Reaching it, Chenoa entered to find Tristan cooking on the stove.  He looked up and smiled at her tenderly.  She returned the smile, although hers felt awkward and forced.

“Your dad is working through dinner tonight.  He feels like he is on a roll and doesn’t want to lose concentration,” Tristan told her as he started to spoon his food concoction onto a plate for her.

“I’m not hungry,” she said quickly for an alarm in her mind had gone off.

Do not eat the food or drink he gives you a voice warned in her head. 

“Are you sure?  I made enough for the both of us,” Tristan said, his eyes full of surprise and a little hurt.

“I…I am sure.  Maybe some later,” she said trying to be kind.

“Oh, okay.”

Tristan beamed at her again, but she could feel the hurt behind the smile.  He took the single plate and sat down to eat.  Her stomach writhing with guilt, Chenoa stood there uneasily. Finally, she broke down and took a small plate of food.  Sitting next to Tristan, Chenoa said maybe she was a little hungry.  Tristan’s eyes danced in delight as he started asking how her day was.  Taking the opportunity to talk, rather than eat, Chenoa told him all about her day.  When she mentioned Gabby, Chris, and others, Tristan wanted to know more about them.  This took much more time to explain and describe everyone, so her food was soon cold and forgotten in front of her.

“Sounds like that Chris boy likes you,” Tristan said, his voice flat.

“Naw…he’s just Mr. Popular and likes to torture anyone who isn’t popular,” Chenoa waved her hand as if to remove the suggestion from the air. 

“So he picks on other people too?”

Opening her mouth, Chenoa was going to say yes, but as she thought, Chenoa couldn’t think of one instance when Chris did pick on other people.  In fact, Chris was quite nice to everyone in school but her.

“No…I guess he doesn’t.”

“Huh…well, then you should be careful around him because he seems a little violent for my taste.”

“Chris isn’t violent…he just thinks he’s funny when he’s not.”

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“You don’t have to worry, Tristan, but thank you.”

She placed a hand over his and for a moment felt truly comfortable with him.  He squeezed her hand and stared at her with apparent affection.  What kind of affection Chenoa did not know, so she pulled her hand free and excused herself.  She had homework to do.   Tristan watched her leave and shook himself.  Having feelings, genuine feelings, was not something he had had in a very long time.  He didn’t know she could awaken them so fast in him.

That night Chenoa slept with her window open to enjoy the summer breezes that were starting to reach her home.  Her sleep was deep and sound; her chest rising and falling rhythmically.  The winds flowed in and out of her room freely as the electric tattooed man appeared at the foot of her bed. 

Standing over her, the man brushed back the hair that had fallen over her face.  Chenoa smiled as she felt a summer breeze brush against her cheek.  Turning the man took on a serious face as he sat on the foot of her bed.  His body did not even shift the bed as if he were light as air. Locking his eyes on the closed bedroom door, the man seemed to glow brighter, his body humming with power. 

Suddenly Tristan was in the room, though the door had never opened.  He appeared startled by the electric man’s presences.

“Ventus Cordis,” he murmured, bowing in respect. “What are you doing here?”

“I am sitting,” Cor replied with a kind smile.

“I did not mean that literally,” Tristan scowled, annoyed by Cor’s play on words.

“Then you should ask a more specific question,” Cor grinned more broadly still.

“You are as annoying as the Cheshire Cat.”

“Ah, but I would believe more so since I actually exist.”

“Why are you here in Chenoa’s bedroom, Cor?”

“To protect her and guard her.”

“From what?”

“From you, Tristan.”

Tristan did not seem surprised.  If anything, he appeared relieved as he leaned against the wall by the door. 

“From me?  Why?”

“You know why.  You seem to lack all control around her.”

“I always am like this when around beautiful women.  It is my nature.”

“Not with her.  If you wish to be allowed near her, you must exercise control.  She is not someone you can feed off like other women.”

“I have not fed off of her.”

“I wish you would not lie to me, Tristan.  You know that lies stink to my poor nose.”

