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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Edwardian Script ITC font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word installs this font automatically.

Editor's Note: Jenny Walker has graciously allowed me to represent her original story No Half Measures on BigCloset. Originally published on BigCloset Classic, this story segment was not migrated over to BigCloset TopShelf. This story segment first appeared on BigCloset Classic on Sunday, January 04, 2004 - 03:26 AM. Due to the original story presentation format being unsuitable and unwieldy for most portable devices (each part being over 1 meg in length), the story is now being broken up into single chapters for easier reading. The original Movements will be indicated on their respective chapters. The first chapter of each Movement will retain the original comments and read hits so as to preserve them for the author.

Sephrena Lynn Miller

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Chapter 45
 
 
I gasped as I burnt my hand. The pot handle was hotter than I had thought. I grabbed a padded oven glove and lifted the pot off the top of the cooker. I stirred it vigorously and sighed.

"Too thin," I murmured.

I added some more flour and stirred it in and then put the pot back on top of the heat. I was trying to follow my mother's old recipe for Welsh lamb stew. The concentration required had given me a bit of a headache. I stood up straight, closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. I suddenly had the sensation that someone was watching me and I turned around quickly.

"Daddy!" I protested. "You scared me. What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?"

My father was standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against one of the doorposts with his suit jacket hanging over his free arm. He chuckled. "I was just watching you working away there. How's it going?"

I pouted. "OK, I think. I'm sure it will taste awful though."

He smiled. "I doubt it." He paused. "You know you don't have to do this, don't you?"

"Do what?"

"All the things you're doing for me. The cooking, the cleaning, laundry and so on."

I raised an eyebrow. "Who would be doing it if I wasn't? From what I saw when I arrived here and from what Claire has said, you weren't doing too much of it yourself."

He grinned ruefully. "Never been much used to it, I'm afraid," he murmured.

My heart went out to him. My father was not a chauvinist — he was just a traditional man from another generation. He had not enslaved his wife in his household; rather, she had willingly seen the home as the place she could best serve her family. Such a view is not a popular one today, but I admired my mother for what she had done. She had sacrificed her career and probably some of her personal ambitions to bring up her family in a place they could all call home.

I had never fully appreciated the benefits at the time: coming home each day from school to find our mother waiting for us, eager to hear the stories from our day. She would have a snack waiting for us and then would help us through our homework. So different from the generation of latchkey kids who let themselves in and could do basically whatever they wanted without anyone seeming to care what that was. OK, perhaps I'm being unfair and biased, but that's the perspective I have.

I walked over to him and smiled up at him. "I'm afraid I'm not too well used to it either, but I'm learning."

He squeezed my shoulder. "I think you're doing a fantastic job, but as I said, you don't have to. I could get someone in to do the housework." He winked. "I mean a famous rock star making lamb stew… and getting flour in her hair?"

I laughed and brushed at my hair. "Have I really?"

He chuckled and gently flicked at my hair. "Here, let me."

"Anyway, I'm not thinking of myself as someone famous. It's been wonderful these past few weeks to just be normal. Normal is what I've needed."

He laughed. "Normal? You? Child, you may be a lot of things, but normal is not something that would come to the forefront of my mind."

I feigned a pout. "Daddy! I'm not sure what I prefer: your terrible teasing of me now or before when you wouldn't talk to me." I paused a moment and then grinned ruefully. "Actually don't believe a word of what I've just said. I know exactly what I prefer. Feel free to tease as much as you want."

He stood there just in front of me and smiled down at me. His eyes took on a faraway look.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" I asked gently.

He refocused on me and then nodded slowly. "Yes, I am. Not a day goes by…" He shrugged. "Time heals, but I'll never stop thinking about her. I just can't wait 'til I see her again."

I took his hand and squeezed it. "I know, but please tell me you aren't planning on making that trip just yet. I know that might sound selfish."

He smiled at me and ruffled my hair in the way that he used to do to Claire when she was younger. He knew that it annoyed her and I'm sure he had a fair idea that I felt the same way. "No, my dear, not until it's my time. I've plenty more that I want to do here and, truth be told, these past few weeks I've realised a lot more of the reasons that I have for living."

