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rainbowfic2013-03-24 03:20 am
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2013-03-24 03:20 am
Tea Rose 24, Danish Red 2: something more
Author: Kat
Title: something more
Story: In the Heart -- Regency AU
Colors: Tea rose 24 (Nobody minds having what is too good for them.), Danish red 2 (the snow queen)
Supplies and Materials: Tapestry (Tea rose/eraser), eraser (Regency AU), miniature collection, canvas, novelty beads (“There may be something there that wasn't there before. But then she's never looked at me that way before.” - Beauty and the Beast).
Word Count: 900
Rating: PG.
Summary: Gail and Nathan navigate marriage.
Warnings: background period-appropriate sexism.
Notes: This plotbunny actually woke me up.
He saw her walking the beaches of Lyme Regis, when he was in town on shore leave. Aaron was not with him, had stayed home with his minder instead, and so he could look to his heart's content.
She was quite pretty, with red hair and green eyes and a sharp, catlike face, but that was not why he looked—it was the flash of her smile, the angle of her head, the hint of cynicism and pain in the curl of her lip that he wished he could erase.
It was easier than he thought, to get an introduction.
--
When he asked her to marry him, a month later, she laughed, and said, "I suppose my father didn't tell you I'm with child."
He blinked for an endless moment. "I... had not spoken to him."
"Really?" She tilted her head, looked at him for a long moment.
He had to say something. "The baby's father..."
It was the wrong thing. Her lips tightened. "There will be no marriage," she said, curtly.
It was a bigger relief than he thought. She might not love him, but... "Then will you marry me?"
"I suppose," she said.
Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
--
She made an excellent wife, really.
He went back to sea barely a week after their wedding, and returned six months later to a wife far advanced in pregnancy and a son thrilled with the thought of a sibling. He had six months ashore now, and he was grateful—he would be there for the baby.
He came downstairs one night after putting his son to bed and she was sitting by the fire, mending a dress, humming absently and rubbing her belly every so often.
She was so beautiful he caught his breath, and she did not love him.
--
Two weeks later and the babe was overdue, its mother unhappy, its brother anxious. He himself did not know how to feel. The babe would carry his name, of course, but he did not know how much else he would be allowed to have.
He could not imagine how the babe's father had refused this woman. He had known her seven months and he could not imagine life without her. It hurt to know she did not love him, but she was his wife at least; if she was too good for him, at least that could not be undone.
--
The babe was a girl, a daughter—her mother named her Ivy like the plant that twined 'round their cottage. Appropriate; she'd twined 'round his heart just the same, so small and already so winning.
Aaron was a gift; so too was this child, not his, and yet completely his—his name, his family, his daughter by almost any measure. Her mother was a miracle, granted to him only for a short time. Already he could feel her withdrawing.
It hurt less, when Ivy was in his arms, and so he tried to hold her as much as he could.
--
Ivy was two months old when her mother came to him and said, bluntly, "I am glad you love her. I wish you could forgive me."
He could only stare for a moment. "Forgive you for what?" he managed, at last.
She shrugged. "You were very kind," she said, "to marry me. I know it."
"I was not," he said, because he hadn't been. "You were kind to agree."
Her eyebrows went up. "What, and you my only option?"
That pain again—his heart twisted. "I would have offered for you anyway," he said.
Something flinched then, in her eyes.
--
She came back later, and said, "I married you because I wanted to."
He shrugged, and rocked the sleeping baby—he had taken her up earlier and held her to his heart, for the ease of it. "I was your only option."
"I could have remained a spinster," she said. "I could have married Ivy's father."
He glanced up, sharply. "I thought he refused you."
Surprise washed over her features, before old anger darkened them. "I... no, I refused him." She hesitated, then added, "I accepted you. Because I wanted to."
He did not know what to say to that.
--
"I love you," he said, that night when he came to her room. "I am sorry I never told you before. But I love you."
She tilted her head, her eyes wide and unreadable in the darkness. "I love you too," she said. "I think I have since... since you held Ivy. Before, perhaps."
It was embarrassing how long he had loved her, so he did not say it. Instead, he took up her hands, and kissed the backs, one by one. "You are too good for me," he said, quietly.
"I am very bad," she said, and kissed him.
--
He lay beside her afterwards, half-asleep, her head on his shoulder and her hand half-curled on his chest. She was asleep, he thought, and soundly; he hoped she had good dreams.
He would, he knew. He would dream of her, of a life with her; of more children, of a cottage inland when he retired, of grandchildren, and roses in the garden, as red as her hair.
She stirred then, suddenly, her breath washing across his neck. "I love you," she said, lowly, "and you are too good for me."
