Necessary, a harvest moon fanfic

Written as a Secret Santa gift for Let Love In as part of the Village Square's Secret Santa challenge.

I've always loved Marlin and Celia as a couple, and the arranged marriage issue in AWL always REALLY annoyed me because they were so clearly perfect for each other. This is my response to that. It's my first Harvest Moon story that's not based around the Mineral Town characters, and I really enjoyed writing it :)

It's all written from Marlin's perspective – I see him as a man of few words and many thoughts ;)

"Really, he's such a nice boy."

Shut up.

"And from a lovely family – I've been great friends with his aunt for a long time. They're all so excited to meet you."

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"He has a nice little house in the suburbs, too – I'm sure you'll be very comfortable there. Oh, and he –"

Refusing to listen to another word of this nonsense, I pushed to my feet and slammed out through the front door into the lightly falling snow, muttering a lame, barely audible excuse about needing to visit someone. Shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I leaned back against the house and let out an exasperated, almost strangled sound.

"Is Marlin okay?" Celia's voice traveled from inside, gentle and laced with concern.

"I don't know what's wrong with the man lately," Vesta scoffed, and in my mind I could picture her crossing her large arms and glaring at the door I'd just exited through. "But never mind him. He's the least of your priorities right now."

Celia would be gone by the new year in just over a week, conveniently married off to some guy she'd never met. Even Vesta, who'd set up this ridiculous thing, had only met the man two or three times herself.

This damn situation seemed beyond insane to me. Vesta and I had spent countless hours arguing over it. Why did she need to get married? She was a big help on the farm and more than earned her keep. No matter how I argued against it, though, Vesta would reply by rambling on about how Celia deserved happiness and love, and how she was too shy to go looking for it herself. And every time Vesta brought that argument out, I had to bite back the urge to point out that really, it wasn't like Celia needed to look very far if love was what she was after.

I'd been fiercely protective of the girl since she came to us as an eighteen year old willing to learn and work hard, completely innocent and sheltered from the evils of the world. I was twenty four at the time and even then lacked any of the child-like optimism that had radiated from her – a trait that she still possessed.

I'd lived in the city up until I was twenty two, when extremely poor health prompted me to make the move to my sister's farm and work with her. In those years spent in the city, I'd seen and heard some terrible things – things that a girl like Celia shouldn't know existed, let alone have to witness or experience. If she went off now and married some guy, there was nothing I could do to protect her or care for her any longer. Anything could happen. No matter how wonderful Vesta claimed the man was, he was a total stranger to me and a total stranger to Celia, and my life before Forget-Me-Not Valley had cautioned me to the terrible things that seemingly 'good' people could do.

Celia trusted everybody because she had no reason not to. She'd never been exposed to the really bad or cruel people, so she genuinely believed that everyone was good and pure. Maybe it wasn't right of Vesta and I to keep the worse truths of the world from her, but I'd never seen a reason for her to know them. Now, while a minuscule part of me wished she had a little more cynicism or worldly understanding to keep her safe when she left us... a much, much bigger part of me didn't want her to ever leave us at all.

From the moment I met her, I'd felt some kind of innate responsibility to take care of her. I wasn't completely sure when that duty of care had turned to affection, but it had, and it had been that way for a very long time.

I knew I read too much into that soft smile that never left her face when she spoke to me, or the way she would, without fail, be waiting with a hot cup of tea when I came in from working the fields on cold days. She was a considerate person who did considerate things; it was that simple. She was a beautiful girl inside and out, and she deserved better than a grouchy older man with a history of respiratory troubles and heart troubles, and God only knew what other illnesses lurking around inside me.

I knew these things; I'd repeated them to myself countless times. Hell, I knew this guy would probably make her ten times happier than I ever could, but still the selfish part of me wanted to believe that she was meant to stay here with me.

I knew a lot of things. What I didn't know was how I was going to give her up when the time came.

Is it even possible to give up something that isn't yours?

"You look like hell."

I practically ignored the blonde bartender, slamming down into a seat at the counter. I really didn't drink all that often because of health problems, but tonight...

"It's Christmas Eve, Marlin," Muffy said, a hint of concern in her voice. "You should be with Vesta and Celia. Even our regulars are at home tonight."

"You're here," I said gruffly. She gave me a forced, half-smile.

"That's not the same. This is where I live."

I didn't reply, simply ordering a beer and waiting silently as she filled the glass and put it in front of me. The empty room was too quiet to give any real comfort – usually you could drown everything out in the deafening noise of the drunks. Tonight, it was just me and my thoughts, which were exactly what I'd come here to take a break from.

"So what's your problem?"

