Back in bed once again, Rembrandt settled in against her form, even as she wriggled to find just the right comfortable spot. Admittedly he'd slept in better beds, but for now this was just right for him. He didn't move much, just laid there and waited for her to settle right in. "There, there, now," came murmured words. Rembrandt closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come back.
Instead he was troubled at what more she would surprise him with. He was not upset with her, merely unusued to it. And that it unnerved him - just slightly - that the dregs of her old life still remained. Perfectly understandable, considering what she lived through. Rembrandt closed his eyes tightly and let his mind think back to the flower he gave her.
No one else had given her flowers, she said. No one bothered to notice her except when they needed her. And she believed everything people said because they made empty promises only to turn their back on her when it became convenient to do so. Anger began to boil over, and it made him sick. Rembrandt carefully crawled away from her in the dark morning gloom after she fell asleep and he paced back and forth again and again, sitting by the window and watching the sun come up.
Was he here with her because he pitied her? Was she here with him because he was the only one who noticed her? The words she couldn't say were miniscule in comparison, and when he cut his eyes to her form in the bed, he found himself frowning. What difference did it make in the end. He had her, she was his. And no one else's.
And that made him smile. Not because he owned her. Rather due to the fact that despite all the empty promises, somehow, she still chose him. She wanted him although he was no one, that he was a predator waiting for an empty vessel to steal. She chose him over anyone else that might have noticed her. And if there was any ownership, it was mutual.
Rembrandt returned to her side, crawling over her and waking her up with needy kisses to her cheek and neck just as the sunlight came up. He finally settled in beside her, stretching out and yawning. "Callista, what do you think we ought to do today?" he murmured, tucking a pillow underneath his head. "I think...we should go out and buy you clothes. Something you can make beautiful. Or, if you think we should do something else, I'm open to suggestions."