He tightened his arm around her, drew her close. "Never."
Title: something more
Story: In the Heart -- Regency AU
Colors: Tea rose 24 (Nobody minds having what is too good for them.), Danish red 2 (the snow queen)
Supplies and Materials: Tapestry (Tea rose/eraser), eraser (Regency AU), miniature collection, canvas, novelty beads (“There may be something there that wasn't there before. But then she's never looked at me that way before.” - Beauty and the Beast).
Word Count: 900
Rating: PG.
Summary: Gail and Nathan navigate marriage.
Warnings: background period-appropriate sexism.
Notes: This plotbunny actually woke me up.
He saw her walking the beaches of Lyme Regis, when he was in town on shore leave. Aaron was not with him, had stayed home with his minder instead, and so he could look to his heart's content.
She was quite pretty, with red hair and green eyes and a sharp, catlike face, but that was not why he looked—it was the flash of her smile, the angle of her head, the hint of cynicism and pain in the curl of her lip that he wished he could erase.
It was easier than he thought, to get an introduction.
--
When he asked her to marry him, a month later, she laughed, and said, "I suppose my father didn't tell you I'm with child."
He blinked for an endless moment. "I... had not spoken to him."
"Really?" She tilted her head, looked at him for a long moment.
He had to say something. "The baby's father..."
It was the wrong thing. Her lips tightened. "There will be no marriage," she said, curtly.
It was a bigger relief than he thought. She might not love him, but... "Then will you marry me?"
"I suppose," she said.
Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
--
She made an excellent wife, really.
He went back to sea barely a week after their wedding, and returned six months later to a wife far advanced in pregnancy and a son thrilled with the thought of a sibling. He had six months ashore now, and he was grateful—he would be there for the baby.
He came downstairs one night after putting his son to bed and she was sitting by the fire, mending a dress, humming absently and rubbing her belly every so often.
She was so beautiful he caught his breath, and she did not love him.
--
Two weeks later and the babe was overdue, its mother unhappy, its brother anxious. He himself did not know how to feel. The babe would carry his name, of course, but he did not know how much else he would be allowed to have.
He could not imagine how the babe's father had refused this woman. He had known her seven months and he could not imagine life without her. It hurt to know she did not love him, but she was his wife at least; if she was too good for him, at least that could not be undone.
--
The babe was a girl, a daughter—her mother named her Ivy like the plant that twined 'round their cottage. Appropriate; she'd twined 'round his heart just the same, so small and already so winning.
Aaron was a gift; so too was this child, not his, and yet completely his—his name, his family, his daughter by almost any measure. Her mother was a miracle, granted to him only for a short time. Already he could feel her withdrawing.
It hurt less, when Ivy was in his arms, and so he tried to hold her as much as he could.
--
Ivy was two months old when her mother came to him and said, bluntly, "I am glad you love her. I wish you could forgive me."
He could only stare for a moment. "Forgive you for what?" he managed, at last.
She shrugged. "You were very kind," she said, "to marry me. I know it."
"I was not," he said, because he hadn't been. "You were kind to agree."
Her eyebrows went up. "What, and you my only option?"
That pain again—his heart twisted. "I would have offered for you anyway," he said.
Something flinched then, in her eyes.
--
She came back later, and said, "I married you because I wanted to."
He shrugged, and rocked the sleeping baby—he had taken her up earlier and held her to his heart, for the ease of it. "I was your only option."
"I could have remained a spinster," she said. "I could have married Ivy's father."
He glanced up, sharply. "I thought he refused you."
Surprise washed over her features, before old anger darkened them. "I... no, I refused him." She hesitated, then added, "I accepted you. Because I wanted to."
He did not know what to say to that.
--
"I love you," he said, that night when he came to her room. "I am sorry I never told you before. But I love you."
She tilted her head, her eyes wide and unreadable in the darkness. "I love you too," she said. "I think I have since... since you held Ivy. Before, perhaps."
It was embarrassing how long he had loved her, so he did not say it. Instead, he took up her hands, and kissed the backs, one by one. "You are too good for me," he said, quietly.
"I am very bad," she said, and kissed him.
--
He lay beside her afterwards, half-asleep, her head on his shoulder and her hand half-curled on his chest. She was asleep, he thought, and soundly; he hoped she had good dreams.
He would, he knew. He would dream of her, of a life with her; of more children, of a cottage inland when he retired, of grandchildren, and roses in the garden, as red as her hair.
She stirred then, suddenly, her breath washing across his neck. "I love you," she said, lowly, "and you are too good for me."
He tightened his arm around her, drew her close. "Never."