A/N: Konnichiiwa! Hello, O reading one! I have just written this piece three hours ago, and finished it three minutes ago...and I would like to know how my writing is, if it is a) bad, and improvement isn't possible, b) needs improvement, c) needs a LOT of improvement, d) frustrating, or e) pathetic. This is my first FanFiction, and I would like to see how I could improve...I am just planning on writing a multi-chapter story, and I decided by knowing my faults thru writing a—what do you guys call it? A one-shot, correct? Okay, okay, I'll shut up and get a move on...
Amy Cahill wasn't usually scared. She was brave, she was a Cahill—she learned the ways of life, the ways of reality, in all the particularly hard ways for a fifteen-year-old to take in.
It had been just last year when the Cahills had finally reunited, more or less; no more was the separation of the branches, no more squabbling over Clues, no more grudges or vengeances or whatnots in her ridiculously large and powerful family. It was all the work of Madrigals—of her and Dan.
She hadn't really known she could do that. How in the world had Amy made the Cahills united, she didn't know. Cahills were the new definition for war. Trouble. Amy could scarcely make her brother quiet the TV down a bit, or speak in front of the public without stuttering. And Cahills? They were an impossible group.
But she had made it. She'd reunited them all, brought peace back to each other…
But she was scared. Amy stared out the window, the droplets of water from the showery rain sprinkling down the window pane. The sky was dark; and heavy, startling nimbus clouds were gathering overhead. The weather news reported that the weather would be angry for the next few days, and it was a bad news. Her cousins had just arrived for the gala she prepared, just like they did annually before the Clue Hunt had started.
She was trying to make them forget the Hunt. It required a lot of hard work, however—but she had to make them feel like they were one, united family. Danger was advancing towards her, towards her family, but no one knew when it would strike. And it made her feel particularly nervous…the shadows lurking behind her, and there were so much risks to take if it involved her family.
They'd have to know how to support each other, to know each other—well, if they all learned how to love each other, that was great, but it was also a big, dangerous risk to take. Amy, Dan, all of them—they'd seen enough people they loved die in the very front of them. Irina Spasky died in front of Amy and Dan. Sinead couldn't bear seeing her brothers blinded and hurt. Hamilton had seen his own father burn up Grace's mansion to ashes. Cora Wizard wanted to teach her son how to kill. Ian had been horrified to see his Mother gun Natalie in the foot.
Amy could not bear having one more member of her family die. It was hard enough to lose her parents, to lose Grace—she could not bear seeing any other person die, for that matter. If she had a thousand lives, she would certainly give them up if it only meant her family.
Her family was difficult, sure. But they were her family. And she loved them.
When in time's list would all this be over? Life never seemed to be satisfied enough for all the sacrifices Amy and Dan had made only to save the world. She tried to forget the Clue Hunt, to be a normal teenager, to be a human being—she was not Wonder Woman to come out with a cape and fly around to save the world. She deserved to be a girl once in a while.
She was just…Amy. That would never change.
The lightning clashed and the thunders roared, igniting the sky with streaks of yellow and blue.
Flames.
Amy's breath hitched. What is it with Cahills and fires? She didn't want to get reminded of them. They just hurt too much, like her heart just felt too heavy for her to bring. And whenever she would think of it, flames would engulf her, turning her grief into extreme anger over the particular person that killed Irina, the person that killed her parents…
Isabel.
"Amy?"
Amy turned her head to see the tall, British Kabra standing in the doorway. He was dressed as elegantly, as usual, with his head held high in his Kabra pride. Amy felt herself shrink. She was not that pathetically dressed, she knew, not with all the riches Grace had bestowed on her and Dan. And, technically, Ian was penniless now. But she still felt like a rag next to laces whenever she was around him.
"Are you quite alright?" Ian asked, his accent thickening a bit as he walked a few steps forward.
Amy raised her hand to her cheek, and she felt the hot tears that had gathered there. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, embarrassed that Ian had seen her crying.
