A/N: I honestly have noooo idea where this came from, it literally zapped itself into my brain D: I had no further ideas for this couple, and then Inspiration slapped me in the face and told me to crank this out before Easter. Granted, that didn't happen, but here it is.
Anyway, this is kind of a mashup of all the alternate ideas I was toying with for a DT story before I wrote Bully. It is NOT related to Bully.
WARNING: OOCness ahead. Maggie is not her usual badass self and Terry's not so mean, so read at your own risk (*^*)
Hopefully you'll enjoy it, because I just don't know anymore (╯°^°)╯︵ ┻━┻
Disclaimer: I do not own Drillbit Taylor. Or Jane Eyre.
Chapter 1: Her~
1.
She was six when she first saw him.
She had been playing in the front yard when a moving van pulled up across the street. She had grabbed hold of her pink stuffed rabbit, got to her feet and ran out to the curb as the mysterious new strangers - two adults and one child - exited their vehicle. He was not much older than she, and at the time thought they could be great friends.
She had grown excited and filled with glee as he came trotting up to her, looking both ways before crossing the street. He came to stand at the edge of the curb, just in front of her, and eyed her curiously. She had become awkward and fidgety under his gaze, she remembered, and had not noticed when his eyes lingered downwards to the stuffed treasure she held in one arm.
He had not said a word. Without warning or incentive, he snatched the fluffy bunny from her loose hold, smiled, and ran off. She barely had time to mourn the loss of her only friend as her mother called her back inside for dinner, to which she numbly obeyed. In her shock, she remembered, quite clearly, looking back across the street. He was nowhere to be found.
She would not see Mrs. Periwinkle for a very long time.
2.
She was in school the second time she saw him.
She had been doodling idly in her notebook when the teacher announced a new student. She immediately looked up, her curiosity quashed when she caught sight of him. He wasn't looking at her, merely staring at the one empty seat in the back that would soon be his.
Gradually he scanned the faces, his gaze backtracking as it rested on her. His big eyes squinted, then widened as he remembered her. Then he did something she would never forget: he smiled. He smiled the biggest smile his premature face muscles could manage. The knowing, tell-all smile that said he remembered full well what he had done to her - what he had stolen - and he wasn't sorry. He was proud of it. Proud as proud could be.
At that moment one thing became clear to her own six-year-old brain: she wasn't about to get that bunny back any time soon.
3.
Her ninth birthday was when everything changed.
She had just blown out the candles on her cake when there came a knock at the door. Her mother, wondering who it could be, walked over and answered, cracking the door open. She heard a woman's voice, and it was then that she saw him. He was hiding behind his mother's legs, peering inconspicuously into the room beyond.
His face reddened as he realized he had been caught by her stare, and he wasted no time in sending an angry glare at her before hiding further behind his mother. When they were done with their exchanges, her mother came back into the room, but not empty handed. In her hands was a fairly large box, wrapped - albeit poorly - in festive birthday paper. It was handed to her with little care, and she shook it with even less.
Though immensely curious, she was no fool. He would always give her 'gifts', wrapped or not, and they were always a part of some dastardly prank. She had learned early on not to trust him, but she always ended up opening the wrapped boxes. Not because she was naive, but because she was curious. Inherently, uncontrollably curious.
Shaking the box again, she held her ear to it. It made no sound; not a rustle, nor a thud. And that made her all the more suspicious. Gulping down her curiosity, she held the box tightly in front of her.
And tossed it carelessly onto the floor.
4.
It was two whole days before she opened it.
After her birthday party, her parents had informed her that they would be moving. She was elated; she would no longer have to deal with him, and she had no friends to miss anyway. They were only moving an hour away, they told her, but it was enough for her.
And so, on the eve of their move, she found the courage to finally open the unopened birthday present, the first of its kind. She figured that, in the end, she would be far away - so far away that he would never be able to mock or prank or laugh at her ever again - so there was really no harm in letting her curiosity get the best of her one last time.
She made quick work of the wrapping paper, revealing a cardboard box underneath. It had bold black letters printed on the side that read: 'PLATES'. Plates? Why would he give her plates? She tried to comfort herself with the thought that he had probably just used an old box out of the house because he was too lazy to find anything else, but knowing him and his devious mind, it did little to help the more probable idea that he was just using it to toy with her fragile mind.
Mustering up the courage that she had had just moments before, she took a breath, and, fearing the worst, opened the box. What lay inside, unprotected by even the smallest sheet of tissue paper, shocked and horrified her to the core: it was Mrs. Periwinkle. She hesitated in picking her up; it may have been sabotaged. The stuffed rabbit was hardly stuffed anymore; the micro beads that sat inside its tummy were long ago squashed and worn away to nothing.
Sadly, it was no longer fluffy either. Its once soft synthetic fur was now matted and dirty and dull. She moved to hold it up to her face, but was horrified to find that as she did so, the left eye came out. Any feelings of happiness or regret towards him immediately ceased, and were replaced with feelings of sadness and anger. She held the rabbit up to her chest, squeezing tightly.