"Thanks, Dad."

He rubbed his hands together. "Now, let's check out this stew of yours, I'm starving."

It turned out to be much better than I had expected. This of course was not saying too much. My father said that he loved it, but then he had to, didn't he?
 

*          *          *
 
Since arriving back from America, I had been adamant that I wanted to stay in Cardiff for some time. I felt as if I needed to get to know my father all over again. Claire stayed each weekend and it was great to share the feeling of family again. Jools had understood and had told me to forget completely about work. She was going to take care of anything that arose.

There had, of course, been intense media interest in my kidnapping. I had had no desire to face the press, so Jools had arranged a press conference when we arrived back in the U.K. and she had given them a short statement. She made it clear that I was going to be unavailable for any interviews and requested that I be given privacy to spend time with my family. So far, that had been respected.

Ken Johnston, the senior executive from Sony that I had met when I first signed for them had made the trip up to Cardiff to see me. He had apologised for what had happened to me. He said that Sony felt some responsibility given that Simon had been their employee. I had told him not to feel any guilt — Simon was the guilty one. He assured me that Sony would do everything to support my career and to take as much time as I needed to come to terms with all that had happened.

Someone once said that there is no such thing as bad publicity and I could see what they meant to a degree. My ordeal had made the headlines in the U.S. and correspondingly 'Forgotten How to Love' had climbed the charts there to number twelve. 'No Half Measures' had peaked at number eight in their album chart. Jools assured me that this was the silver lining of the cloud. She then corrected herself and said that financially it was going to mean a heck of a lot more than a paltry silver lining. All this, of course, pleased me, but it didn't seem just as important as other things in my life at that time.

Gareth had been uneasy about leaving my side, but I felt that there was no great need for him to be with me all the time now that the obvious threat had gone. I had asked him to keep an eye on my house and he'd decided to move in to watch over it.

Jon had visited a couple of times during the first week that we were back. I had been happy to see him and had apologised for the things I had said in America and the way I had behaved. He had told me to forget about it. Although it had been good to spend some time with him, I felt that I needed some breathing space and time to think through things, so I had asked Jools to subtly pass this on to him. 'Jools' and 'subtly' were words that I rarely used in the same sentence, but I had to trust that she would be tactful on this occasion.

Being at home with my father was slightly awkward for the first week or two, but we gradually got used to one another. It really was like getting to know him all over again and I think that he felt the same way. We were redefining our relationship. The trouble before had been that although I had become Nicola, he was still trying to relate to me as a son. He had changed to relating to me as a daughter. There is a significant difference in the two relationships. I had no doubt which I preferred: the relationship between a father and daughter is closer and much gentler than that shared with a son. I could sense that my father was increasingly protective towards me and I felt a security and comfort from being with him that I had never really noticed before.

We had talked more in a few weeks than we had done in years. I think it was therapeutic for both of us. I was candid with him about all the changes that I had undergone in the past year or so. Whilst it was hard for him to come to terms with a lot of what I told him, he was doing his best to understand. I had even told him about what had happened between Jon and me in Yosemite. I didn't quite tell him the full extent of my feelings in that area. That was something I was still trying to work out for myself. Dad talked about Mum a lot. He shared stories from the past, most of which I had heard before but that didn't matter. He talked about the pain of his loss and the difficulties he had gone through in the months following Mum's death.

"It's amazing the love you two shared," I said after dinner one night as he had been telling me stories from their courtship. "I mean, a real lasting love."

He looked at me slyly. "I'm sure you'll find someone yourself."

I felt myself redden and wasn't sure what to say. "Err… I don't know. Maybe, I guess."

It wasn't going to be Charlie. One of the first things I had done when I arrived back in Cardiff was to phone him and ask him to come and see me. He didn't take much persuading. He had obviously been worried sick about me and had thought about flying out to Seattle when Jon had phoned him to tell him about the kidnapping. He had decided not to as he wasn't sure where our relationship stood and how I would have reacted. I think he knew that things weren't as they should have been. It had been good to see him, but I knew that I had to do a difficult thing.

"Charlie, I really like you and I enjoy being with you…"

"Oh God, here it comes," he had said as he forced a smile.