"Yes, Ian, I'm alright," Amy responded, blushing bright pink as she turned her head to face the window again. It irritated her on how he had that effect on her, whenever she was around him…but it was probably an understatement if it was said that every girl on the planet hadn't fallen for him. So maybe Amy wasn't an exception.
And she hated it.
But Ian, being the Lucian that he was, wasn't convinced of the feeble answer. He walked forward, far enough that he couldn't see her eyes, but near enough that he'd be able to speak his thoughts to her clearly.
"The others are waiting downstairs," Ian disguised. Well, it was true, but he was going to find out what was bothering her. "And Natalie wanted to talk to you about the dress you should be wearing for tomorrow's party."
"Y-Yes, Ian," Amy said, and immediately hated herself for stuttering. "You could go now. I'll follow shortly."
Amy returned her gaze to the window, hoping he would whisk away and forget about it.
But Ian didn't leave. "I've come to escort you."
Escort her? They were only coming down to dinner, and Ian thought that escorting was necessary? Maybe that was what rich people do? Oh well, maybe he wasn't still used to the meaning of being an average teen. Ian didn't like being defined as 'average', as he would think 'first-class' was the most acceptable term, but, well, he'd get used to it soon enough.
"I don't need escorting," Amy snapped, but immediately regretted it. She thought she saw a flash of hurt cross Ian's eyes, but it was gone as instantly as it came.
"Well, then," Ian said, sarcastically, "I hope you would not be quite as soaked when you should let the rain escort you to Fairyland."
Amy, annoyed but not meeting him in the eye, said, "No one is escorting me. The rain isn't, and neither are you." She knew she was hurting him, yes, but the idea of him escorting her isn't…appropriate. She felt like cheating to Evan.
Ian narrowed his eyes. Interesting. "Then, Amy, may I know why you have spent all your precious time staring out the window? Are you, perchance, waiting for a candy to drop? We have all the food downstairs, and dinner is calling out our names."
Amy frowned and faced him. Oh, it was not a good idea. He was so good-looking that Amy almost toppled over at the full-sight of him, right there, standing in front of her, actually offering his hand to escort her and she was actually denying it, when all the other girls would die for it.
"I am f-f-fine all by myself," she stuttered. She did not plan on doing that—what she planned was to lash out at him and send him away, not show him how pathetic she was. "And my staring out the window is n-none of your business. What are you doing here?"
Ian let his lips curve up into his signature smirk. He was pleased that Amy still was entranced of him—despite him being…him. He had fallen from Kabra wealth, which was part good news and bad—it had meant freedom for Ian, freedom from Isabel, freedom from everything else that spelled wicked. But it had also meant poverty to him, which he didn't like very much.
"I've told you." He stretched out his palm for her to take it, although, of course, he wasn't expecting her to accept it. He knew about the…what was his name? Oh, yes, Ethan, Ethan Turlock. He knew about the Ethan guy, the person who had caught Amy's heart. Ian knew he was hopeless to win her yet again, but that does not mean he needed to give up. "I've come to escort you."
Amy stared at the hand. She shifted her eyes to Ian, who had his eyes twinkling with amusement, and…and…a tinge of hopefulness? Concern? Well, of that she didn't know, but Amy wasn't going to come down to dinner…with him. Cheating was bad. Cheating was unforgivable. And she didn't need to cheat on Evan for Ian. Amy, miserable for breaking her own heart, said,
"Ian, I'd—" but Amy stopped herself. She was going to say 'I'd like for you to leave me alone', but she realized that Ian was a human, too. Knowing him, he probably hated it to come from the ground floor of the mansion and walk all the way up to the third floor. There wasn't an elevator, and Amy knew as a fact that the stairs were not quite as nice to walk on. He'd be hurt if Amy refused...
"I'd like it i-if you told the o-o-others that I'd be coming down soon," Amy said instead, choosing her words slowly but carefully, hoping that Ian would understand what she meant. "I'm not really hungry. You should go eat, too." Then, Amy smirked, though it came out as a little crooked, because of being under Ian's intensifying gaze. "You just s-said that the food is c-c-calling you."
