Work Text:
SPRING CLEANING
Julia Hoffman sniffled, fought not to sneeze. Resisted the urge to rub her eyes, itchy though they were. Why, she wondered, would people purposely choose to do major cleaning chores during a season when sensitivities were already irritated?
Not that *she* had any choice in the matter. She'd lived in this room for years now, doing little but keeping her clothing hung and her drawers neat.
Now, the closet was overflowing with outdated clothes (half the items she'd worn when she first arrived at Collinwood had been outdated before she ever bought them) and it was nearly impossible to squeeze clean underthings into the drawers without scraping her knuckles raw.
Still, if it weren't for the fact that she'd soon be leaving Collinwood altogether, she'd probably have just left it all alone.
But she couldn't.
She needed to pack. To sort. To get her act together, as the saying went.
And her allergies weren't happy about it. Not happy about it in the least.
Reaching into the drawer for the last pair of grayish panties (Dear God, why hadn't she thrown them out years ago? The lace was torn and the elastic had clearly given up the ghost--ha-ha, she thought wryly--around 1967. Well, maybe 1968…), she stabbed herself on something sharp.
"Ouch!" she cried, pulling her hand from the drawer and thrusting it into her mouth. (One of the filthiest places on the human body, her doctor brain told her; comforting, said the little girl deep inside.)
After a moment, she removed the hand from her mouth, checked for blood (why, she wondered? Those panties were goners!) then lifted the dingy garment from the drawer gingerly in order to see what she'd impaled herself on.
"Ohhhhh…" The word was softer than a whisper, barely as loud as an in-drawn breath as she picked up the delicate item that had been lying in the bottom of the drawer. Tears filled her eyes as she was thrust back into the past.
***His hand clutched hers, crushing her fingers with inhuman strength and driving the points of the crucifix into her palm. "If you think *that* can protect you," he exclaimed in scathing tones, "then you are a fool, Doctor. All those years when I was trapped in my coffin, I bore that same insignia on my breast. If I could withstand the pain for all that time, why should the mere sight of it now prevent me from doing with you as I wish?"
His other hand went to her throat, gripping the slender column as he had on so many other occasions. She scrabbled at his fingers, struggling to loosen them. The crucifix--a family piece handed down from her mother's mother at her baptism--fell to the floor as spots began to dance in front of her eyes.
He's going to do it, she thought. He's going to strangle me. Kill me. A complete break with reality--
Suddenly he let go of her throat, allowing her to collapse into a limp heap at his feet then, bending, he snatched the crucifix up from where it had fallen. "The next time you think to play with fire, Doctor," he snarled, "remember this." Holding the delicate crucifix between thumb and forefinger, he squeezed, folding the fragile piece in half and causing the soft gold to rupture. With an air of contempt, he tossed it onto the floor beside her. "I can do the same to you, should I choose," he warned, then turning from her, he was gone, leaving only a cloud of cold mist to mark his departure.
Several long moments passed. Trembling, she got to her knees and snatched up the broken ornament then dropped it just as quickly when the broken ends impaled her hand between thumb and forefinger. She watched as two ruby drops of blood welled from the tiny punctures that resembled in miniature those he inflicted on his victims. Tears filled her eyes, not from pain, but from fear--fear that he was now beyond her control, beyond any control other than that of the stake--and sorrow at the damage done to a piece she'd had for longer than her memory could recall, a gift from generations now lost to her. ***
A light tap at her door recalled her to the present. "Julia? Are you there? May I come in?" The door opened a crack as though the petitioner was already assured of his welcome.
Which he was. Or normally would be. Now, however--She gulped back an incipient sob, then snatching a handful of tissues from the box on the dresser, swabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. "Yes," she managed; trying for a more normal tone, she added, "of course you may."
He wasn’t fooled. "What is it, dearest? What's wrong? You're not getting cold feet, are you?"
She smiled, attempted a chuckle--it came out watery and uncertain. "I most certainly am not," she answered. "It's just these stupid allergies are so bad today. I appear to have stirred up dust that hasn't been disturbed in years."
"I see," he said. "In that case," His arms went around her, pulling her close, holding her to him. "I almost wish you would back out. I shall miss you..."
This time her smile was steadier as she looked up at him. "You're being foolish, Barnabas. We've been through this before. It's only for one month. As I've told you, I need to get back in the swing of things and my friend needs someone to cover for her. I'll only be five hours away. You can come and visit as often as you want. And I'll come home as many weekends as I can manage."
"I know." He stepped back, took her hands in his. Keeping his eyes down, he said, "I know, it's merely that--" he paused, frowned, his eyes rising to meet hers. "Julia, you're bleeding!"
"It's nothing," she said hurriedly. Pressing her lips together, she closed her eyes, gave a rueful smile and a little shake of the head. "I stabbed myself on something in one of my drawers."
"Let me see," he said, softly, tenderly.
She pulled her hand from his. "No!" More calmly, "No. It's nothing. It--"
But he'd already opened her clenched fingers to discover the ruined crucifix cupped in her palm. He inhaled sharply, his eyes going nearly black as he lifted them to meet hers. "I remember," he said in stricken tones. "That night--"
"Don't, Barnabas. Don't--"
But he wasn't listening to her.