Me, my thoughts, and an overly talkative blonde. Maybe I'd go back to the farm after all. Vesta had begun packing Celia's things up, and –

On second thoughts, Muffy wasn't a bad kid. She just seemed to be incredibly attached to the sound of her own voice. I guess that's what most men were looking for when they went out to a bar – somebody to just lend an ear and listen to all the things that were screwed up in their lives; all the things that had driven them to the bar in the first place. I didn't get that. Why blurt out all your secret, personal issues to somebody who doesn't understand and probably doesn't care?

"Marlin?"

Then again, if said bartenders were always this stubborn and persistent...

"What?" I snapped, before exhaling, not meaning to sound quite as harsh as I had.

She raised an eyebrow, placing her hands on her hips. "Don't you take that attitude with me, mister. I don't care if you stomp around the town growling and glaring, but if you try it in here I'll have you out that door faster than you can say Merry Christmas. I don't like the idea of working here alone on Christmas Eve, but it sounds a lot better than just letting you sit here and snap at me." She turned impatiently, grabbing a clean glass and wiping it with a dishcloth for a lack of anything else to do.

"Why are you working tonight?" I asked quietly, trying to turn the attention away from me, for one thing, but also noticing the almost distressed look on her face. "Where's Griffin?"

"He's in the city," she said, a cheeriness creeping back into her voice immediately as she spoke about her husband. "Just picking up some stuff for tomorrow and visiting some friends. I offered to stay here and run the place for tonight. I wasn't really expecting anyone to come."

"I can go –" I said, cutting myself off as she adamantly shook her head.

"No, don't. I mean, unless you want to – but if you want to stay, stay. I prefer company anyway." I nodded simply and she tilted her head at me. "How can you do that? Just... stay so quiet? I don't think I've ever seen you have a full conversation with anyone, Marlin."

"Ninety five percent of conversation is unnecessary," I muttered. "I just get the necessary information and move on."

"But don't you ever want to just talk to people for the sake of talking?" she pressed, leaning on the counter now as if she were scrutinizing me carefully. "You must keep a ridiculous amount bottled up if you never talk it out. I could never do that. I speak what's on my mind most of the time, you know? Some things you should keep personal, of course. But Griffin and I talk every night, and I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have him to rely on." She smiled at me, shrugging. "Everyone needs someone, even the ones who act tough, like they don't need anyone. I don't buy it, that you're always this anti-social." I shot her an annoyed look as she held both hands up defensively. "Well you are with most people... I just don't think you can be all the time. You must talk to your sister, right?"

"Vesta?" I snorted, watching as Muffy refilled my glass without asking. "No."

A look of disappointment flashed across her face at the realization that I wasn't 'opening up' to her as easily as she'd hoped. "Okay," she said simply, as if being short and sharp would guilt me into sharing more. Yeah, right. Her fancy psychology tricks, or whatever she was doing, weren't going to work.

...

"Celia," I choked out, barely aware of what I was saying and shooting a glare at my beer – already half-empty again – as if this was all its fault. Muffy leaned over the counter again, nodding slowly. "I... sometimes, I can talk to Celia, about... the unnecessary things. Have a conversation with her. But I talk to her about the necessary things too, though. She's a good girl. Sensible girl." I was rambling and forced myself to stop, taking a large swig of beer so I couldn't physically keep talking.

"She's lovely," Muffy smiled, seeming re-energized with her minor breakthrough. "I always enjoy it when I get the chance to talk to her. I don't get to as much as I'd like, obviously – with me working here all the time, and her working so hard on your farm. I'd like to get to know her better."

"Yeah, well, you're out of luck there," I said in an almost contemptuous and clearly bitter voice, draining the glass and gesturing for yet another refill – I was far from a lightweight, which was unfortunate at times like these when I wanted to be drunk, fast. "She's only sticking around for another week, then – that's it. Gone forever."

The blonde's eyes traveled over me searchingly for a moment. "I was surprised... to hear about her marriage," she said slowly, as if she was weighing my reactions to her words. "To tell you the truth... I kind of thought you two would end up together."

I snorted, fixing her with a humorless smirk. "Well... you and me both." I knew I was getting myself in trouble now, but whether it was the mild effects of the alcohol, or just the fact that it was Christmas Eve, I was in a bar, and the girl I loved was packing to marry another guy – I was unofficially throwing in the towel. To hell with my pride. To hell with pretending I didn't care. "Didn't exactly work out the way I imagined it though."

"Do you love her?" Muffy asked quietly – but something in her voice let me know that it wasn't really a question. I responded with nothing more than a curt nod, and she bowed her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Does she know?"