“I just fed a little, Cor.  Nothing to worry about.”

“Your feelings for her are too strong and she doesn’t know what is going on yet.  You must think of her well-being before your own.”

“I have always thought of her first.”

“When you feed off of her like some common human or nonhuman female, you do not think of her first.”

“I just wished to hold her again.  It has been so long.”

“But it was only a dream.  It was not real.”

“I could make it real if I wanted to…”

Tristan’s face became sharp and hungry-looking.  In a flash he sprinted at Cor, his aim Chenoa. There was a thunderous whooshing sound and eight-foot wings sprung from Cor’s back, making one smooth motion as they beat forward and back.  This one movement caught Tristan in the chest with a mighty gust of wind, knocking him backward, slamming him into the back wall of Chenoa’s room.  Groaning, Tristan looked at Cor as he stood there his wings expanded.  Cor’s wings were eight feet wide each, giving him a sixteen-foot wingspan, and reached from just above the floor to a few inches above his head.  They sprung from his back seamlessly and appeared to ripple with muscle.  These massive deep brown, almost black, wings resembled those of a California Condor. 

“See, Tristan, you are lacking all control,” Cor said sadly, his eyes pitying Tristan.

Growling, Tristan stood up and brushed himself off.  His green eyes shone brightly in anger.

“Why should you keep her to yourself?” Tristan snapped.

His eyes locked on Chenoa, who slept as if nothing was happening.

“Keep her to myself? Tristan, is your jealousy so great that you truly think that I have any intentions towards her other than keeping her safe?”

“I am not jealous!”

“Then why do you suggest that I wish to keep her to myself?  I merely wish to protect her from everything that could do her harm.  That includes you. You have not been around her in a very long time.  You must remember to control yourself.”

“I am in control.  I merely wish to be with her again.”

“You know you can’t be.  You being here is hard enough on her.  Can’t you feel her confusion when she is with you?  She doesn’t understand the feelings she is having.”

“She will soon.”

“Tristan, she does not remember you. She doesn’t remember any of us.”

Tristan paused and shifted his eyes to Cor.  Pain crossed both men’s faces. Shaking his head, Tristan couldn’t accept that there wasn’t a small part of her that remembered him.  There had to be.

“Tristan, she will be forced to remember soon enough.  Can’t you wait?  Can’t you wait until she is ready?”

“All I have done is wait for that…”

His voice stuck.  A fear crawled to the surface.

“What if she never remembers me?”

“Then you are not meant to be remembered.”

“I can’t accept that I am not meant to be in her life.  I can’t accept that I am not meant to be remembered.”

“It is not up to us to decide, but I will do my best to help her remember all of us when the time is right.”

“And what makes you the best person to decide when the time is right?”

“Maybe I am not, but who are you to force her to have feelings that she does not understand?”

Tristan walked along the wall, staying out of range of Cor’s wings.  He focused on his fingers as they ran along the wall.  Cor’s eyes never left Tristan.  While Cor’s body appeared relaxed, in truth all his muscles were taut and ready for action.

“I am who I am, Cor.  I can’t change that.”

“No one is asking you to.  Just try to control yourself around her.  Try to let her have a bit more time as she is.”

“I am not sure I can.  I am the way she has made me.  I am the way she has made me…”

Pausing Tristan grasped the window’s frame in his hands.  Looking at Cor, Tristan felt pain run through his entire body.  No one could understand, especially not Cor.  No one else felt her absence as much as he did. 

“I am sorry, Cordis, but I don’t think I can stop myself.”

Cor opened his mouth but only managed a hiss as Tristan slammed the window closed.  Ventus Cordis disappeared, leaving Tristan alone with the sleeping Chenoa.  Tristan strode to Chenoa’s bed and knelt next to her.  He brushed back her hair just as Cor had, his hands trembling.  A part of himself had awoken the day he first saw Chenoa again, a part of him that made him remember what it was like to be human.  It hurt and felt wonderful all at once. 

