Storybook Notions
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Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, and I'm sure those who do would roll their eyes at yet more fluffiness from this Rhianwen weirdo. XD
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Summary: Joker makes Wendy an offer. Wendy searches for the catch.
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Throughout her life, Wendy had learned very well the lesson that happiness must be earned. Should something seemingly wonderful be simply dropped into her lap, she could expect to pay dearly for it later.
That was simply the way it was. Small, simple joys would require small sacrifices of time or energy, while large blessings would require something more.
So it only made sense that, when presented with the very embodiment of a silly, crazy, whimsical, girlish little wish that had lurked unwelcome at the back of her mind for years, she should be less than strictly thrilled.
Nothing so terrible had happened recently, if one didn't count being compelled to hide like frightened church mice, and that horible look of anguished guilt that came every now and again into Mr. Joker's eyes when he thought she wasn't looking.
What, then, would happen to restore the balance of good to bad again, if this was really what it seemed?
"Well, what do you think?" Joker asked gently, pressing the open ring box into her hands.
"I think you're either joking, or insane," she replied flatly, holding the small object gingerly, as though it was something particularly slimy and repulsive.
His smile faded, and he moved closer to her, one hand resting at the curve of her neck and brushing damp bits of hair away from her face, heedless of several hours of dirt and sweat accumulated in the process of yard-work.
"Neither, of course.
"Then it's insanity," she said resignedly. "The mad don't always know that they're mad."
He laughed as his hand moved to brush a smudge of dirt from her cheek.
"I think I haven't explained myself clearly enough. This is not something I'm suggesting on a whim. I think the practical uses of such a plan could be numerous."
"Practical uses," she repeated, not quite able to decide yet if she ought to be outraged or not, and kneeling and reaching for her hammer to cover it up.
"Well, yes. We've been very lucky so far, that no one has decided to look for us. But just because they haven't yet doesn't mean that they won't later on. I think it would be far better for us to be long gone when they happen upon this place."
"Which led you to suggest that we run off and get married?" she asked a little pettishly, giving the fence post a vicious thwack with the hammer.
"When we leave, we'll have to go somewhere. And I simply think that a married couple would draw less attention most places than two flat-mates."
She watched him incredulously for a long moment, and then set her hammer carefully against the thick wooden post, and stood up.
"What you're suggesting, then, is a temporary marriage, in name only, to reduce suspicion," she surmised flatly, outrage sounding better and better with each second. She would have thought that, even if he knew that she'd been silly enough to fall completely and irrevocably in love with a colleague before she knew what was happening, she'd behaved professionally enough that he might avoid trying to make her stomach knot up with a longing so fierce it might as well be hate. As a matter of common decency. "Once it's safe, we'll have it broken off, and—"
"Not quite what I was suggesting," he broke in, eyes and voice gently amused. "It would hardly be necessary, I think, to have it broken off at any point."
A sensation akin to missing the last step while walking downstairs in the dark hit her.
"…What?
"I've already told you that I've thought a good deal about it," he replied, understanding laughter in his eyes as though her reaction was all that he expected. "And it does seem a solution with no drawbacks."
"You…you think that remaining married, even after they've stopped looking for us, would have no drawbacks?"
"I certainly can't see any," he replied teasingly.
"What about cutting yourself off from the possibility of finding a wife that you can…" She choked a little on the word. "…love, because you've already married a girl that you can get along with?"
He smiled kindly.
"I think you're forgetting that not everyone in the world has the same silly fairytale idea of love that you do."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" she demanded hotly.
"It means," he said, still kindly and calmly, "that we've known one another for years, and we know that we suit each other. We get on well enough, we've similar goals, and we can usually tolerate one another's silly quirks without resorting to violence."
"That isn't love."
"I don't know what you consider love, then. It's a very close, valuable friendship, and more than enough for me."
"But only for now," she murmured, trembling a little as he moved to pull her closer. "I don't want to be an obstacle if you find someone who can be more than that. I-I don't want you to start hating me."
"Then how about this: we can work it into our deal right now that if either of us finds someone we can, as you say, really love, we part without another word."
She winced slightly.
"Alright. If you fall in love with someone else, I won't stop you. But you have to promise to tell me right away, alright?"
"If that's what you want, I promise. And if you fall in love with somone else--"
"I won't," she broke in quietly, looking him steadily in the eye despite the tears shimmering at the corners of hers.
Which was just as well, he thought, catching her hand and sliding the ring onto her finger before pulling her into an embrace, because he strongly suspected that the idea of releasing her to someone else would be distasteful at best.
But a small gamble for a considerable prize was quite acceptable.
