AN: NO, they don't sound particularly Shakespearean. I tried, it fell flat. I apologize. But truly, you don't want the originally written lines inflicted upon you.

Yeah. Just random little "floaties" I had stuck between my ears on the last 6-hour car ride. Some thoughts from my FAVORITE couple in literature (from my FAVORITE Shakespeare play, actually- sorry for the slight gush) after they "find out" that the other is madly in love with them.

Further Ado

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Benedick's just heard about Beatrice's obsession with him. I'm stealing the setting from the 1993 movie. That fountain-splashing bit was much too epic to ignore. This is after the fountain-splashing, btw.

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Benedick sat at the edge of the fountain for a moment more, drumming his fingers on the stone. Leonato, he knew, never started dinner half as early as he called everyone to it, and so it had become general policy to wait a half-hour or so after being summoned to arrive.

He needed to think.

His reasoning, for the acceptance of…her… would, he now realized, mean absolutely nothing to Don Pedro. The Claudio might understand- but then, he might just laugh and make sly comments, as he had been inclined towards lately. Increasing amounts of time spent with her cousin had something to do with it, Benedick was sure.

Leonato would be…difficult. It was very possible that he would be grateful to be rid of his troublesome niece, but there was also to consider Benedick's own less-than-civil treatment of…well.

And the teasing would not to be endured.

He shifted position slightly, shaking the feeling back into numbing legs. Teasing. There was something odd, now that he thought about it, that Claudio and the Prince and Leonato had just happened to be speaking of Beatrice (Damn! He had been trying not to dwell on the name lest he lose all concentration whatsoever- where was he? Ah yes.) when he had just happened to be within hearing distance, and just when he had been thinking about it, that (he couldn't repress the habitual shudder), that marriage business, they had been discussing Bea- her affections for himself. Could it have been merely…?

But no, it couldn't be a trick. It wasn't fathomable. How could they ever have considered that he had any softness for her? Had he not protested the fact enough? At every opportunity had he not denounced her, and marriage, and shown his outstanding contempt for each?

Bracing his elbows on his knees, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. There had been that one…small slip, but they couldn't have known about that. Nothing had happened, so it didn't exist, anyway. It was forgotten. Gone. Away!

It was simply that he'd had a frustrating day, was all. See, it had been…oh, a year, about, since they had…drifted apart? Why had they in the first place? He must consider this further later- and they had been having, as usual, a (what had it been called?) "skirmish of wits" between them. What had it been about?

Anyway, for some reason or another, it had escalated into a shouting match, till they were both red in the face and howling. He'd been leaning over a table (he remembered this part quite clearly, more's the pity) and they had been nose-to-nose, eyes burning, ears throbbing with the other's volume. Beatrice (it was useless now to deny the name) had said something- something about battles, or the war- and in the instant when he'd felt his neck would burst with rage he'd had the horrible, wild impulse to grab her shoulders and kiss her full on the mouth.

Not gently, mind you (he wasn't so far gone as that, thank the Lord), fierce and dominating. And in his mind she kissed him back with the same intensity but he had her by the wrists and she melted-

Then Don Pedro had entered and Beatrice had stormed from the room, cracking her fan against the door frame with a rapport like a musket shot and effectively startling Benedick back to the real world. He had managed to end any since conflict beginning to stray into such dangerous territory with a neat joke and a swift exit.

That had been ages ago, however. Surely the Prince couldn't remember that far back, to some inconsequential thing that never actually happened on some unmemorable, unremarkable fourteenth of June.

No, it had been fate, a serendipitous meeting arranged by he who arranges us all. After all, everyone was entitled to his share of luck in his lifetime. Mind made up, Benedick got to his feet and set off in the direction of the supper hall, whistling a happy little tune.

After Beatrice overhears that conversation in which Hero bashes her into the ground (Woo! She speaks!) and also Beatrice is convinced of Benedick's love. Way-after; after-dinner-after. This is at night, but Beatrice has turned in early and Hero is off making eyes at Claudio. Who is staring back at her. With his mouth open (that movie again- the only time he closes that pie-hole is when he speaks, does anyone else find that odd?).

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Beatrice lay on her bed with her hands pressed to her mouth, making every attempt to quell the breathless giggles that bubbled up in her stomach and threatened commotion in the back of her throat. Goodness, she hadn't felt this giddy since she was six years old and that street juggler had lifted her up to toss her about, too.

