Uh-oh….Your friendly neighborhood RedPenofDoom got bored….and inspired by Grimm 3.03….AND BTW, SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS
If you're still here and want to read, be prepared for super sappy fluffy fun times.
That's all
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I are a poor grad student doing this for lulz and feels.
"You came from nowhere like a miracle cure/ And you took me out to the glittering streets/ Told me to forget myself alive/ Cause there's life out there/ And we're young and free/ There's music and laughter/ And it's time to forgive..." SeaWolf "Miracle Cure"
"Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving/ 'Cause when you never see the light it's hard to know which one of us is caving... I want you to stay, stay./ I want you to stay..."Rhianna "Stay"
She is not twenty goddamn years old anymore, she reasons to herself as she winds her fingers through his hair. His arms around her waist, fingers gripping at the back of her shirt...damnit. Kissing someone is not supposed to feel like this anymore; the novelty of it all should have long since worn off by now. She's supposed to be calm and collected and cool. And here she is, kissing someone in the backroom of her shop like she's trying to get away with it.
"Weren't you supposed to be on the road half an hour ago?" She mutters, breaking away for a minute.
Monroe checks his watch and shrugs. "As long as I'm there by eight, it'll be fine."
"You said six before."
"Well, you're more fun," he replied and pulls her close.
She clings a little tighter to his shirt lapels anyhow. "How long are you are you going to be gone?"
"Just overnight and head down tomorrow afternoon," he promises. "And then there's a new restaurant I want to take you to when I get back."
"I guess that'll make up for it." She rolls her eyes.
He pulls her in for one last kiss. And before they let it get too far again, he steps back, laughing. "I've really got to go."
"Yeah...whatever," she backs away smiling though.
"I'll text when I get to Seattle, okay?" He promises as they walk to the front of the shop hand in hand.
She nods, all the while trying to remember if there's anything actually edible in her fridge for dinner. "Yeah, okay."
He smiles like he's never seen anything quite like her before, like he's trying to catch every last detail. Like he has always looked at her. Suddenly, she's feeling twenty again and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him for the absolute last time, this time it's true. She swears.
And those three words are poised where her lips meet his; those three little words that can ruin everything.
Those three little words that are a noose, an anchor that drags her down and locks her in a prison that look nothing like a jail cell. Those three little words she can run and hide from; she's done it before.
"I'll see you soon." He says as he heads out the door.
"See you soon," she repeats and waves until she can't see him anymore.
The words stay there in her throat.
She's forgotten that she left the light on in the living room when she left this morning, making it look like someone is waiting for her. She almost calls out her older brother's name in greeting. But there is only the creak of floorboards under her feet to greet her as she walks in. She stands in the foyer for a moment, jingling the keys in her hands. Stupid, she thinks to herself as she hangs her bag and slips off her shoes. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It's so quiet, she has to flick on the TV just to hear human voices and to ward off the light unease she always feels in the apartment at night. While she stands debating whether or not the leftover take out boxes in her fridges are edible, her phone dings on the counter.
Safely in Seattle. Miss you like crazy- M.
She smiles, suddenly not feeling quite so alone in her mausoleum of an apartment. In the near two years she'd been living here, she hadn't found it in herself to get rid of much. Sure, she made room for herself little by little; donating his clothes and getting rid of some of the big pieces that no longer had a job like the dresser.
But she didn't dare go delving much farther into the dark recesses after she found photos in one of his desk drawers. Most were from that time Before, but she couldn't remember all of them; they were days that were just shadows on the edge of memory. Countless ones of them as Kits, long-limbed and sun-kissed, in hand-me-downs, and mismatched clothes, faces full of popsicle juice stains like war paint. There were a bunch of their parents, just barely younger than she was now, and Rosalee realized with a start that she'd almost forgotten her father's face all together when she noticed how much Freddy had looked like him.
She found one of herself and Freddy-she couldn't have been more than twenty-two, and Freddy maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven- taken just before their father died. She hardly recognizes herself; smiling, happy, eyes clear and bright. She had to hide it away before she started to sob. She hadn't been able to bring herself to go looking again. So, like almost everything from her past, she buried it back in the dark and tried to not think about it too hard.
