I do not own Princess Tutu. All rights remain with their respective owners. I make no money off this.
Once upon a time there was a boy who fell in love with a duck. She had not always been just a duck, and he had not always been just a boy, and they had not always been in love, but that is how this story begins. The boy had pledged to stay ever by his love's side, even though they could not communicate in anything more than glances, and everyone wondered why the boy kept no company other than a solitary yellow duckling. They spent their days together at the pond, and she would swim and do as ducks do. He would watch her and write and frown, but when he noticed her looking he always had a sweet smile for her. The little duck would look as concerned as a duck could and continue swimming, because what else could a duck do? More importantly, was there anything the boy could do?
Fakir had spent every day since he had broken Drosselmeyer's machine trying to write Ahiru back into a girl. He could accept that maybe she had been a duck before Drosselmeyer had started interfering with Kinkan Town, since he had seen a cat that looked suspiciously like Neko-sensei. He would not accept, however, that he could not write her into a girl again, since Drosselmeyer had done so once already.
Every day he had tried a new approach to it. He had immediately discarded the idea of including Princess Tutu in her resurrection- her story had ended when the Raven had been defeated and Mytho and Rue had ridden off in their flying carriage as prince and princess. Autor had also pointed out that according to the rules of fiction a female character could not end up with someone beneath her. Princesses always ended up with a prince or a king, even if his true identity was a secret until the very end of the story, revealed just in time for the hero and heroine to ride off into the sunset of happily ever after. Knights were not equal to princesses. Fakir wanted to hit him, but Autor's words only strengthened Fakir's aversion to including Tutu in the story. After that Fakir had been sure not to write anything where Autor could find him, and Autor had sported a smug expression every time Fakir had seen him since. This only exacerbated Fakir's desire to hit his distant cousin, but the idea of being unable to write with a broken hand was what dissuaded him from that course of action.
Fakir finished the flourish on the last word of this attempt, straining his ears for any sound that would indicate his efforts had finally paid off. Ink-stained fingers wrapped around the doorknob at the sound of a startled quack! and pulled so hard the door slammed against the wall behind it. Fakir's eyes frantically searched as he moved down the hallway and staircase into the combined kitchen/dining room, searching for the cloud of yellow feathers (or, oh please, finally, let this have worked and let the feathers be gone) that would indicate what sort of trouble Ahiru had gotten herself into this time.
There was indeed a large cloud of feathers floating down onto the top of the table and floor around it, but it was a distinctly human 'owwwww' that met his ears, and the hand he could see sticking out from under the table was also most definitely human. As was the arm that followed, and the shock of red hair, and then the bare back... wait. Fakir quickly found himself facing the wall and wishing that perhaps in his fervour to write Ahiru back into a girl he should have also remembered to write her into some clothes as well. When her slender arms wrapped around his waist and her tears and garbled 'thank goodness'es muffled themselves in the back of his shirt, though, he found himself smiling, despite the blush burning it's way across his face and creeping down his neck.