A picture frame on the wall rattled as Fakir slammed the front door shut behind him. In one arm he had his paper, quill and ink; in the other he held a shivering yellow duck wrapped up in his coat. "Okay, next time I'll keep a better eye on the weather," Fakir muttered as thunder boomed outside. Lightning flashed through the window as Fakir set his writing materials on his desk and placed Duck gently on the couch near the fireplace. "I'll get the fire going," he told her before rushing outside through the back door.

Duck quacked softly as she shuddered in the soft fabric of the coat. Water droplets rolled off her head onto the couch. Normally she was fine being outdoors in the rain, but this was a storm bigger than anything she had ever seen before. She watched the rain pound against one of the windows and make the glass appear blurry; she smiled, thinking she was glad that Fakir could take her indoors.

Wind whistled through the back door as Fakir came back inside and struggled to close it. He cursed under his breath, dropping a pile of wood by the fireplace. "A lot of the wood is wet," he muttered as he began shoving logs on top of leftover ashes. "Who knows if a fire will even start?" He lit a match and held it to the wood, but it went out before touching the bark of one piece. Cursing, he lit another match and tried again.

"Quack quack," Duck replied, worry evident in her voice. She used her wings and her beak to snuggle deeper into her coat-blanket. It wasn't much warmer than the position she was before, but it kept her from shaking.

Turning his head, Fakir sighed, eyebrows furrowed together as he watched her. "Oh, c'mon, I'll get the fire going, idiot. No need to get all worked up." He tossed yet another spent match into the fireplace.

Duck quacked angrily, flapping her wings as best she could while they were under the coat.

He grabbed the small duck, coat-blanket and all, and held her close to him the way he did when she first saw him crying. "Don't worry," he whispered. "Even if I can't get it going, I'll still keep you warm." Albeit confused, she slowly closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. He remained crouched next to the couch and held her, stroking his fingers against her head. Duck quacked happily, soaking in the warmth of his embrace. She could have stayed there forever, even as a small bird.

The moment was soon interrupted by a knock at the front door. Fakir looked up, eyebrows raised, and set Duck back on the couch to go answer it. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Autor there, his glasses rain-streaked. He held three burlap sacks large enough to hide his chin.

"Mr. Foerster told me to bring these by to you," Autor explained, holding out the sacks to Fakir. Fakir quickly gestured for Autor to come inside, and he shut the door when the musician was in the house. "It's the wood you bought from him a few days ago before he got the wood split," Autor explained.

Fakir nodded, remembering that he had bought wood from Mr. Foerster, the local carpenter and woodsmen, to heat the house. "I didn't buy that much, though," he replied as he took the wood.

Autor shrugged. "Well, don't ask me, I'm just the delivery boy. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go and drink Drosselmeyer's specialty tea by my own fire." He went out the door and shut it quickly without slamming it.

Fakir rolled his eyes. "Someone's upset today...and in denial," he muttered, rolling his eyes. Duck quacked in agreement. Fakir set the bags of wood down and opened one of them, placing completely dry logs into the fireplace.

It wasn't long afterwards that Fakir got the fire going well enough to cook soup over it for himself and Duck. They sat in front of the fireplace, both of them wrapped in actual blankets, each of them eating their own cream of mushroom soup. Duck dripped her head and slurped up the soup with her bill while Fakir had a spoon. Suddenly, Duck stopped and looked at the front door, curiosity in her eyes.

"What is it?" Fakir asked.

She looked at the door, then at the pile of extra firewood, then back at the door.

His eyebrows furrowed together, then raised as he realized what she was trying to say. "Oh, you think Autor gave us extra wood on purpose?" Duck nodded and quacked affirmatively. "Yeah, I think he did, too, but didn't want to admit it. Guess he hasn't warmed up to the concept of having friends, eh?"

The yellow duck nodded and quacked with a smile. She continued eating her soup.

Fakir smiled back. "You know, it took me a while to warm up to you, too." Duck laughed, or at least laughed as best she could since she didn't have a human voice. "Things certainly have changed, haven't they?"

She agreed with him by nodding her head. Her bill knocked over her soup bowl, but Fakir caught it before it spilled. "Be careful why don't you?" he scolded; Duck replied angrily with a row of quacks. "I know, I know, and I'm not mad now." That was enough to calm her down.

After they finished their meal and Fakir put the dishes away, both he and the duck sat in front of the fire. This time they were both wrapped up in a large blanket, the duck in his arms. Neither of them felt like talking, for what good were words when the crackle of the fire was sound enough?

Closing her eyes, Duck leaned her head against Fakir as he began stroking her wings. It wasn't long before she fell asleep there, in the comfortable and familiar warmth of his embrace. There wasn't anywhere else she would have rather been, regardless of whether the night was stormy like it was or if it had been clear and starry.

Final.

Author's Note Below

MU: This has already been posted on my dA for a while, but like with my other oneshots from last year's Fakiru Week on deviantArt, I decided to post them here, as well. I hope you enjoyed it. :)