her feel as special and appreciated as her boss did. That must have been why, even after everything that had happened the other night, Sawyer still smiled when she saw him, and probably why she had put on one of her favorite pale pink summer dresses on with a dash of light daisy-scented perfume as well. If he could think of her as the sweet, caring angel he had called her the other night, he might be a little more sympathetic to her employment situation than he would be to a sex-crazed vixen who dreamed about feeling him up in his sleep.

"Hey you," Sawyer greeted, coming up beside him and giving him a gentle touch on the arm to let him know where she was. "You're looking a lot better today. How are you feeling?"

While her habit would typically send her to her chair with her tea to open the book again, today she remained a little nearer to him, hesitant to begin the session until she was sure it wouldn't be their last. However she did have the presence of mind to keep her hands to herself after her initial greeting, and instead fidgeted with her phone as she leaned against the wall, taking care to avoid brushing against any of Gideon's photographs.

 

[TheDarkScribe]

The message played once again as Gideon got ready after his job, his text to speech adding a strange connotation to the ‘haha’ part of the message. It felt like it was translating into ‘old fool’ in his head but he knew it was just his imagination getting away from him. Sawyer had been on his mind to an inordinate amount, almost to his frustration. She was just someone helping out a guy who offered to pay for some services on the internet, nothing more. At most, maybe he was a curiosity or a charity case for her, something he was trying hard to accept. But the fact that she’d stayed with him continued to haunt him as it went against that idea.

But then he wondered if he’d said something wrong in the night, he didn’t drink much and he’d known how it affected his father. Had he said or done something in that time and she was just avoiding confronting him on it. She didn’t seem like the type to come out in direct confrontation, though she didn’t seem the type to be devious or uncaring either. He was beginning to understand that he really didn’t know the woman as much as he had thought, as much as he wanted.

“Bloody fool,” he said, sliding the crimson t-shirt over his head. It was one of the things he’d gotten Alice to help him with yesterday in preparation for tonight, ignoring the woman’s jabs that he was treating it like a date. He was pretty sure she’d rolled his eyes at his mention of it being purely a business arraignment and he had a certain appearance to keep up like any other one. It sounded good and he almost bought it himself, but he had noticed himself putting a little more care into his nightly dress than he would normally.

Once changed, he went downstairs and made a quick salad, still recovering from his drinking and a large business lunch. The steak had been good but it still weighted heavy on his stomach so the simple salad with some leftover shredded chicken was just right. A little ranch over top and it was just enough to fill the void for the night. Filling a glass of water, he carefully made his way into the living room to set it on the table next to where he normally sat on the sofa, replacing the bourbon from the last session. Once set down, he walked past the stairs into the small hallway that led past a downstairs bathroom and through the open door of his study. The room was wall to wall book cases much like the living room but many of them were filled with large plastic binders or thick law books. The binders had braille at the end but the books had the same dividers with longer braille type on them identifying the books. He liked to keep a home office for those days getting into the office was not feasible or he had medical issues to attend too.

The room was trimmed in wood and had an old school feel with a bench seat near the window which had been there when he’d bought it. It seemed a waist but Alice had insisted on keeping it in the redesign so he’d agreed, he only needed the seat, not the view. He had stocked it with the essentials but Jacob had insisted on keeping a humidor over here, always loving his cigars, so it sat in the corner. They still maintained it just because even though he didn’t really smoke them since his brother had passed, a flame lighter was a dangerous thing to a blind guy.

He heard the door open down the hall, smiling as he knew it could only be Sawyer, thought the smile quickly faltered. Would she be upset after the other day and what had happened, and had he done something to upset her that he’d not remembered doing. “Back here,” he called, his hands feeling over the desk. Finally, they found the black wood framed photo, feeling around the hard edges as he picked it up. He was hoping to get a better feel to make sure Alice had picked out the right one, she had a tendency to be a bit of a prankster with him.

And then suddenly, she was there back in his house and next to him, feeling the static touch of her on his arm, the corner of his lips twitching as he turned around. The frame was clutched in his hands and pressed against his midsection as he faced her, shrugging gently. “Better than the last two days,” he replied, his words measured and careful. “I don’t normally drink and there is many reasons why, the headaches only one of them. But thank you for taking care of an old fool Sawyer and I’m sorry I put you though any of that.” He leaned in a little closer to her and the sent of daisies filled his nostrils, yellow flaring in his inner vision. The tentative smile deepened as he took in a deep breath, fighting the urge to lean in and nuzzle against her neck to fully inhale her.

“Um,” he stared, a hint of pink tinging his cheeks. “As a thank you, I wanted to give you this. I don’t really have any need for it.” He held out the framed photographer to her, a glass covering protecting the black and white underneath. “It’s one of my favorite,” he said, waiting for her to take it. As soon as she took it, he started off back down the hall towards the living room, assuming she’d want to get the session started.

The black box sat in her hands but on top of the glass was another photo showing a 20-ish Gideon shirtless and laughing. It was in black and white with a mess of hair in his face, a book in his lap. With the black and white it was hard to tell if he was wearing light pants or none at all. A little note was stuck to it. ‘Gideon refuses to show this to anyone but someone else needs to see this. Artist self portrait. Don’t tell him.. or do. Thought you might appreciate. Alice.’ Under the photo, the other photo behind the glass, a carefully prepared landscape.

Gideon was half way down the hall when he paused, turning back around with a worried look. “Please tell me she gave you the landscape,” he asked, before turning back around. He kept a careful pace out to the living room as he did but paused as he came out, pointing out in the air for a moment. “I don’t take many landscapes but I thought some of the artier photos may not play well in your apartment.” A hidden smile played across his lips as he remembered his dive into body landscapes and how much he’d loved it, working with some lovely models who’d helped to create some of his favorite pics.

“Oh,” he said, point over to the couch. “I couldn’t do anything about the chair right now. But I had Alice help me bring out the chase lounge attachment to the sofa. So, you can sit over there if you’d prefer, It’s much more comfortable to the chair. And I promise I don’t bite.” He chuckled as he sat down on the sofa at one end near his water while the chase lounge was at the other end.