Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise is mine. I wish I could think of some witty way to present that fact, but I honestly cannot be bothered right now. More to the point, I can never think of anything. :)

Note: Written for this month's contest at the Village Square Forum. The theme this time around was Awkward, so who should pop into my mind but Cliff and Nami. This was the slightly odd result...

Crimson Hearts

It was a well known fact, in Ann's opinion at least, that men were about as reliable as a weather forecast; if you wanted something done, she said, you had to do it yourself.

Currently, Cliff was finding that sentiment somewhat ironic.

Why if, by her definition, he was useless had she entrusted to him both her livelihood and her first born son? In fact, why had she married a man at all? And why wasn't that man him?

"You've got all this to come, kid. I only hope you've inherited your father's charm. No problem for you, then..." Was this conversation getting dangerously weird? Probably. Wasn't like Olly could even understand him, though...

Baby Olly was at that inbetween stage where he could easily crawl but couldn't walk, could babble on endlessly but couldn't actually talk. Sure was cute, though - all soft, flaming hair and freckly features. He had his father's deep, autumn-brown eyes. The same eyes Ann had fallen so easily into.

Ann was like the old tabby cat that stalked around the Inn. She was soft yet sharp, with the emphasis on the razor exterior. But all that was for show. She was a tomboy at heart, sure, but that wasn't all; there was something more, somewhere, beneath that front. Cliff knew her better. And he had naively assumed that he'd been the only one to notice. Proof on the contrary lay in the wedding ring around Ann's finger and the baby bouncing on his lap, toying with his ponytail. Jack had also sussed her; Jack had won.

Grasping Olly ever closer to his chest - insecure in his babysitting abilities - Cliff stood and gingerly shuffled towards the counter usually guarded by Doug, Ann's father. It was no joke to say that he honestly believed one slip, one mistake, would break the baby. Perhaps not in the comedic, shattered into a dozen shards like a fallen vase, sense. (Of course, if this was a cartoon, baby Olly would simply ping back into shape, good as new, once the novelty had worn off). How would he face up to Ann's fury in the event that her son was returned in less than perfect condition? How would he face up to his own guilt?

See, Cliff thought too much, too far ahead. And it was all what ifs; how pathetic to be tormented by mere, rarely realised, possibilities.

He carefully deposited Olly in his baby seat behind the counter, slowly fastened the straps - then stepped backwards so quickly he stumbled over his own feet. Olly just gazed up with calm, curious eyes. Cliff tried to avoid his stare. If a baby had the power to make him feel awkward, what hope did he have? (Saying that, anything at all cute or cuddly - babies, kittens, fluffy cushions - had the ability to render Gray, his blacksmith room mate, red-faced and irritable).

Before deciding that he was, in fact, going to meet up with Duke today, Doug had assured Cliff that the Inn would be exceptionally quiet. They always had very few people seeking rooms during the late autumn, through winter; though Cliff thought it should be the other way around. He saw things from the traveller's point of view, and couldn't see that ever changing. There were certain things you never lost.

Gray had abandoned him, of course. For Book Club. He'd read the book, too, which Cliff believed was missing the whole point. Surely the fun part was pretending to have read it? According to Gray, no one went to Mary's monthly meetings anymore - even her own mother had given up. It would probably only be the pair of them...

On second thought, Cliff didn't blame him one bit.

His eyes flashed eagerly round the room, seeking but not finding, finally admitting defeat and grudgingly settling on the wall clock hung above the door. And so the waiting began.

All things considered - and with nobody to talk to, Cliff had considered it at length - the day had been a success. So far. Olly... well, he wasn't quite the nightmare Ann had implied. (Although listening to all the ranting and stamping of feet that went on when she complained, 'implied' was probably the wrong word to use there). "Who knew babies cried so much?!" she'd demanded recently, to a score of raised eyebrows.

Now even Cliff, the amateur,could've seen that one coming...

"You're not so bad, are you, Olly?" He nodded encouragingly, now bouncing the child on the counter.

"Mehhh," said Olly. "Aaack!" On a whim, as far as Cliff could gather, he stuffed his entire fist into his mouth.

Cliff wondered what that might mean, and relaxed into a comfortable grin. What was Ann talking about? This was brilliant. No problem whatsoever. That was a first for him; he tended to over-complicate things, but with Olly there was nothing to over-complicate. All he'd done was change one nappy and feed one bottle, yet Cliff suddenly believed himself to be invincible -

A hurricane hit.

The door swung open on a whoosh of sub-zero air and bounced off the wall, hinges squealing. In that instant, Olly's mouth dropped open and he unleashed a wail far worse than any rusty door hinges. It didn't help that Cliff, Mr Would-Be Invincible, had jumped a foot into the air, either.

In to the chaos walked an unfazed young woman.

Nami tried not to look bothered. Truthfully, this was the worst reception she'd ever recieved. Honestly, she felt wrong-footed. But she would never let it show; that, you see, was the Golden Rule.

She carefully closed the door on a bleak, blustery autumn afternoon. Then came the customary sweeping glance. Nami nodded to herself: nice place, if you removed the screaming kid. She absorbed old-fashioned, but homely surroundings. The neat, pine tables and panelled walls, fell just on the cosy side of rustic. All in all? Not the best; by far not the worst.