I had sighed. "Charlie, I'm really sorry, but I just don't think I love you." I paused. "When we started going out together, I wanted to give us a chance. It just hasn't worked out."

He had grinned and shrugged. "I was expecting this, but I'll not lie and say it means nothing to me." He smiled wanly and squeezed my hand. "You're an incredible woman, Cara, and I'm afraid I could very easily fall in love with you…" He sighed. "Thanks for not leading me on under false pretences though."

We had embraced and I kissed him on the cheek. As he was leaving, he turned to me and said, "There's someone else in your heart, isn't there?"

I was quite taken aback. "Err… I'm not sure."

He smiled knowingly. "It's Jon, isn't it?"

I had hesitated and then decided that he deserved the truth. "Yes, I think it is."

"Does he know?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so."

"He's a damn lucky guy and I hope he realises that." He hugged me one last time. "You have to tell him."

"I know," I murmured.

My father coughed deliberately. "You're miles away, Nicola. Penny for your thoughts?"

I brought my attention back to the present and smiled. "Oh nothing, just thinking…"

"You love him, don't you?" my father said softly.

His words shocked me as much as I would have been had he slapped me across the face. "What? I… I don't know what you're talking about."

"That boy, Jon. You love him, don't you?"

I looked away and couldn't meet his penetrating gaze. My face had flushed and I felt my palms getting damp. "Daddy, I don't know what to say."

"Nicola, dear, you can tell me the truth. Surely we've progressed beyond the stage of having to hide things from each other."

I looked up at him and smiled guiltily. "Yes, but that doesn't mean a girl has to tell her father everything."

He shrugged and winked at me. "You don't have to say it. I think it's fairly clear. The way you reacted when he came to see you. The way you look at him. I've seen it before."

"When?" I asked with my heart suddenly pounding in my chest.

He smiled strangely and quietly said, "It's the same way your mother used to look at me."

I swallowed hard and looked away for a moment again. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I think I do love him." I looked over at him and screwed up my face. "Does that repulse you?"

He shook his head slowly and with a gentle smile said, "No, it doesn't. I've accepted that you're my daughter. What you’ve told me about your doctor’s findings has helped me to do that. I want you to be happy. I want you to find someone that you can be as happy with as I was with your mother. If that's this boy, Jon, then seize the opportunity."

I nodded glumly and looked at the floor as I sighed.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently. "How does he feel about you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. That's the problem. I think the thought of a relationship with me would turn his stomach. I don't know that he could consider such a thought."

"Well he's a fool if that's the case. Have you told him how you feel?"

I shook my head. "Probably the opposite. I've given him every indication that I don't feel anything special for him."

My father groaned and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Why do you women always do this?"

I laughed and then got serious again. "I didn't really mean to. I was trying to tell myself that I didn't feel this way."

"You have to tell him."

I grinned. "So people keep saying." I hesitated and thought for a moment. I took a deep breath. "Daddy, there's something else I have to tell you…"
 

*          *          *
 
My father had listened to what I had to say. We had a long and involved discussion, but he had been generally supportive of my plans. There was someone else I wanted to talk to about what I was going to do. I had been attending church each Sunday with my father and Claire. Nathan was still the assistant minister there and he had been delighted to see me again. I phoned him up and asked if I could have some of his time. He readily agreed. It was a rare clear February morning and we met for a walk in a nearby park.

He asked all the usual things about how I was keeping, how I was feeling. I assured him that my life was really quite good all things considered. Although I knew that I had been through something horrible, in a way I felt better now than I had done before the kidnapping. Beforehand I had been on a self-destructive path that wasn't helped by the fear of the then unknown threat. I now felt freed from that. It was like I had been given another chance.

We sat on a park bench and watched the mothers with their young children in the play park.

"You wanted to talk about something in particular, Nicola?" he gently prompted.

"Yes, Nathan." I paused. "During my kidnapping, I prayed." I was quiet again for a moment, but he didn't say anything. "It had been a long time since I’d done anything like that." I turned and looked at him. "I think that God heard and answered my prayers."

"How does that make you feel?" he asked.