That's what she was, now. Tossed about. Flying! She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, unable to stop the broad grin that made her cheeks ache. She'd never really thought of it before, but it had been years since she'd last smiled like this. She could be pulling a protesting Hero behind her to go throw apples at the soldiers' horses, all over again.

Rotten apples were always the best. They smashed against the cobbles something wonderful when they were stepped on, making the most terrific sticky mess and causing the riders to say some very interesting words.

Here I go, getting all sentimental, Beatrice thought, shaking her head at herself. Give me one piece of gossip and I- She sat bolt upright. Gossip? It couldn't be just a tale, could it? No, no, Hero didn't gossip. It had been one of Beatrice's few exasperations with her cousin. The girl was so meek she would put a ladybug to shame! But then, perhaps Beatrice should take a lesson or two. She looked down at the pillow again (she hadn't remembered picking it up) and clutched it to her chest. She hadn't really been that awful, had she? Proud and…and, oh yes she had.

Good mood spoiled, Beatrice punched at the coverlet. The trouble was (as she set her jaw angrily- punch, punch) that she'd built up this wall. This fortress of reasons why she hated him, wanted nothing to do with him or any sort of man, ever. Other women could weep and sigh over a pair of broad shoulders (Benedick, unlike Claudio, didn't have to wear padded tunics to fill out his dress coat properly, according to Ursula- oh, fie, she wasn't going to get caught up with that!), but she, Beatrice, would sit above them all and laugh at their silliness.

Funny how they were all married now and whispering about her singleness behind their hands.

Thrashing through her sheets again (she would tell Hero that there had been sand from the shore in her bed, should she ask, not that she was here now, but it was good to plan things) Beatrice firmly reminded herself that she didn't care. Those flap-skirts all had horrible husbands, barely saying two words to them, tramping home at God-knows-what hour and expecting them to be stretched out in wait for them, trussed up and ready to pop out more sons. Why, they'd never had two intelligent words in their entire lives, much less an acceptable conversation. She much preferred them that could speak, dispute with her, keep up. Maybe even best her once in a while, though of course not every time, for that would become tedious.

Abandoning the pretense of objectiveness, she closed her eyes and tucked her knees up under her chin. Benedick would be the only one she could have, why-ever hadn't she seen it before? Anyone else, she'd either run out of the house or they'd run out her. A strange tightness pulled at her belly when she thought of him, reminding her bizarrely of the time she ate too many currant pastries at her friend's birthday. Tens, hundreds of their little witty contests- each one throwing all they had into beating the other and seeming as if it were no trouble in the least- flipped through her mind, this one or that one snagging on something and staying a second longer on the underside of her lids.

There was a crackle in the air between them, when they spoke- she noticed this now, rather late. Perhaps she had taken it for the bite of distain. But then, her fingers wouldn't always be reaching to point out a twig in his hair, or she wouldn't be tossing at night in a fevered stew over how he'd tied his shirtsleeves precisely just to annoy her.

The fact that it was a comfort he tied his shirtsleeves instead of someone else tying them for him was one to be resolutely denied.

She remembered once they had- the whole group, Leonato and Hero and everyone- been out on a picnic once (this was after the Separation) and she'd tripped on a loose slat in the bridge, and he'd reflexively thrown out an arm to catch her before he realized who it was. Well, of course he had to make a jest about it, and she had to put him in his place, but she had been fervently glad that the darkening sky had hidden the flush to her skin. Why his touch had had such an effect on her, that time, she did not know. They hadn't so much as grazed hands since the…end of their previous relationship, maybe that had something to do with it. She had, at the time, brushed it off as too much wine and embarrassment at having to be saved, both of which had been factors but neither of which (Beatrice now admitted to herself) would contribute to the idea she had briefly toyed with of tripping over the next bridge, too. Naturally, she had discarded the fancy quickly, but for some ridiculous, fleeting moment it had been there.

Oh, cow dung. Beatrice burrowed down to the foot of the bed and sobbed.

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Review, s'il vous plait. I know, I know, you've heard it before, you want to stab me with a spoon for repeating it, but, well...like most people, I like reviews, and am rather antsy waiting around for them. Sigh. The curse.