"I don't know," I said helplessly, earning a scowl.

"Have you told her that you love her?"

"... No..."

"Well she isn't a mind reader," the blonde said impatiently. "Marlin – you have to say something. You can't just let her marry someone else without knowing how you feel about her."

"She'll be happy," I muttered, staring blankly into my half drained glass. In either a particularly sappy or particularly tipsy moment, I added on a subdued afterthought. "I mean... if you love someone, you should let them go. Right?"

"That is the biggest load of crap I've ever heard," Muffy spat instantly, making my eyes flit back to her in disbelief. She slammed a bottle that was in her hand down onto the counter and placed both hands on her hips aggressively, leveling me with a fierce glare, suddenly infuriated. "If you love someone, you damn well hold on to them with everything you have, and you don't let go. Do you hear me?"

"I –"

"Don't interrupt me," she growled. "You're good at listening, and that's what you're gonna do now." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as if gaining focus. "Okay. I've had my share of boyfriends in my life, Marlin. And I've let go of men that I cared for. But I've learned that when you finally let go, it should only be because you're too weak or just too tired to hold on anymore, and in the end the pain wasn't worth what you could gain from it. But you..." she didn't break eye-contact for a single second, a slight frown on her face. "You're not weak, and you're not too tired. If you let Celia go marry some guy she's never met, that's not proving that you 'love' her. It's just proving that you ended up being too scared to tell her how you felt."

I wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn't come as Muffy continued. "I love Griffin," she said adamantly. "After all the times I've been crossed in love, he is literally my saving grace. I couldn't be happier with any other man as my husband." She leaned on the counter again now, obviously doing everything in her power to get her message across. "But never, ever will I be able to get rid of the stupid 'what if' questions about the guys I gave up without a fight. And I'll always wonder what would have happened if I held on a little longer, or told them how I felt."

"I don't have the time," I said defensively. "She's leaving on New Year's Eve, for God's sake. I don't even get to start the New Year with her, let alone spend time convincing her to stay with me."

"If you can stand the idea of letting her go, let her," the bartender said coldly. "But the fact that you're here – trying to drown out the pain, because I know that's what you're doing – that's pretty much telling me that you hate everything about this situation."

"She'll reject me," I mumbled.

"True. She might reject you," Muffy shrugged, as if she couldn't think of anything less important. "Either way, if she marries him, you've lost her forever. At least if you tell her how you feel and she still wants to marry him, you'll be able to forgive yourself. But damn it, if you keep quiet and let her leave without saying anything, you'll never stop thinking about what could have been. This is coming from someone who has, trust me, been there." There were a few moments of silence before she added, "At least give her the choice, Marlin." Another brief silence followed, and in the next second Muffy was wiping down the counter and straightening things up as if no conversation had taken place.

"How do I say it?" I asked desperately, resting my forehead on the palm of one hand. "How do I ask her to stay?"

"I'm not the one in love with her," she replied with a smile. "Come on – Celia's not the type of girl to fall for fancy poetry or anything like that. You don't need to go over the top – you just need to make sure she knows, without any doubts." She sauntered out from behind the bar, grabbing my face gently and forcing me to look at her. "I know you can do this. You're going to be great." Patting my cheek lightly as if I were a baby, she gave me a reassuring smile before taking a step back. "Now go. It's Christmas Eve, and you have people you should be spending it with. I'm officially kicking you out."

Getting to my feet, I nodded to the blonde woman and crossed the room to the front door, letting my hand rest on it for a moment before turning towards her again. "Uh... thank you."

"No problem," she said, making her way back behind the bar, her eyes sparkling. "Just... find the right moment and say it, Marlin. No matter how it turns out – you won't regret telling her."

"Well, I'm having seconds," Vesta boomed heartily, dropping her fork back onto her plate as she finished off a last mouthful of ham. "What's wrong with you two? You haven't touched your food. I don't like all this quiet nonsense on Christmas Day."

"Sorry Vesta," Celia said with a gentle smile, lowering her eyes to the plate in front of her. She'd been a little low all morning, which mixed with everything else, was definitely bringing me down.

"Besides, you're getting married in a week," my sister called out as she made her way over to the kitchen to refill her plate. "That alone gives you a reason to be over the moon, doesn't it?" She turned suddenly, grinning in understanding. "I get it. You're getting nervous now, aren't you? Can't say I blame you for a lack of appetite. I –" Vesta's face fell suddenly as she glimpsed the clock. "Damn it, I was meant to bring around Christmas lunch for Galen half an hour ago! I'll... I'll be back in ten minutes." Berating herself under her breath, she quickly cut some turkey and ham, then heaped vegetables onto a plate, hurrying out the door without another word. I glanced at Celia, still languidly pushing her food around the plate as if that would give the impression that she'd eaten something.