I turned to watch the kids playing again. I shrugged. "I don't really know. Pleased? Scared?"

"Why would you feel scared?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Because for the first time in my life it might actually seem as if there is someone way up there who was looking out for me."

Nathan was silent for a moment before speaking, "You don't know what, if anything, to do now."

I nodded.

"You wonder if you should do something about it. On the other hand, you wonder if you can just turn your back again."

I grinned. "You're good. Do they teach you all this in minister school?"

He laughed and shook his head. "Not really. I once felt much the same as you. When I started to realise that God might actually be real, I was terrified. Part of me wanted to run a mile, but another part of me had to follow it through."

I nodded. "That's just it."

"Why don't you give God a chance and see what happens?"

I looked away and furrowed my brow. "It's not that simple."

"No, but it is. That's exactly how simple it should be."

I looked back at him and sighed. "Nathan, there's things about me that you don't know… things that I think would make it impossible for me to… be accepted."

He put a gentle hand on my arm. "You're wrong and I mean that in the nicest way. We don't come to God because we're good enough. It's exactly the opposite."

I grinned ruefully. "It's not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick."

He nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly, that's spot on."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know all that, Nathan. I've known it up here," I tapped my head, "for as long as I can remember." I placed my hand over my heart, "It's what's in here that is having a hard time accepting it."

"Nicola, no matter what you've done, it's not so bad that you can't come to God."

I looked away and shook my head. "You don't know…"

He gently put a hand under my chin and turned my face back towards his. "Why don't you tell me then?"

I laughed mirthlessly. "I'm worried that you'd hate me… well not hate me, but you'd be disgusted maybe?"

He frowned. "Nicola, come on, do you think I'm like that, there's nothing that…"

"I used to be a man," I said quickly.

That silenced him. His mouth hung open and his eyes goggled. Then he shook his head. "You're not taking this seriously." He looked at me and I looked back completely seriously. He blinked a few times. "You are being serious?"

I nodded. "I'm afraid so."

He scratched his head and gave a low whistle. "I can't believe it."

"Thanks," I said softly, "I'll take that as a compliment."

He looked at me closely as if looking for the cracks in my façade that would show him the man underneath. "Nicola… are you for real? I hope I'm not stepping over the line here, but you're one of the loveliest women I've ever met."

I felt myself flush a little and I couldn't help but smile. "Nathan, I'm perfectly serious. Why do you think my father and I had such a rift between us after my mother died?"

His eyes widened again. "Wow, I suppose that would explain it. I often wondered…" He hesitated. "How… why?"

I told him a somewhat censored but reasonably accurate version of the events surrounding my transformation and my life since then.

He seemed almost stunned when I finished. "This is so hard for me to take in," he mused.

"Now you know why I feel so unsure about things with… you know, God and all."

He sat for a moment staring out at the park before us. I wondered if he had heard what I had just said. He then snapped out of it and looked back at me. He shook his head. "I don’t think it changes what I said earlier. This doesn't make any difference."

I winced. "Isn't this like totally against what the church teaches?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it specifically before, but it doesn't change what I know about men, women and God. There's nothing that a man or woman can do that will prevent them from coming to God if that's what they truly want. If God won't turn you away, then I sure won't and neither should any proper church."

I was quite surprised by what he said. "Aren't you going to tell me I have to stop perverting nature and go back to what I was meant to be?"

He looked intently at me. "If I said that was the case, would you do it?”

I frowned and shrugged. I thought for a moment before replying. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure. I mean, I want to be serious in any change I make in my life; I don’t want to be a hypocrite. I’m not sure if I could… go back.” I paused. “I’d like to think that maybe I would, if that was what was required… but I don’t know if it is physically possible.”

He nodded slowly. “I agree. What you told me about your hormonal condition is perhaps the key to my understanding of this issue. From what you said, sometimes people with this condition grow up appearing to be women to greater or lesser degrees. Your condition certainly explains how you came to be this woman I see in front of me. How on earth could I tell you that you weren't meant to be a woman? Do I define it by genes or hormones? I can't imagine you could ever look like a man again. Remember when I talked to you after your mother died?" I nodded and he continued, "I told you that things happen in this life that we may never fully understand until we look back from heaven."