Ian laughed rather quietly, and he dropped his extended hand and put it inside the pocket of his expensive, black slacks.
"I will not be eating unless you aren't," Ian quipped. "The rest of the family won't, either, knowing that the table attendance is not complete. Olivia Cahill should be utterly displeased of you, you poor thing."
Amy felt herself scoffing at him, and returned her gaze back to the window. She didn't know; the window somehow soothed her, it made her nerves calm down, it made her thoughts relate to whatever the weather should be—sunny, windy, snowy, cloudy...
Or rainy.
Droplets kept dropping down the window pane, and Amy was...rather soothed of the rhythmic music that they made.
In the inside of Amy, she felt, that Ian was one thing. She would be lying if she said she didn't like him. She liked him—but only a bit. She liked Evan more. Well, no, it wasn't like that...she didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea; it's just that...both were great guys. But by choosing Ian, it was like betraying normalcy. By choosing Evan, it was like choosing a life where she could be Amy Cahill.
She knew that her ways of escaping of who she was, what she was, are ridiculous. But despite the fact of choosing who might make the girl that she was, there was the fact that she liked Evan greater. She liked Evan. A lot.
She felt that similar feeling for Ian...but it had already faded. It had faded for a long time ago. It had vanished away, like thin smoke in the air.
But she didn't understand why there would always be a spark flickering inside of her whenever she heard Ian's name, whenever she saw him, or whenever she talked to him. She didn't feel anything like that when she was around Evan—no, she would just feel her heart beating fast and her breath lashing, but not with a burning flame. Ian was exactly just that—an old flame.
It seems like any downpour of rain couldn't really extinguish that feeling away.
So, really, she liked both boys equally—in two different ways.
"It's surprising how the rain does that," Ian muttered, quietly staring at the window. He seemed to be in deep thought, his eyes a dim shade of amber, dark and mysterious. He was drifting away, just like how Amy does whenever she stared out that particular window.
Amy nodded in response. She had to agree with that. The rain, the window, they always took her to different places of all sorts, to the deepest and to the darkest thoughts of her mind...
"Ian?" Amy blurted, after several seconds of silence.
Ian simply stood there, and shifted his gaze to Amy. "Yes?"
"H-Have...have you ever..." Amy didn't think it was a good thing to ask this, but Ian's eyes had turned expectant of the impending question. Blushing and turning away, she asked, "Ian, I...did you ever miss...your mother?"
She didn't know where the question had come from. She saw Ian flinch ever so slightly. But sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered what it would be like if she and Dan had actually experience real parental love. From the novels she'd read, the characters would always whine about how annoying their parents were, but she doubted that parents could really be annoying.
They were annoying because they loved their children.
Amy never experienced that. Sure, she had Grace, but now she's gone; she had Aunt Beatrice, but she'd disowned them because of refusing a million dollars for a Clue; she had Nellie, and also Fiske...
But they had this saying that the love of a mother couldn't be surpassed by any other love.
"Well," Ian said, uncomfortably. "I...I...well." Ian shifted from his position, trying to get his voice out of his mouth. He didn't know why he became so touchy when it came to the subject of parents, but, well, it was Amy who was asking. "I...I have been...missing her. A lot, lately," Ian said quietly, looking for a safe place to look at outside the window. Softly, he asked, "Why do you ask?"
"Oh," Amy responded, uncertainly, not really sure on how to continue. "I just...I wonder, you know, how parents could be like that. I mean, she...Isa—I mean, you mother—"
"It's alright," Ian interrupted, a distant look in his eyes. "I'm not hurt," he lied. He knew that Amy was becoming uncomfortable of the subject, so he had to tell that little white lie to convince her to calm down. Maybe she thought he was going to break down if one of her words threw Ian off-balance, like he was going to shatter into small pieces of glass. Maybe she thought that the mention of Isabel's name would hurt him...
And it did.
But he didn't want to let Amy see it.
