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In Between - Revised	By : PassingThroughUlthar Category: A through F > The Bartimaeus Trilogy Views: 1997 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Bartimaeus Trilogy or any of the characters. I am not making any money from this story.

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- 1-In Between - Revised
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I logged into here for the first time in maybe a year, and the honestly unexpected reviews inspired me to revise this chapter (one of them is over a year old, but still). The story is exactly the same, I only changed some of the more awkward phrasing. So, thank you, Michael The Third and freak-joy-spastic.

I remember my ideas for the sequel only vaguely, but I think I'll still give it a go.

06/07/2011

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In Between

I was leaning against the wall in Ptolemy’s study and watching him, as it had recently become my habit, in the guise of a young man with Greek features and curly hair. I had come in about half an hour ago, but my master was too consumed by his studies to have noticed. Head bent and brow furrowed, he was sitting on the floor, brooding over strips of papyrus covered in hieroglyphs, occasionally adding his own notes or translations. Finally, he sighed, rubbed his weary eyes and tossed up his head. The second the glowing black eyes met mine, they lit up with a smile, effectively interrupting my train of thought. I did not really mind that, because it had not really been going anywhere. Not for months. Ptolemy smirked. My preference for this guise amused him. Apparently, he couldn’t decide whether to attribute it to my personal vanity or to my desire to please his eye ¹. “Pretty…” he murmured. Then, noticing my unmoving face:

“Rekhyt?”

In my expression he had read something I didn’t perceive myself, and therefore wasn’t able to hide.

The ache in my essence grew stronger, but now it felt like the source of it was not the smothering material world outside, but something deep in my slender tunic-clad body. Ptolemy studied my face frowning slightly. Then he shook his head and said: “Your heavy silences are beginning to bother me, Rekhyt. Don’t think that I am not aware of them. You used to be quite different, something is happening to you... You know, when I told you that I found your constant chatter tiresome, I didn’t mean that - ”

For an instant he seemed stunned. Understandable, really, because he found himself in my lap with my arms wrapped tightly around him. Somehow I doubt that it was my speed that surprised him.

I pressed my face into his hair and waited. He was silent. On the inside I was pleading for a reaction. Just a little gesture that would tell me whether to turn him around and try my best at physical displays of affection, or to fly away in shame to await his call. If it ever came. Instead he just sat there, tense to the point of trembling. Just as I thought that the silence would become too much to bear, Ptolemy sighed and leant back into me. He rested his head on my shoulder and I noticed that his eyes were closed ². Bringing his lips to my ear he whispered: “Rekhyt… What are you doing?”

I am not even sure I really heard those words - it was more like I felt them brush against my cheek before they slid down my neck and, tingling, spread all over my skin. I gave the only explanation I was capabble of:

“I love you.” Human words. No spirit had ever uttered them.

My master made a noise – like something had tried to escape his throat, but not quite managed to break out. He turned around in my lap to face me. Stared at me. Pitying, regretting, apologizing, I imagined. Then he leaned forward.

“I love you too.” Human.

Without taking my eyes off him, I brought my hands to his cheeks, bent my head down until I felt his breath on my unmoving flesh, our noses almost touching.

Seconds passed, then - the muscles in his face spasmed under my fingers and Ptolemy violently tore away from me. Almost instinctively I grabbed him by the arms and held on. There was a short struggle but I refused to let go. Finally Ptolemy seemed to compose himself. He drew a deep breath.

“Rekhyt. Let go of me.”

Trying to stop myself from fully processing what had just happened I loosened my grip and watched him inch away from me, before getting to his feet at a safe distance. For a few moments he just towered over me, gathering thoughts, or maybe just catching his breath. Then:

“You did not need to do that. I know perfectly well that you are acting like this because you think it will somehow be pleasant for me, make things easier, but believe me, even though I am merely human, that doesn’t make me … I would rather have a sincere lack of conventional expression, than affected… lust.”

He bit down on the inside of his mouth and looked away, then sunk to the floor again, just out of reach. There I was watching my master suffer. I would have gladly given my life for him, thrown myself before any enemy, but now I saw no way to protect him. From myself. Himself. From what was or wasn’t, what should or shouldn’t be between us.

“Please. Don’t…” I whispered. “I don’t… I…”

Not knowing what else to do, I slid over to him and pulled his body against my chest. He didn’t struggle any more when I stroked his face and pressed my lips against his forehead, and even allowed me to lie on the floor and pull him down beside me. My eyes closed, I held his thin body against my chest and stroked his bony arms and back. Both his hands were squeezed between us, tightly holding on to the fabric of my tunic.

Minutes passed.

My world was reduced to the sound of Ptolemy’s breath, his feverishly beating heart, the blood being pounded through his veins. Once again I found myself admiring the complexity and frailty, perfect efficiency and hopeless vulnerability of the human body. I could break the boy’s neck with a single movement; one tiny drop of poison would be enough to lethally break the equilibrium of the chemicals in his blood; raise or lower the temperature just a bit, and he would fry or freeze to death. And yet it was all working, and had been working for fourteen years. For millions of years, actually.

Did Ptolemy himself ever think of this? I doubt it³ . I don’t think he ever considered his body’s weakness – or its undeniable beauty. To him it was just another part of the suffocating world into which he felt that he didn’t belong.

By loving him the way I did, I had become something intermediate: far from human, certainly not belonging to Earth, but also irreparably separated from the Other Place by my thoughts, feelings and shamefully human longings.

Ptolemy had always been like that. Maybe it was innate, or maybe through now untraceable influences, he had become what he was: no longer a human belonging to Earth. He was not a child of his own time and place. His only companions were magicians and philosophers, already dead centuries before his birth, and spirits, who, however great their devotion, could only suffer from being with him. His agony was close to what we felt when trapped on Earth. Still, while a spirit always has the Other Place where they will return sooner or later, Ptolemy was trapped in between. Or at least he felt trapped, which is little better.

I sometimes think that there was another side to his goal of opening a Gate between the worlds; maybe he wanted to create an Earth he could belong to. Maybe - and this maybe makes me tremble internally whenever it creeps back to my mind: with love, regret... with emotions that I fail to understand even when I concentrate on them on all my levels of consciousness - maybe he had wanted a world that he could share with me. Maybe he had wanted us to unite.

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¹ A combination of both I’d say – not that I would ever admit as much to him.

² Here I should have begun with the displays, but you do understand, the whole situation was far too difficult for that.

³ And the subject had always been to delicate to ask about.
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In Between - Revised