Settling on the couch with a box of lo mein she deemed edible, she picks up her phone again.
Glad you're safe. See you soon.-R.
She turns the TV up extra loud to drown out the thought: this house wasn't a home. Not hers anyway.
When he takes her out the dinner the next night, he proposes they move in together but half of her things are there already. Her favorite sweater left on the couch, pair of boots in the foyer and all the books she'd swore she was going to read this year; all dog-eared and stacked next to the bed. So, it only seems natural that she follow suite.
Of course, he says, it's only because he loves her. He seems determined to get the words out; they sound like they got stuck a few times. And once they're out, he goes still waiting for her to respond.
She takes a deep breath in and waits for the noose, the anchor.
Those three little words that contain the potential to ruin lives, to drive their utters mad, lie temptingly before her. There's no noose this time, she notices. No more running; no more hiding. And then the words that had been stuck in her throat a few nights ago come pouring out. And there's no anchor dragging her down when she tells him she loves him too.
Instead, there's only a strange calm settling over her; making her bones lighter, fears farther away. It shouldn't surprise her as much as it does; he's not like the others she threw her heart away on. He's steady and calm and there. They reach out for one another's hands, keeping her tethered to the table at least.
She already spends multiple nights over (when Nick isn't there which is now pretty much every night and thank God, tonight), mostly because she stays so late he's worried she'd fall asleep at the wheel if she tried to head home. Besides, he murmurs to her between kisses as they move through the house, his place is as equal distance from the shop as her brother's place. Either way, she's driving the same amount. She smiles, tells him to shut up, and unhooks the last button on his shirt. He gladly obliges.
Later, fuzzy-headed and blissed out, she asks him: "Aren't you sick of me yet?" She never gets sick of hearing him say it.
He smiles and pulls her closer—if that's at all possible. "Not even a little bit." He murmurs, threading his fingers through her hair.
She throws her arm across his chest. "Good, because I have no intention of leaving this bed." Possibly ever.
"Were you going to leave before?"
She shrugs. "I don't technically live here."
"Yet?" He nudges her.
She dips her face against his neck. "I've never been good at staying still." She confesses.
"I can attest to that," he mutters.
She jabs him in the side, laughing. "That's not what I'm talking about!"
"Tell me then." He says when they stop laughing.
She leans on her elbow over him, "I have a hard time staying put, you know? I haven't felt at home anywhere in a long time."
"Not even Seattle?" He reaches up to run his fingers over her cheekbone.
"I went to Seattle to forget who I was. And I did for a while. But it wasn't home to me. For God's sake I was a secretary, I wore not-so-sensible shoes and pleated skirts." She laughs.
"It doesn't sound so bad." He muses. "Quiet, normal life."
"It wasn't...bad...but I didn't belong there. Not like here."
"You mean in Portland?"
She grins, the words are there in her throat again. She lets out a deep breath, whispers—for fear that someone other than him will hear and use it against her: "I mean with you."
He flashes her favorite smile of his just before he sits up on his elbows to kiss her again. She winds her arms around his neck like she's forgotten anything else matters. And for a time, nothing does except for his skin on hers and his warm breath on her collarbone, the tiny touches that make her forget where their boundaries end and begin again.
They both start to drift off not long after that. All the while, she lies there wondering if they're doing the right thing. It's hard to think they aren't, with his heart beat thrumming against her hand and his arm steady around her; it feels good to be still for once. She falls asleep in a tangle of limbs, blankets and deep, contended breaths.
In the morning, he brushes a kiss over her temple when he gets up—ever the early riser. She thanks God/the Universe/Science for Daylight Savings that the sun doesn't agree with him at all and stays in a while longer. She curls up on her side of the bed, tugging the sheets tighter in order to make up for the loss of heat and drifts off again. When she wakes for real an hour later, she finds making coffee.
He watches her walk across the kitchen like she always does in one of his undershirts, the awkwardness now smoothed away by regularity. He catches her by the waist as she passes. Smiling, she lets herself get pulled in for a good morning kiss. "I could get used to this," he mutters to her.