"I knew, by the craftsmanship, the artistry, that this was an heirloom. I took pleasure in feeling it snap between my fingers. So many things--heinous acts--I don't remember, Julia. Or I recall them as mere shadows. Dreams. But this--this tiny thing--I remember…"
"Don't do this to yourself, Barnabas."
"How can I help it? This is what I am--"
"No!" she exclaimed, her eyes boring into his as she tried to make him believe. "It is not what you are. Even then, it was not you. It was the curse. You did what you had to in order to survive."
"I did not have to do this--" he gestured to the broken crucifix still cradled in her hand, "to survive. I did this because it gave me pleasure. It made me feel--"
"How did it make you feel, Barnabas? Can you remember?"
"It made me feel empowered. In control."
"And yet you weren't in control."
He looked down, his gaze focusing on the polished onyx stone in his ring. "No," he said forlornly.
Knowing how hard it was for him to accept what he had been but knowing, too, that he must learn to do so--learn to accept, learn to put it behind him and go on with the life that was now his--she made herself continue. "In fact, you were never less in control."
He drew a breath, "And yet you continued to try to help me."
Her voice was gentle as she asked, "There's a lesson in that, don't you think, Barnabas? I've gone away before--"
"It is not the same. You were at Wyndecliffe. You returned here daily--"
"It is the same, Barnabas. I was working, doing my job. Now, I will be doing my job once again. I will simply be a bit farther away, filling in for a friend. But I will still come back. Now that I finally have this--" she indicated the unusual ring she wore on her left ring finger, "--do you really think I'd just drop everything and leave you?
"After all the pain--" He paused, gathered himself. "After all the pain I've caused you--"
She shook her head. "I love you, Barnabas. I have for so long. I didn't give up on you before and I won't now. One month, Barnabas, just one month. The day after I return we will be married. Elizabeth and Carolyn are already planning the ceremony and the reception. I suspect if either of us gets cold feet, they'll be behind us, one with an antique gun, the other with a dagger to urge us on."
He smiled at the image she'd conjured but she could see that he wasn't convinced.
It was going to be difficult, she knew that. They'd walked such a perilous line in the last months. The journey to the past, all that had happened there, their return to the present. Their changed relationship. Angelique's death. Taking his face in her hands, she forced him to meet her eyes again. "You'll see. The month apart will give us time to adjust, to grow. It will be good for both of us. We will have time to gather our wits, put our affairs in order, accept in our minds and hearts that this is what we both truly want. You will have time to grieve--" She shook her head. "I know you were lying to Angelique that day, Barnabas, trying to assure that she went to her death believing you loved her in order to protect me--us--and your family. But still, somewhere deep in your heart, the man that you once were, the man that loved some part of her, still exists. That part of you will have the time you've never had to achieve a level of acceptance. And then the month will be over, gone before you realize it. As for this--" she gestured to the broken crucifix he still held, "Our relationship will be stronger because of all we've gone through. I promise, Barnabas." She drew a breath. "I promise," she repeated in a whisper.
He studied her as though memorizing everything about her. As though he were trying to take in and absorb every word she'd spoken. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. If you think it best…"
She smiled and nodded as she gazed into his dark eyes. She wasn't certain what was best. That part of her--the part that had thought she knew what was best in every situation--no longer existed. It was gone, victim to Collinwood and all that had happened there. What she did know, what she was certain of, was that Barnabas still had a long way to go, a lot of healing to do. It would take a lifetime. A lifetime she intended to spend at his side. "I do," she told him.
He licked his lips, looked at the broken crucifix in his hand for a long time. "May I keep this?" he asked finally.
"Whatever for?"
"I--I can sense you in it. It gives off an aura--" He paused. "I suppose that sounds foolish."
Perhaps it did. Who knew? The certainty she'd lost had been replaced by a firm respect for the unknowable. "Of course, you can keep it." Looking to change the emotional tenor of this encounter, she stepped close, prompting him to embrace her once again. "Now you'd better give me a kiss and get out of here, Barnabas Collins. I have a lot of cleaning still to do and *someone* has promised me dinner at that new restaurant up the coast!"
* * *
The month passed as she'd known it would. It had been hard, not seeing him every day as she'd become accustomed to, hearing his voice only over the phone for days on end. She couldn't deny how difficult it had been. How lonely, she'd been. Wouldn't deny it. But now it was over. She was to marry Barnabas today. She sniffled. Fought not to sneeze. Resisted the urge to rub her eyes, itchy though they were. Why, she wondered, had she agreed to marry him during rose season?
Then, as though the dark allergy circles that had taken up residence beneath her eyes weren't bad enough, she'd had little sleep last night. She'd intended to be back at Collinwood late yesterday afternoon. A pre-wedding dinner with the family had been scheduled. Unfortunately, the weather hadn't cooperated and she'd found herself fogged in midway between Mary Queen of Martyrs Hospital and Collinsport. She'd taken a room at a bed and breakfast then spent a restless afternoon and sleepless night before getting back on the road at the crack of dawn despite the lingering fog.