“Please remember me, Onatah…. please,” he begged softly.  “Please awaken and remember me.”

Tears slowly poured down Chenoa’s face, causing Tristan to start.  Chenoa was crying in her sleep.  Brushing them off her face, Tristan wondered why she was crying.  Placing his hands on her head, Tristan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

Tristan was suddenly in Chenoa’s dream.  She was collapsed on the ground holding something or someone in her lap.  Chenoa didn’t look like herself though.  She was older and very different.   Her hair was black as the spaces between stars and her skin a beautiful red-brown like clay earth.  At the moment her stunning face was contorted in pain.  She wept openly over the thing that was in her lap, clutched to her chest.

“Please forgive me,” she was begging.  “Please forgive me…”

Cautiously moving closer, Tristan willed himself to be invisible to Chenoa.  As he approached, he saw whatever she was holding glowed a gentle silver-white, though the light seemed to be dying.  Looking over Chenoa’s shoulder, Tristan gasped in surprise.  He looked upon the unconscious face of himself, though he was also much different. 

In the dream Tristan looked about the same age as the real Tristan but his hair was honey brown and reached to just above his ears.  His skin pulsed soft silvery-white and no breath seemed to be entering or leaving his body   For all Tristan could tell, his dream self was dead. 

“Tristan,” Chenoa cried, her voice sounding like the world’s heart was breaking.  “Tristan, please forgive my arrogance and selfishness…”

Her body shook and convulsed in pain.  The real Tristan could not feel his own heartbeat.  Sadness engulfed him.  He couldn’t breathe.  Gasping, the real Tristan fell to his knees, suffocating on the grief and pain that emitted from Chenoa.  A pair of feet appeared next to him.  Looking up, the real Tristan reached to the new figure for help and could not believe his eyes.  Another Chenoa was there with the same long black hair and earth-colored skin.  Her eyes were dry though and her face serious.  She did not help him as he drowned in the weeping Chenoa’s anguish. 

“You wish for me to remember this, Tristan?  This suffocating, drowning agony?” the second Chenoa asked in a voice that echoed as if it came from somewhere far in the past. 

“On..ona…onatah,” Tristan managed to gasp, grabbing the hem of her long dress.  “Please, help me…”

The second Chenoa only stared hard at him.  His vision started to darken as the grief consumed him.  Finally, before he lost consciousness, the second Chenoa reached down and touched his shoulder.  All the pain and grief left him.  Filling with fresh air, Tristan gasped and choked on the air. 

“Thank you, Onatah,” he murmured standing.

“I should have let you drown in my pain,” the woman said again in the echoing voice.  “As you would let my new body do.”

“No, I do not want that.”

“Yet you beg me to remember you.  When I remember you, Tristan, I shall remember this.”

She waved her hand over the scene before them.  Her eyes wavered for a fraction of a second before becoming cold again.  Tristan looked over the scene again.  Of course, he did not remember that day, but he had been dead.  How could he?

“I am sorry. I just miss you so much.”

“I am still here.  Do you not see me before you?”

“But you are not the same.”

“You are right. I am not the same, but no one stays the same.  You are not the same as the man I weep over in this memory.  Yet I accept you.  Why can you not do the same?”

“I want you to love me again.”

“That is the great thing about rebirth, Tristan.  It allows you to do things over.  You want me to love you, then make me fall in love with you again as you did the first time.  Learn the new me and fall in love with her, because we cannot change the past and we cannot return to it. If you want to love, then fall in love with the new me.”

The woman leaned forward, cupping Tristan’s face in her hands, and kissed him.  He shivered, feeling the whole world inside of him until the kiss was broken and he opened his eyes.  Tristan stood above the sleeping Chenoa.  The tears still ran down her face, but otherwise, they were alone.  Sighing in defeat, Tristan squatted next to Chenoa once again.

“I will make you love me again,” he whispered to the sleeping Chenoa as he stroked her hair.  “I will make you love me again and you will find my heart for me.”