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And not long after, on a night that she carefully called everything but their wedding night, he slipped silently the main bedroom of their new flat in the middle of a city too crowded for one youngish married couple to really stand out, to find her waiting for him.
His smile grew fond and predatory in equal parts as he took in the simple satiny white night gown clinging to subtle curves, leaving slim golden arms and throat bare.
White, indeed. Of course she was more experienced than her choice of sleepwear, or her look of half-terror when she heard his footfall and turned from the window, let on. Overhearing whispered conversations with the other girls at work had told him that long ago, not to mention providing some interesting material for hazy, muddled, feverish dreams. But the idea of finding his little assistant, ready and eager to learn, wide-eyed and innocent, pliable to his molding as a lover as well as colleague, had kept him awake and restless with need for the month it had taken them to arrange the marriage.
Apparently, she could hold onto a notion once she got it in her pretty little head, though; the slight flinch when his hand rested at her shoulder, thumb stroking gently and dislodging the narrow strap so that it slipped easily down, told him as much. She had obviously not been convinced by his wisdom on this occasion. Which leads him to wonder vaguely if she knows him as well as she thinks she does. Could she possibly name a man less likely to succumb to her silly, rosy, crystal-bright notions of love?
But nevertheless, her smile was warm and inviting, and as he leaned closer and let one hand drift down her back, her kiss very sweet.
She would understand someday that he was right.
She always did.
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A far longer stretch of time, several months, found her placidly drying breakfast dishes, calm and tranquil with the peaceful rhythms of their life as it had become.
They had to move a few times, of course, but she became quickly used to that: packing, and unpacking, but not too much, because they might have to pack again at any moment.
Whenever he told her, with a reluctant sigh at all the trouble it will mean, that they'd have to move again, she would burst into corresponding outrage that some people just can't leave well enough alone.
He would always laugh, gently and kindly, rest one hand on her hair – one of his new favourite gestures over the last little while – and remind her that they were hardly innocent.
Well, he was hardly innocent, at any rate.
When she heard slow, quiet footsteps behind her, the way his always were before another move, she tensed.
"They've found us again?" she asked, tossing the dish rag into the sink and turning, drying her hands quickly on her apron.
"Er, no," he replied. "But there's something else I want to talk about." A long pause. "Before we married, I made a promise that I would tell you immediately if--"
"Oh, that's wonderful!" she broke in, unable to listen to any more, voice already cracking slightly. "I know you'll be happy together. I'll get started packing."
He watched, startled, as she sprang from her chair, and jumped as a ring, starred with diamonds, landed on the kitchen table in front of him. As she hurried past him, he found the presence of mind to catch her wrist.
"You don't want to know who she is?"
She hesitated, looking everywhere else in the room to avoid his eyes.
"It isn't really my business, is it?"
"I don't know; I think it's important that you find out. Now, sit."
She sat accordingly, blinking furiously and staring fixedly at a place on the wall just behind his head.
"I suppose it was foolish to play games with luck this way," he began, toying with the rings that she had hastily removed. "But in this case, I suppose it worked out for the best. Not many men are so fortunate, falling madly in love with their wives after the fact."
"Well, that's wonderful, Sir, I'm really happy for—em, what?"
"And now my suspicion is confirmed; you really don't listen to more than half of what I say if you can possibly help it," he said teasingly, rising from his chair and slipping engagement ring and wedding band back onto his wife's slightly shaking hand.
By now sniffling viciously, tears dripping down her cheeks despite the hysterical laugh bubbling up from nowhere, she clung tightly to his middle, head resting at his waist.
"You complete and utter git."
"What a thing to say to your husband," he said, voice heavy with mock-sorrow. "And over a promise that you extracted from him by force."
"I'm still glad I did," she said whimsically, hugging him more tightly. "Force is the only way to get anything out of you."
"Not the only way," he objected with a wicked smile.
Caught off-guard by the mental image of herself throwing a half-horrified Mr. Joker down on the meeting table and tearing at his clothes in front of their entirely horrified colleagues, she giggled madly.
"You know, I couldn't exactly employ that method back when we were working," she finally managed, wiping away tears of - partly - mirth. "If I could, I'd have had lots more long weekends. And I suspect you'd have been a lot more relaxed in general."
He sighed, melodramatically wistful.
"All that lost time we have to make up for!" He caught her shoulders and pulled her swiftly to her feet. "Shall we get started? You know, catch up what we've missed a little at a time."
"So, exactly what am I trying to seduce out of you?" she asked, voice dropping to a throaty purr, fingers already working quickly at his shirt buttons.
He grinned.
"Why don't we decide once we get there?"
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End Notes: Yup, cheesy, predictable story with an abrupt ending! But it was cute to me. :D