"Okay," Amy said uneasily. "Well...Isabel...your mother...she did a lot of terrible things."
Ian couldn't deny that. "Yes."
He didn't know that the truth could really hurt...and it hurt more than a knife lashed across his heart. Sometimes, he thought he would prefer the knife over the grave truth.
"And, well," Amy continued, staring out the window, "you still miss her." She turned her head so she could see him, his eyes that were so dark, so enchanting, and so many full of secrets...and yet full of buried feelings and useless hope. "Is that how it always works with parents and children? Even if they hurt you..."
Ian didn't have the answer. He wanted to evade the question—he was going to get sentimental if they discussed deeper into the subject. Isabel was his weakness...Ian would never be able to stand up against her.
Part of the reason was because he loved his mother.
Sometimes, he just hoped, with so little hope, that Isabel would be the mother that she had been...before the Clue Hunt. Her eyes were seduced by the power that the 39 Clues had offered, all of which that was started by Gideon Cahill. But back then, she, Vikram, Natalie and him would go out to picnics, visit the Westminster Abbey, and have holidays at the Tower of London. They were a nice little family, and Ian thought he'd had everything...
Until he lost all he had in the blink of an eye.
"Amy." Ian was unsure of how to respond to her question. But he would try. "I've...I have been wondering...what if...what if..."
Amy smiled at him kindly, encouraging him to go on.
Ian's stomach flopped over, and he scolded himself for reacting so pathetically pathetic. He looked away.
"What if Isabel hadn't been the...the mother that she was?" Ian asked, shamefully. "What if she'd been a lot kinder, what if the Clues never existed at all? What if I and Natalie were never...what if I wasn't born a Cahill, at all?"
Amy smiled, as if she knew the answer to all of his questions. Sometimes, she felt the same thing—she asked the very same questions, wondering why fate would not let her go easy. But she'd already answered those questions through the course of her life, through the course of the Clue Hunt.
"Then," she said, knowingly, "Then we never could've gotten to know who Ian Kabra is."
Ian wanted to scoff at that. As if she knew...who he was.
That would be the greatest joke of the universe.
His reaction might've shown on his face, because Amy said, "No, really, Ian. You're amazing—after all you've been through, anyone on their right mind would be privileged to get to know you." Amy smiled sweetly.
Ian looked up at her to see if she was telling the truth. He was a lie detector...but he didn't detect any lies in her jade green eyes.
He had never known he'd ever seen someone so...genuine.
Softly and sincerely, Amy added, "I know I do."
Ian didn't want thinking about himself. He didn't want talking about himself. Maybe, just maybe, he needed Amy to get to know himself better. Well, he didn't know himself, at all. But Amy claims she does.
He needed her. He wouldn't know how to live if she was stripped off of his life.
Ian walked forward, held Amy's hands, and pulled her to her feet—and the next thing he knew, he was leaning in to kiss her.
Amy realized what he was doing, and she felt the heat creep up to her neck. She slowly closed her eyes as she recovered from shock, accepting the fact that Ian was firmly holding her hand, leaning in so close...
And Ian planted a light kiss on her lips.
The kiss was soft, gentle, and sweet, and it made Ian feel pathetic because of the swirling emotions inside of him. He felt pathetic, but he was unusually...he felt unusually...
Ian couldn't describe the feeling. It was all too indescribable.
His memories danced inside his head. All those memories in the past had been so...painful. And most of them had come from the Clue Hunt, the search for the 39 Clues, which Gideon Cahill had set fire upon. The Hunt had changed him, changed who he was, whathe was—well, although no one had even seemed to notice his changing. Daniel Cahill, that cursed Madrigal—he still looked at Ian like he was brandishing a dart gun inside his Armani jacket pocket. Well, it was true, but only partly. Ian only wielded a sleek black stun gun, to say the least.
But no one had noticed. Except for one particular person. And that person was right in front of him, shocked and mortified, but she was smiling against their lips.
Amy Cahill.