"So, I'm here for your convenience then?" She laughs, pouring herself coffee.
"You know that's not what I meant," he chuckles.
"I know..." She stops suddenly and presses her hand against her forehead. "I'm going to have to tell my mother."
He goes still. "...That you're moving in? Or that we're having-"
"That you're..." she gestures to him. "You know...you. She knows that you exist but not..." she sighs. "I haven't told her everything. I didn't want her to have a stroke. And that I'm moving in here."
"Ah...that talk." He's got that one ahead of him too. She spins around in his arms to face him. "You know that no one is going to be happy about this... us...it's never going to be easy."
"No," she agrees, thinking about her family's reaction, her mother's outrage and terror, not only about what he is but what their being together could do. "No, it isn't. But I don't regret it."
"No?"
She shakes her head, setting down the mug. "No. Not even a little. I love you." She likes the way her voice sounds saying the words, owning them.
"I love you too," he replies, the dreamy relief stealing through him again like the night before. She likes the way he says it, too.
From the street, the warm gold light spills from the windows like a lighthouse on a dark ocean. Smiling to herself Rose heaves her bag out of the side of the car. Then notices something half hidden under the seat. She leans down and pulls out the photo of her family from almost twenty years ago. She'd framed it and everything, ready to put it up. But in the move, it must have fallen out of it's box. Smiling, she makes her way to the house.
"Hey! I'm home!" She calls into the house as she turns the lock and goes in. They learned pretty early on to announce their presence, both of them being solitary for so long; it helps to know who's around.
"You're home already?" He says something else but it's drowned out by the sound of the sautéing and boiling.
"What ?" She hangs her bag, coat and scarf, grabbing the frame first.
"I said I found that book." he meets her in the living room, a hand towel thrown over one shoulder, the book in hand "The one you've been looking for like a week." He tells her after they've kissed their hellos
She thrusts the picture frame at him and grabs at it. "Where did you find it?"
"Nick took it accidently. It's been in the trailer."
"Maybe I should put 'property of Calvert family' in the inside cover," she mutters, turning it over in her hands.
"See, a little organization goes a long way," he starts.
"You're such a nerd." She laughs. "Correct, though."
He finally looks down at the picture frame. "What's this?"
"It's the picture I thought I lost."
He flips it over to reveal the last time her family was whole and smiles. "You were what-eighteen?"
"Twenty-two. It was right before my dad died. Before...everything. And I know exactly where to put it." She takes it back and marches to the living room to place it on the mantle.
For a moment, neither speaks, the only sounds are from the kitchen and the quietly ticking clocks. She leans against his shoulder, all the while her heart sings out: Home, home, home! After years of searching and getting lost on rabbit trails and dead-ending in dark, haunted places, here it is.
He's learned that she leaves half empty tea mugs everywhere as if she's going to return to it when it's ice cold, that she only finishes the laundry when he reminds her, that she never shelves her books when she's done-she reads in cycles anyway and will re-read a book again and again-, and that she wears two pairs of socks when it's cold. But she yanks them off when it's time for bed and presses her cold toes against his ankles and he hissed in shock the first few times. And despite all that, he's still looks at her like he always does; like she might just do something magical.
She's never had a boyfriend with a beard before—that took some getting used to but she doesn't mind anymore, she's even grown to like it. He's so neat that she has to sometimes sit on her hands to keep from messing things up a bit. And he paces when he's nervous or angry, so she lets him, preferring to sit on the couch or the stool in her shop while he does so. She still hasn't told him that she finds his geekiness so adorable that it's hard to pay attention to what he's actually saying about this clock or that. Or that her favorite part of day is when she sees him again even though they woke up together not twelve hours ago.
They spend entire afternoons reading, together or apart. There is a kiss in the morning before leaving and one as soon as they're both home; a charm against bad luck or at least that's what they tell themselves. Day by day, they remember that life can be good, if they let it.
She turns to him, smiling and empty of the words she kept locked inside for so long. He has that look on his face, as if he had been waiting for her to find her way here the whole time.
So….R&R?