"Not a bad moment, is it?" she tried, over the yells of the baby.

The guy - his father? - shot her a fierce look that told her she had caused the bad moment. "It's fine," was what he actually said. Meaning it wasn't.

Nami, bypassing a smile - they had always been her weak point - decided on a smirk. "Sorry," she shrugged.

He sighed, "I'm Cliff. This is Olly. How can we help you?"

As if someone had flicked 'Power Off', Olly's cries shuddered into infrequent hiccups. Cliff, who, she noticed, was tall, dark and gangly, gathered him into his thin arms. "Well?" he added. "Food? Drink?"

"Room?"

"Ah."

Nami's heart sank that little bit further, though her face stayed blank. She was suddenly acutely aware that her wet clothes were clinging to her wet skin. "No vacancies, then?" she asked, like it didn't matter.

"Oh, there's vacancies," said Cliff, "I'm just not in position to fill them." Her mask must have slipped slightly then, giving way to curiosity, because he hastily continued, "It's - I'm not the owner. He's out, so you'll have to wait for him to come back."

An over-long pause. "...Then who the hell are you?"

"Well..." Cliff made a funny, nervous sound from somewhere in back of his throat. "I'm a guest. If, in fact, that's... that's any of your business."

Interesting. Tucking a strand of crimson behind her ear, Nami took a seat at the bar. Now, she'd stayed in some pretty shabby establishments in her time, no doubt about it - but forcing guests to work was unheard of. The poor guy had a kid, too. She extended a tentative hand towards the baby, who reared back against Cliff's bony shoulder.

"I'm not at home with kids," she told him, not as an apology, but as explanation that wasn't needed; he could've easily guessed that. And how could someone who'd never known what it was like to belong somewhere use that comparison?

Cliff looked surprised. "He's not mine."

And actually, when she looked closer, Nami was amazed that she hadn't noticed that before. Especially as she prided herself on noticing the little things, the grey areas that tended to get lost in the hustle and bustle she hated so much. Because, call her a cynic if you wanted, Nami was certain that parents generally did not think their baby was about to explode, while Cliff's trembling arms and wary expression seemed to suggest he thought otherwise.

"I was fine with him until you turned up, thank you very much," Cliff mumbled, setting the fidgety child back in his baby seat. He couldn't quite manage to meet her eyes. "He's the owner's grandson," he explained, "I'm just babysitting. Poorly. The parents are away celebrating their second wedding anniversary."

"Well. That's nice."

Cliff didn't answer her, leaving Nami to assume that something was being left unsaid, and that it wasn't 'nice' at all. She accepted the glass of water he wordlessly handed her and pensively sipped it.

A long, yawning, awkward silence loomed.

She was like him, Cliff could see it. Nami's clothes - a small, blue denim jacket, shorts and trainers - were scuffed. They looked well-worn, as if they'd been truly lived in. They were what he liked to call proper clothes, not some flimsy garment you tossed aside and didn't wear for months.

Nami was a traveller.

He tried not to think about it, focussing instead on Olly, who had chosen just that moment to finally fall asleep. You're not part of that life anymore, he reminded himself. Remember Mineral Town, that's your new beginning. With one finger, he gently stroked the flaming red hair of Ann and Jack's son, and tried to convince himself that he wasn't completely out of the loop.

His head filled with images of Ann and Jack out in the city on their wedding anniversary, of Mary and Gray huddled together in the library, foreheads almost meeting, over a book they'd both fallen in love with...

Right now, Cliff wished he could be anything other than what he was. Bold, daring, adventurous; he was none of the above.

"Listen," he started, looking up, finally, into the face of the traveller. He blinked. Blue eyes - eyes so clear they sliced right through him.

"Mhmm?"

"Listen. I know there'll be a free room for you. You'll have to wait for Doug to sort out the payments, but if you like, I can show you the rooms and maybe pencil you into his book."

"What book?"

"The book of, well, the book of - of - vancancies - " Hell, he was no businessman.

Nami made a tiny snort that might have been her version of a laugh. Draining her glass, she set it calmly on the counter. "I think I'm going to pass on that offer, actually. Don't misunderstand me, I'm sure this is a great place - and hey, why am I apologising? You're not the owner." With what was definitely a laugh, she casually swung her bag onto her shoulder. "Trying new things all the time, that's me. Bye Olly, Cliff."

"Bye." Cliff stared at the door, but she had gone, just as abruptly as she had arrived.

He returned to Olly, feeling strangely like he was back to square one - though, realistically, he'd never even left it.

She was a liar.

As soon as she'd closed the door on a perfectly good Inn - and guy - Nami leant back against it, tired suddenly. Contrary to what she'd just claimed, she did not try new things all the time. In fact she did the same thing, over and over and over. She kept on running away, and she'd done it again.

Why?

It took Nami a moment to notice that the sky had cleared. The air was still and calm around her and, though leaves were strewn across the glistening paths, the weather forecasters had correctly predicted a fine day in Mineral Town. There was a second - several in fact - where she simply stood and wondered if she dared to turn around and go back inside. In the end, it was unfamiliar territory too far.

And in the end she walked on, towards her next destination: Forget-Me-Not Valley.