Now, she perched on the edge of the padded bench to study herself in the mirror over the dressing table. She leaned forward, peering at her reflection. Her hair was perfect, she'd had it cut three days ago by her favorite beautician. But her eyes--it was her wedding day and she looked like she'd spent the entire night crying. She picked up a bottle, studied it, put it back down on the dressing table. Concealer just tended to make the delicate skin under her eyes more irritated.
"Here you go, Julia. Swallow these. I promise they'll make you feel better," Carolyn urged as she placed a couple of bright pink tablets and a glass of water in front of her.
Julia picked the pills up, studied them for a moment, returned them to the vanity top. "They'll knock me out."
"Which is worse," Elizabeth rationalized as she examined the skirt that hung on the back of the closet door for wrinkles, "feeling a little drowsy or sneezing in your groom's face?"
"Feeling drowsy," Julia said stubbornly.
Carolyn returned. "Hold these on the skin under your eyes," she said, handing her a pair of cold compresses. She picked up the antihistamine tablets again. "And swallow these," she added, every bit as stubbornly.
A light tap at the door prevented Julia's irritated response.
"Julia? Are you there? May I come in?" The door opened a crack as though the petitioner was already assured of his welcome.
Which he was. Or normally would be. Now, however, Elizabeth hurried across the room and leaned on the door, holding it shut as far as she could without crushing the long fingers with the onyx ring. "Barnabas! You can't see the bride before the wedding. Surely, you know that. Now go away. We'll be down in a few minutes."
"Elizabeth!" Julia exclaimed. "You're being ridiculous. I'm not eighteen and a--" She'd been about to say virgin but she bit back the words. Barnabas knew she wasn't a virgin, but for him it wasn't something you spoke about in polite company. "Barnabas," she called, "don't go away. I'll be there in a moment."
"You're not dressed," Carolyn objected.
Julia gave a huffing sigh. "Give me my dress--no, the skirt first, then the top." She'd insisted she wouldn't wear white, wasn't going to dress up like a bride. A suit, in a pale shade, that was what she'd intended. Then Elizabeth and Carolyn had come to spend the night with her in her friend's apartment and take her shopping. Somehow, the sensible suit she'd intended had become a two piece, floor length georgette and satin dress in a shade that was hard to define. It wasn't exactly pink, but it wasn't ivory or bone, either. The georgette skirt hung straight but it was actually quite full; the satin bodice fit snug to the body with a drape of georgette at the neck that kept her from looking naked while leaving her shoulders bare.
Now, hopping around and trying to shrug it on in a rush, wobbling on higher than usual heels, she wished for the sensible suit she'd intended. But--catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she thought no, she was glad she'd foregone that suit.
"Hold still, Julia. I can't zip you if--" Elizabeth sighed but she was smiling as she locked the little tab in place. "Okay. You're done."
"How do I--" She said no more but the other women knew what it was she wanted to ask.
"Lovely," Carolyn breathed.
"Like a bride," Elizabeth added.
Julia barely heard their whispered comments as she moved to the door. She drew a breath. Opened the door.
Barnabas stood in the corridor. He looked up. Studied her silently. Approvingly. "You look--" Something seemed to be wrong with his voice for he paused, cleared his throat, began again. "You look beautiful, Julia."
'Thank you," she murmured, feeling suddenly awkward.
"I--" He noted his two cousins observing from Julia's room and fell silent again.
Julia turned, smiled, closed the door, blocking their view. "Yes?"
He cleared his throat again. "I had intended to give this to you last night after dinner." He held out a small box wrapped in Braithwaite's signature paper.
"What--"
"Open it," he urged.
She complied then, as the wrappings fell away and the lid opened at a touch of a spring-loaded button, drew a deep breath at the sight of gold resting on a bed of dark blue velvet. "My crucifix…" she whispered.
"I had it repaired. I hope you don't mind. I thought, perhaps, you might wear it today."
She lifted the delicate piece from the box, noted the intricate but thread-fine chain it had been mounted on, studied the stem of the cross where the break had been. "It's perfect, Barnabas. I didn't think--"
Her voice was shaky, she realized. So was his as he said, "The Braithwaites have always been superior jewelers. If anyone could repair your crucifix it would be them." He paused, drew a breath. "In a short while we will be exchanging wedding rings. I am aware of the symbolism of the ring, but, I thought that perhaps this crucifix might serve as a symbol as well, a very personal one that signifies what we have already experienced together, a reminder of how fragile a relationship can be…" He paused. "Perhaps it is a foolish idea--"
"No," she said breathlessly. "It is anything but foolish, Barnabas." She fumbled with the chain, trying to open the delicate catch. "Please, help me put it on."
He stood behind her, his long fingers tickling the nape of her neck as he in turn fumbled with the catch.
Once, his hands at her neck would have brought panic. Not now, however. As she thought about love and trust and the evolution of their relationship, Julia decided that, allergies aside, a little spring cleaning could be a very good thing.
The End