It was late when the soft, soulful tones of an alto saxophone carried Dimitrov gently out of the hazy tides of sleep. Shifting silently, he blinked, fingers flexing, lungs pulling in a deep, tired breath as one hand crept across cool, empty pillow, hesitating where only a phantom touch in the fabric lingered in place of Tessa’s sleeping form. Sitting at the other end of the room with her back toward him, the major was a neutral silhouette against a background of silicon stars, her soft, grey robe hanging loosely about shoulders that rolled a little with every note she caressed from her brassy sax. The way she played it, breathing her passions into it, her fears, her worries, letting them pass out and through it, emerging transformed into notes of song, left him smiling dreamily, absorbing each sound as it rolled over and through him, washed across his soul like the misty fingers of a bayside tide.
There was no real pattern to the sound, no course, no eventual destination. When the major played, she played for herself, used the instrument to express the thoughts and feelings, the emotions that she couldn’t find the words to frame or speak. It’s beautiful, Dimitrov had said once about it, and Tessa closed her eyes as she reflected on the words. Its like watching two people make love, two people who are so close they seem to share a soul, seem fragmented and diminished when they are alone.
Funny, she thought. Every time I touch it, every time I pick up my sax... I think of her. I think of Izzy.
All at once, she stopped, the soft, bluesy strains faltering mid-note. The mouthpiece slipped from her lips, fingers tightening across brass as lines tightened at the edge of her mouth. Somewhere behind her, Dimitrov stirred quietly, stretched into the sheets.
“I don’t think there is anything more beautiful in this entire universe than you when you’re playing your saxophone.” A soft smile stretched its way across his lips.
“Ben, do you...” Tessa said suddenly, then hesitated, pulling in a shaky breath in the pause. “Do you ever think about... about her?”
Dimitrov blinked, gaze moving across her back, lingering on the edge of eye that she turned toward him. “Who?”
“Theo.”
“My old fiancé? Never.” He burrowed back into the blankets, grinned tiredly. “Did I have a fiancé at some point?”
“I’m serious, Ben.” Tessa glanced back fully, caught his gaze, saw the smile fade from his lips when he noticed the pain in her eyes.
“I don’t... really.” He tried, swallowing, hesitating for a moment before he finally sat up. “Not much, I mean.” He breathed a sigh, looked away. “It hurt a lot, what happened, getting that message that she’d found someone else, that she was breaking things off to marry that...” He shook his head. “That damned civil engineer.”
Tessa looked down again, let her eyes find the floor. In the silence, Ben pushed himself to the edge of the bed and sat upright, scratching his head.
“I’m over it now.” He looked up, regarded her silently in the pause. “Theo and I didn’t work out. It’s all the past. I’ve got you now, Tessa.”
Smiling slightly, she looked away again, let her eyes find their way back to the silicon window and the electronic stars as they milled slowly past. In a moment, Ben was there, bare feet padding across floor as he dropped in behind her, wrapped his arms gently about her shoulders, nuzzled her neck with a tender kiss. Eyes closed as she leaned back into him, surrendered to him, the edge of a smile creasing its way across her lips.
“You okay?” He breathed a moment later, kissed her hair. “Is it the operation?” He pulled in a deep breath, closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair, voice coming quieter, slower. “You know no one will judge you if you bail.”
“It’s... it’s not that, Ben, I–” She looked down, shook her head, swiping gently at the buds of fresh tears as they rose to moisten her eyes. Hands tracing their way across her shoulders, Dimitrov moved to crouch at her side, meeting her eyes as their hands came together, folded one into another. “When we touch...” She breathed, squeezed gently. “Do you ever...” She reached out, caressed his arm, eyes solid, unwavering. “Can you hear, can you feel what I’m thinking?”
“No.” He said softly, but the word echoed in Tessa’s ears as loud and final as the note of a coffin nail driven home in a single blow. She closed her eyes as he pulled in a long breath, squeezed back. “Can you?”
“Izzy was the only person I could read like that.” Tessa swallowed, eyes opening, moist with restrained tears. “We used to refer to the connection as a link, a sort of conduit that we could hear each other’s thoughts through.” She reached out, let one hand rise up to stroke Dimitrov’s cheek. “I’ve never had that kind of connection with anyone, not before or since.”
“That’s why you do it.” Dimitrov said quietly. “All of it.” His hand rose, gently caught her own as it slipped from his face, fingers interlacing. “You miss her.”
Tessa’s eyes slipped to the floor, a beaten sigh escaping from shaky lips.
“Yeah.”