"I remember," I said.

"I think you are walking living proof of that. God moves in mysterious ways, Nicola, and I believe he's moving in your life. Who am I to pretend that I fully understand it? I don’t think I can tell you to do anything different."

I let his words sink in. I smiled at him. "You don't know what a relief it is to hear what you've said to me today. I was sure you'd want nothing to do with me."

He laughed and I saw him redden a little. "What's wrong?" I asked.

He chuckled nervously. "I think that I might want more to do with you than I should, given that I'm your spiritual counsel."

My eyes widened and it was my turn to blush. "Nathan… I don't know what to say."

He grinned and shrugged. "Forget I just said that."

"I'm flattered, really I am." I paused. "What I've told you is obviously extremely confidential…"

He interrupted. "You don't have to worry. You have my word that the only other person who will hear about it is God when I pray for you." He paused and grimaced. "That sounds a bit corny, doesn't it?"

I laughed. "Yes, I'd strike that line from your handbook if I were you."

"It's the thought that counts."

"Nathan, can I tell you what I'm planning? I'd value your opinion…"
 

*          *          *
 
I put my suitcase into the boot of my car and turned back to my father and Claire.

Claire was practically wringing her hands together. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

I shook my head. "I'm sure, Claire, I've thought this through and I have to do this alone."

"But I could come with you," she protested.

"No, I can't ask you to do that. You can't afford that much time off work."

"Who cares about that? It's not important, compared to…"

I interrupted her gently, "Claire, I'm really touched, I am. This is just something that I have to do myself. I've other things that I need to sort out and no one can help me with them."

"What other things?" my father asked.

I shook my head. "I can't tell you yet. I'm still thinking through another problem I have to deal with."

My father stepped forward, opened his arms and hugged me tightly. "Well you be careful, you hear? I've just got used to having my youngest daughter around and I want to enjoy her company a lot more."

I buried my head against his chest so that he didn't see the moisture forming in my eyes. "Thanks, Dad," I murmured after swallowing hard. He kissed the top of my head and released his hold on me.

Claire hugged me next and kissed my cheek. "Keep in touch, Nicola."

I grinned. "I will. I'll be fine. I'm ready for this."

I got into my car and waved as I drove off to start my journey back to London. As I drove, I cast my mind back over the previous four weeks that I had spent in Cardiff. It had been a happy and calming time. I hadn't had a single drink of alcohol and fully planned to continue in that vein. I had done a lot of hard thinking and come to some conclusions. Several phone calls and a fair amount of Internet research had guided me to my current path.
 

*          *          *
 
"So this is what I'm paying you for?" I said from the doorway of my den.

Gareth opened his eyes. He was reclining in a soft armchair, his legs resting on a footstool in front of him. He chuckled. "Sorry, boss, didn't hear you come in."

I grinned. "Your powers of alertness are most reassuring."

He laughed. "Hey, I'm sort of off-duty. I was running on a lower level of threat surveillance."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well that level would be fine assuming the threat came dancing in naked singing 'threats are here to stay'." I tried to maintain a straight face, but I couldn't hold it and started to snigger.

He joined in, stood up, and walked over to me. He awkwardly hugged me. "It's good to see you again, Cara."

I hugged him back with genuine affection. "Likewise. So how are your old ribs healing?"

He feigned a hurt look. "Hey, less of the old." He shrugged. "I'm doing fine. Back to one hundred percent. Not that it's been required around here. The greatest worry I've had is watching my waistline with all the fine food Mrs. Pantridge has been forcing on me."

"How is she?"

"She's grand, but I think she's planning on adopting me as a surrogate son." He grimaced.

"I'm sure you'll both be very happy together."

He waved a hand at me and laughed. "Are you back for good then? Back to work?"

I smiled ruefully and shook my head. "I'm afraid not. This is a bit of a flying visit. I'll be… heading off somewhere early tomorrow. I've some business to take care of this evening first though."

"Where are you going?"

"What — tonight or tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "Both."

"Just things that I need to take care of. Personal stuff."

He inclined his head. "Fair enough. I'm presuming then that you don't want me along."

