"I'm not scared. I'm not scared." She repeated the words like a mantra, partly to convince herself, but more for the sake of the man with his arms wrapped around her, pressing her body close to his, as if by holding her tightly enough he could stop the terrible, painful process that was destroying her from within. He'd loved her for so long, he'd just said he loved her before he knew her, as if they were destined for each other.
But if this was destiny, well, then she owed karma and payback an apology, because destiny was the real bitch.
The darkness was coming, quicker and quicker. She tried to whisper one more thing, tried to tell her brave, wonderful, clever prince- the unlikeliest knight in shining armor there ever was- how much he meant to her, but for once, her fear got the best of her.
"Please," she whispered his name, "why can't I stay?"
Then all was darkness.
"Yes, thank you, yes." He hated himself for this moment of weakness, for asking what he swore he never would. But he was dying. He knew it, she knew it. And the last thing he wanted to see was the face he had loved most, a love that had almost made all the pain and heartache in his relatively short life worth it. He knew it wasn't really her, even as he told her how much he'd missed her, but some tiny part of him whispered that it was, that whatever remnants of the woman he'd loved had come to the forefront and were manifesting to aid him in his final moments.
He could feel it, the life seeping out of him. But he had to hold on, to say one more thing.
"I love you," he managed to say, his last thoughts focused completely on the greatest love he had ever known.
Then all was darkness.
Benedick lounged against the bar of the classiest club in the city, thoughtfully watching the comings and goings of the people around him, flirting casually with the occasional beauty who walked by, and watching his supposed wingman make a well-meaning fool of himself. As the handsome man took another sip, the friend in question strode over, slid onto the stool next to him, and signaled the bartender for another drink.
"Struck out again?" Benedick asked, only a little mocking. At the other man's grunt of assent, he smiled. "Perhaps you ought to switch to matchmaking, instead of searching for a lady yourself, for then you might claim successes to your good name." His fair-haired friend glared at him as he laughed. "Peace, Pedro, I'm only kidding. Well, mostly." Pedro shrugged, taking a sizable drink from his glass.
"Alright, Casanova, if I were a matchmaking...maker of...matches..." he lost his train of thought temporarily, a side effect of the combined alcohol and rejection in his system, "then you, my friend, would be the very first I'd...match..." he finished lamely, but with a challenge in his voice.
"Is that so?"
"Indeed it is! And would you deny your lord this amusement?" Pedro demanded of his clever lieutenant, who had no answer. "I thought not. So, how about..." Pedro's gaze scanned the club. His eyes fell on a pair of young women at a table a little ways away. One was blonde, very pretty and smiling. But the other was the one who had drawn Pedro's attention: a slim woman with wavy brown hair, delicate features, and a smile that suggested a private joke you desperately wanted to be part of. "-her?" Pedro gestured at the woman subtly, allowing Benedick to notice her for the first time.
For a brief moment, the most loquacious man in the club was struck silent. She was beautiful, that was for sure, but there was something else about her, something that made him feel like he knew her already, although he would certainly remember having met her before.
"By this day, she's a fair lady!" Benedick murmured, forgetting himself and staring unabashedly. "I'm gonna go talk to her. I should go talk to her, right? I'm gonna go talk to her." Pedro grinned behind his back; this was a decidedly different side to his friend, and he had to admit he was enjoying it thoroughly. Straightening his jacket and mussing his hair just a little, Benedick casually loped over to the woman whose friend had just left her with a giggle.
"Excuse me, lady, but do you have the time?" he asked, inwardly cursing himself for such a banal line but outwardly maintaining his composure. She looked him up and down for a brief moment over the rim of her glass before replying coolly.
"The time, yes. The inclination, less likely." Benedick couldn't conceal a grin- a woman who could banter as good as she got was his kind of woman!
"Oh-ho! Well met, my Lady Tongue!" he teased, sweeping her an exaggerated bow. "Sharp as a knife she cuts me!"
"Yes," she replied dryly, "and a knife dulls when forced to cut too much thick meat and gristle. And so farewell." With that, she slid off her stool and began to move away. As she turned, she had to conceal a little smile at having a handsome and apparently clever man on the run. There was something about him that drew her to him. Perhaps it was the scruffy look in such contrast with the pretty boys populating the club, or the merry, thoughtful glint in his very blue eyes. Or perhaps it was something else. Either way, she had a feeling this was the most fun she had had in ages, so she let him stop her.
"But a knife only stays sharp when brought to match with steel of equal strength, does it not?" he challenged.
"And so you suggest steel should meet steel?"
"Perhaps it should." Just then, Pedro sidled over and clapped a hand on Benedick's shoulder, oblivious to his friend's slight groan at his joining them.
"Is my friend here bothering you, lady?" he asked amiably. Recognizing the powerful man, she simply shrugged.
"Not at all, we were just speaking of knives and steel."
"Speaking?" Pedro raised his eyebrows with a chuckle. "Then you must beware, lady, for once Signor Benedick begins to speak, it would take an army to make him stop! He has quite the mouth, this one!" This time, it was the woman whose eyebrows raised mischievously.
"Is that so, Signor Benedick?" she asked, her tone laded with sarcastic meaning. He grinned like a Cheshire Cat.
"So I'm told."
"To your face, perhaps," she conceded, "but to your back-"
"My back is equally admired as my face, I assure you." Pedro watched this volley of wits like one would watch a tennis match, whipping back and forth and only catching about half of it. "Come, lady, this is hardly fair. You know my name, but I have yet to know yours."
"Beatrice. My name is Beatrice."
"Well then. Beatrice. What do you think? Shall we continue this discussion further?" Beatrice considered for a moment. She was bored, and every other man in the place was almost unbearably slow compared to her- even Benedick's charmingly oblivious friend. But a challenge, a real challenge of wits- now that was an exciting prospect she couldn't resist. Beatrice finished her drink, then tucked her arm into Benedick's (to his well-concealed delight).
"All right, then, Benedick. Let's go."
So the idea for this story came to me with all the fandom giddiness over Alexis Denisof and Amy Acker playing Benedick/Beatrice in Whedon's Much Ado. I figured that there are some gaps in B/B's backstory that could be explained quite interestingly with a supernatural twist. Plus, I wanted the challenge of capturing that style of witty banter- how did I do? I'm sure you can all see why this story is categorized where it is (as opposed to in the Shakespeare section), but I hope you'll come along on the ride with me and see what twists and turns I have in store for these two. I would much appreciate some reviews to get me started and let me know what you think of this beginning. Thanks!
~C