"Excuse me – I'll be back in a minute," she said softly, barely meeting my eyes as she pushed away from the table and walked up the stairs leading to her room. My heart was beating somewhere in my throat as I rested my head in my hands and exhaled. I wasn't stupid; I knew I wasn't going to get a better opportunity than this to tell her how I felt. It was Christmas Day and we had a moment alone. Just... I could tell that if I started giving her some grand, romantic speech, I'd freeze up and choke and look a complete idiot before I could so much as get the first word out.

At the same time, I knew that there wasn't going to be another moment like this. I couldn't leave it until New Year's Eve, when her bags were completely packed and her future husband was standing at the door waiting for her. And just that, that sickening image alone, was enough to push me to my feet and towards the stairs.

"Celia?" I called, trying to ignore my voice sounding on the verge of cracking. There was a long silence from within her room, and I hesitantly pushed the door open. "Celia, I – what's wrong?"

She didn't look at me, seated on her bed and wiping tears from her face quickly. "Hi Marlin. Sorry, I'll... I'll be right down."

"What's wrong?" I repeated dumbly, unsure why she was crying for one thing, but mainly clueless as to how I should comfort the girl. I crossed the room slowly and sat down next to her, leaving at least a foot of space between us.

She took in a shaky breath, glancing my way for a split second through tear-filled eyes. "I'm... I'm a little scared," she confessed, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

"About what?" I pressed, completely aware that my mouth felt like sandpaper.

Celia exhaled, wringing her hands together. "I'm... I'm worried. About... getting married next Friday. Vesta's done so much for me, and worked so hard trying to make me happy, but I –" she looked at me with pleading, scared eyes. "I don't know him, and I don't... I don't know if I'll be happy with him, or if he'll ever love me or I'll ever love him, or anything like that. But I have to spend the rest of my life with him, a-and leave behind everything here, forever." She broke the eye-contact again, glancing down at her hands. "So I'm terrified."

"You... don't have to marry him, Celia," I said hesitantly. "I mean... just tell Vesta that you're scared."

"She knows I'm scared," the girl said softly. "She says it's natural. She's only trying to make me happy, and I... I guess love makes people happy, so I see what she's trying to do." She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head. "I'm just going to miss living here. I kind of... I wish I didn't have to go."

"Don't go," I blurted out, watching as her expression turned from dejected to downright puzzled.

"Vesta would –"

"Don't worry about Vesta," I said in a low voice, briefly contemplating brushing a loose strand of hair back from her face but not quite daring to. "Do what you want. Vesta will just have to understand."

"I... I can't..." she began, looking extremely distressed. "I can't just be selfish about this –"

"Please stay."

Her eyes widened instantly. "What?"

My heart was pounding a thousand times a minute – which probably wasn't a great thing, considering my history of heart problems. I took in a few deep breaths through my nose in a desperate bid to prevent some very un-manly fainting. "I want you to stay, Celia. You shouldn't be with some guy who doesn't know you." I barely thought about my next words, just letting them come out. "I've known you for eight years. If you're... if you're going to marry someone, I – I think it should be... well, not some stranger. I mean... if you wanted to, you could marry... me." I kept staring at the floor determinedly, literally wanting to sink through it more and more the longer the silence between us stretched on.

It took an agonizingly long time for me to work up the courage to sneak a glance at her – but when I did, I physically felt my entire body relax at the soft smile on her face. She still wasn't looking at me although obviously aware that I was looking at her – but in the next moment, still smiling, she nodded meekly. "I'd like that."

I didn't sweep her up in my arms and kiss her passionately, or anything like that. I simply stood up and offered her my hand, aware of the uncharacteristic smile on my own face as I led her back downstairs to wait for Vesta.

I married her on the sixth of Spring, her birthday. It was just a small, simple ceremony, with our friends from the town present.

Muffy sat in the front row, grinning at me the whole time.

Vesta hadn't known quite how to react when we told her, but given a few hours to think about it, she was more delighted with the idea than anyone. And Jack – the man Celia was in the arranged marriage with – called me a few days after Vesta broke the arrangement off, to give his congratulations and his blessing.

I think Celia and I both knew from the beginning that we would never be a really wild, impassioned, dramatic couple. Neither of us were those kinds of people. But we were romantic, and we were deeply in love. Our relationship was gentle and protective and peaceful, stripping away all the melodramatics of 'love' and purifying it into its most essential, necessary elements.

There you go, Let Love In – I hope you liked it. Merry Christmas, everyone!