"It's not that I don't want you to come, just that these are things I have to do myself."

"Will you be away for long?"

I nodded. "Quite a while, I imagine. I was thinking: it wouldn't be fair of me to tie you up here doing nothing for a long period of time. If you want to… seek alternative employment, I'll understand."

He frowned. "I'm not looking for a new boss. Unless you want to let me go, I'm happy to wait until I'm needed again."

"I don't want to let you go at all."

He winked. "Besides, there's no way I could get a better looking boss."

I laughed and blushed. "Gareth! Doesn't that breach your professionalism?"

He shrugged and flashed me a crooked smile. "Sometimes my job demands that one tells their employer the truth, especially when you think they could do with the encouragement it brings."

I grinned. "Thanks, Gareth. I'd better shoot on now. Take care."
 

*          *          *
 
I stood on the doorstep for several minutes before I could bring myself to press the doorbell. I was tempted to nip back to my car and check my appearance in a mirror, but I had spent too much time doing that before leaving home and whilst en route. I was wearing a knee-length, dark red tartan skirt over black tights — I was really getting into my tartans — a black roll neck top and a red woollen jacket. I knew that my make-up was perfect and my hair sitting just as I wanted; yet I felt an irrational worry about how l looked. I knew that this apparent concern about my appearance was a reflection of my deeper fears about why I was there. I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell of the ground floor flat.

After a long wait, it felt like an eternity but was probably only two minutes, the door opened a fraction and a face peeked out.

"Cara?" Jon asked.

I smiled. "The one and only."

He frowned. "What are you doing here?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is this how you greet all the guests who come to your new apartment?"

He smiled awkwardly. "Err… no. What can I do for you?"

"You could start by inviting me in."

He hesitated. "This isn't really a good time…"

He wasn't helping my considerable nervousness. "I just need a few minutes of your time, Jon."

He slowly opened the door to let me enter. I noted that he was wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. I walked into his living area and he followed me in.

"Nice of you to dress for the occasion," I quipped.

He gave me a funny sort of smile. He seemed somewhat distracted, but I didn't really pick up on it at the time.

"Uhh… you want to sit down?"

I nodded and took a seat. He sat down opposite me and ran a hand through his hair. "What's up?" he asked.

I chewed my lip and looked over at him. Part of my brain was screaming at me to jump up and run out of the room. I was sorely tempted to take that advice, but the way my heart had leapt within me on seeing him again convinced me otherwise. I had thought through all the different ways I could go about this, but in the heat of the moment all my preparations seemed pointless.

I looked away briefly and then looked back at him. He looked uncomfortable and puzzled. I smiled shyly and took a deep breath. "Jon, I don't know how to say this so I'm just going to come straight out with it. It's been eating me up inside and I know there's a lot of history between us, but I have to tell you…" I froze and couldn't seem to continue.

"Cara, this really isn't a good time. Could I call over to your place tomorrow…"

"Jon, I'm in love with you," I said quickly.

I thought that he was going to have a coronary or something. He stared at me with wide eyes and he visibly paled.

I smiled nervously and with more than a little embarrassment. "There, I said it," I murmured softly. "I'm sorry to drop this on you, but I couldn't keep it bottled up inside any longer." I looked at him and waited for him to speak, but he just looked miserable. "Aren't you going to say anything?" I asked as I winced.

He exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair again. "Cara, I…"

We were both distracted by the sound of a door opening. I looked around and saw a raven-haired woman stepping out of what looked like the bedroom. She was wearing a long white shirt that probably belonged to Jon. Apart from that and her panties, she wasn't wearing anything else. That much was clearly evident, as the top few buttons on the shirt were undone.

"Jon, honey, what's going on?" she asked. She saw me and stopped speaking immediately.

I felt a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach and my face flushed. I stood up, swallowed hard and said in a shaky voice, "I'm sorry. You're right: this is obviously a bad time. I shouldn't have come." I whirled around and headed for the door.

Jon stood and called, "Cara, wait… please…"

I didn't wait. I flew out the front door and ran to my car. I jumped in, gunned the engine and sped off. I just about managed to reach the end of the street before the tears started.

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