Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2011 8:09:12 GMT 10
Title: Romance, or a lack thereof
Rating: PG
Word Count: 348
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: The sickroom of Dedicate Rosethorn is not the best place to say, "I love you."
There were many places Crane considered romantic, or would if he ever contemplated such silly, transient notions. The perfect place, if such a place could ever be defined, to make a speech and admit a feeling strong enough to change a life forever.
The sickroom of a recently ill Dedicate Rosethorn was not one of those places, but he supposed it would suffice.
"Will you just spill it out?" Rosethorn snapped, irritable with alternating boredom, fatigue and coughing. "I have no time to waste on watching you pacing."
"I thought time," Crane retorted, "was the one thing you had aplenty."
"Not for this," Rosethorn insisted. She sat up, and though her hair was tangled and face contorted into a scowl, the healthy coolness of her skin was the loveliest thing Crane had ever seen. Not that he would tell her.
"Crane," Rosethorn said exasperatedly, "it can't be that bad--"
"I love you."
"Oh," Rosethorn said. "It is that bad." He winced and she didn't, for Rosethorn never apologized for being blunt, but the blank surprise on her face soothed him a little. She had been shocked. Truly, amazingly, shocked.
"Absolutely terrible," Crane agreed, "since I still cannot stand you."
Rosethorn softened almost imperceptibly. "All this time, Crane?"
Crane sighed. The chair he pulled out scraped against the floor as he sat in it, draped almost comfortably, but not quite. "I thought I had forgotten. If I could. But then I almost lost you. Tell me I should have pretended nothing changed."
Rosethorn didn't say yes -- how could she? She was barely free of the hallucinations from her fever, and both a pitcher of cool water and a pot of willowbark tea stood on the small table by her bed.
"Some feelings are more difficult to lose than others," Crane said, covering one of her hands with his.
After a moment, Rosethorn's other hand clasped his -- small but tough, strong digits and neat nails, around Crane's elegant fingers.
"I know," she said quietly, hands tightening briefly. "After all, I'm still angry with you." And she grinned.
QC by: journeycat
Rating: PG
Word Count: 348
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: The sickroom of Dedicate Rosethorn is not the best place to say, "I love you."
There were many places Crane considered romantic, or would if he ever contemplated such silly, transient notions. The perfect place, if such a place could ever be defined, to make a speech and admit a feeling strong enough to change a life forever.
The sickroom of a recently ill Dedicate Rosethorn was not one of those places, but he supposed it would suffice.
"Will you just spill it out?" Rosethorn snapped, irritable with alternating boredom, fatigue and coughing. "I have no time to waste on watching you pacing."
"I thought time," Crane retorted, "was the one thing you had aplenty."
"Not for this," Rosethorn insisted. She sat up, and though her hair was tangled and face contorted into a scowl, the healthy coolness of her skin was the loveliest thing Crane had ever seen. Not that he would tell her.
"Crane," Rosethorn said exasperatedly, "it can't be that bad--"
"I love you."
"Oh," Rosethorn said. "It is that bad." He winced and she didn't, for Rosethorn never apologized for being blunt, but the blank surprise on her face soothed him a little. She had been shocked. Truly, amazingly, shocked.
"Absolutely terrible," Crane agreed, "since I still cannot stand you."
Rosethorn softened almost imperceptibly. "All this time, Crane?"
Crane sighed. The chair he pulled out scraped against the floor as he sat in it, draped almost comfortably, but not quite. "I thought I had forgotten. If I could. But then I almost lost you. Tell me I should have pretended nothing changed."
Rosethorn didn't say yes -- how could she? She was barely free of the hallucinations from her fever, and both a pitcher of cool water and a pot of willowbark tea stood on the small table by her bed.
"Some feelings are more difficult to lose than others," Crane said, covering one of her hands with his.
After a moment, Rosethorn's other hand clasped his -- small but tough, strong digits and neat nails, around Crane's elegant fingers.
"I know," she said quietly, hands tightening briefly. "After all, I'm still angry with you." And she grinned.
QC by: journeycat