She had been a particularly strange person...Ian had sometimes wondered if she was lying to people when she said that everyone has a good soul in them. Besides, saying that would make Amy look like the good person, and it would certainly give her a high reputation. Ian was one of those people that didn't believe her—it was impossible. Kabras do not get soft.
They are never kind. Never humble. He didn't believe he could ever have a good soul in him, and that he never would, for that matter—but look at the Ian Kabra right now. He'd changed, even though only a teeny, weeny bit, barely even noticeable, but Amy...
She had been right. She knew Ian Kabra better than he knew himself. She was the reason. She was the reason of everything.
She was the reason he'd changed.
It was like she'd read him like an open book—and Ian had always thought of him as a heavily guarded castle with cannons guiding the borders from a twenty-mile radius. He never let anyone in. He never let anyone in.
But she had appreciated him, understood him, and accepted him for who he was.
It was like she'd known him so perfectly—when Ian, all along, had been too blinded of himself by Kabra wealth and pride.
Ian pulled away only quite too soon. It had been a brief but compassionate kiss, and he could see Amy flush in all the red tons that could only be in one face. She looked embarrassed—and outraged. Her eyes didn't tell anything out of rage, though—Ian saw a sign of a smile in her eyes.
And that was enough.
"Wh-why d-did you d-d-do that?" she spluttered, failing to sound angry. Instead, she felt more of the blood rushing to her face, which was exactly what she needed at the moment. She'd never been ever so grateful of her stuttering.
Ian shifted his eyes to look at his fingernails, smirking, and a playful amusement was shining in his eyes. He put his hand inside the pocket of his Armani slacks, with a sly smile that Amy thought was approximately the size of Texas. "Why do you ask?" he asked, casually, as if nothing had happened. "Did you like it, love?"
Amy blushed even more, if that was even possible. "D-don't c-c-call me that!"
Ian smirked, and walked off across the room. She had probably been thinking of Ethan Toylock or whatever—he'd known because it had been too obvious. She had previously refused his offer of escorting her downstairs...poor Amy must've thought that it was a form of cheating. No girl on her right mind would refuse Ian's hand...oh no.
It was unless the girl was thinking of another boy.
Ian was disappointed to have heard all about that Ethan Tolliyock stealing Amy's heart from him. How dare he'd interfered. Because of that certain boy, Ian never thought he could win her heart again. Ethan went to school every day to see Amy—Ian lived in London. Ian and Amy were too far away, two different worlds that would never cross paths.
He was just glad that Amy had arranged a gala. Ian had been planning on asking her to dance with him, and, poof—he'd just have to show her that winning smile and she'd immediately fall for his spell. It was a gala—and he'd love to dance with her. It would probably be their last dance together, though, and Ian was not interested of thinking of anything that might break their moment...
He was sure to lock Saladin in the attic and Dan the Terrible with Natalie. It was, to borrow the American term again, a 'piece of Red Ribbon cupcake'. Or was the term 'slice of cake'? Ian wasn't quite sure.
Amy might be thinking that when their last song together should end, both would let each other go, let each other free, and proceed to dance with someone else entirely on the next song...
But Ian wouldn't. He wouldn't dance with anybody else. His last dance, should be it, would always and always be with Amy.
If Amy should think that she was letting him go, Ian wasn't.
Ian was not going to let her go. Not ever.
He stopped walking when he reached the doorway. He turned around to see Amy blushing, who was suddenly hiding her face with a book, her chestnut-brown hair covering her face. She was clearly embarrassed beyond her wildest dreams.
Ian smirked, triumphant. How much he loved seeing her blushing—she just looked so cute. He gentlemanly held out his hand to her, and said—
"Shall we?"
Yippee! I am so sorry for everything, for every single mistake, for every wrong letter...English is not my native language. I depend a lot on my English essays, grammar lessons, and thesauruses—most of the words here came from them. So...I just hope I have done well, and that your visit here hadn't been wasted, and...constructive criticism would be lovely!
I am Rival Argentica, and I bid thee farewell! Thank you! Arigatou gozaimas! Ja mata ne!
~Rival