She now officially hated him.
5.
After they moved, she was much happier.
She spent seven long and lovely years attending a new school district, with new people and new friends. She no longer cried herself to sleep, or felt a terrible knot in her stomach, or lived in constant fear of what was in store for her the next day. And then her parents told her they were moving. Again. Back to their old neighborhood, nonetheless.
She couldn't help arguing, fighting them every step of the way on the matter. She calmed down after a few days. Her mother had comforted her with the fact that it had been so long, he may not even live there anymore. Everyone moved out of that house eventually. He probably didn't live there anymore, and she was just paranoid.
At least, that's what she told herself.
6.
When they hopped out of the moving truck, she took a look at their 'new' home.
It was the one she had grown up in. The exact. Same. One. Right across the street from him.
She nearly fainted.
7.
On her first day of school as a sophomore, she glanced at the house across the street.
It certainly didn't look vacant. She eyed the black Mustang in the driveway before getting on the bus. She felt an onslaught of butterflies and her stomach lurched uneasily as the bus driver began to pull away. She nervously searched the faces as she sat down in her seat, failing to find anyone resembling him.
It was fourth grade all over again.
8.
She had made it through an entire week of school before she saw him.
She was sitting in a corner in the library, trying to study for a test, when he walked by her table. He didn't recognize her. He looked at her as he passed by, and he didn't seem to have the faintest clue as to who she was. She hadn't seen him in years, but she knew.
His face had matured greatly, but he still had a hint of boyishness to his features. His hair was virtually the same, and it was that prominent feature that gave him away. It was him. Their eyes met, and as he regarded her coolly as he passed by she recognized the unmistakable glint they held.
They reminded her of a cold knife.
9.
She noticed him every day at school after that.
She later learned that it was his Mustang that sat in the driveway, and that his parents were more often than not 'away' on business trips. She wondered how he got around, living by himself like that, and she was shocked to find that he was a year older than her; technically an adult.
He may not have recognized her, but she avoided him like black plague. She was always going out of her way to stay away from him. It was taxing, and it wore her down faster than she could imagine, but it was worth it. She may not have been able to make any friends, but it was worth it. Her grades may have slipped, but it was worth it.
Anything to stay away from him.
10.
It was on a Monday when her death sentence came. In Science.
The teacher was assigning partners for a project, which would count for 70% of their final grade. Her name was called. She stood up, hoping that they would shout out a 'Danny' or 'Rachel', anyone besides the one person she had worked so hard to steer clear of, and that she could quell the fear and nausea pitted in the bottom of her stomach. Her hopes were in vain.
The teacher called out his name. He stood up, and her stomach plummeted, her insides clenching painfully in terrible discomfort. He walked over to her work station, and she stood stalk still, rigid and frozen in her spot, unable to even turn her head and face him. She began to sweat. She numbly sat down, too afraid to even look him in the eye.
She felt like puking.
11.
She avoided him like Death now, even going so far as to skip out on lunch, instead hiding in the bathroom until her next class.
She dreaded the thought of having to spend time with her tormentor, but she knew it was inevitable. She couldn't fail a grade just because she was scared to death of her new lab partner. Her parents wouldn't let her.
It didn't stop her, however, from trying.
12.
She had avoided him for so long that it had caused him to have to track her down and find her.
He had cornered her in the library, seeming very annoyed, and told her they needed to get started on their project. He looked her straight in the eyes the entire time, seeming to have no recollection of who she was, but she didn't dare look at him. Not once. She couldn't. Not with his penetrating stare and calculating gaze.
Somehow she knew, that if she looked at him - even once - he would know.
13.
She wasn't quite sure how, but she had somehow managed to convince him to come to her house for their project.
She didn't remember what she'd said, or even that her lips moved at all, but he agreed. She was sure he thought her strange - she was always quiet and looked at the floor when around him - so she was surprised when he had said yes. She supposed that they were so far behind (because she had held it off for so long) that perhaps he just didn't care and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.
She realized later that maybe the library would have been a better choice - going to her house may incidentally jog his memory, and the last thing she wanted was for him to resume his torment on the victim who got away - but quickly disposed of the thought because, after all, her parents would be there. Nothing bad ever happened when she was around her parents. She would be better off at home, in familiar territory.
She felt safer already.
14.
Their first study session did not go particularly well.
He had assumed that she had chosen her place because she already had all of the materials needed for their project. This was not the case. They spent over an hour in her room, at her desk, attempting to brainstorm but failing miserably. It became apparent that he was frustrated by her overly quietness and lack of input, so when he tried to challenge her on an idea for the project he just ended up arguing with himself.
At the end of the day, they could only agree on one thing: what they were going to do for their project. It would be an erupting volcano, cliche as it was. It was simple, easy, sure to get a passing grade. But most of all it was something that didn't require a whole lot of teamwork. They could both go their separate ways in constructing it without having to be around each other a whole lot, and that sounded good to her.
When he left that day, angry and frustrated and annoyed, she couldn't help but feel the exact opposite of those things. She watched from her bedroom window as he crossed the street to his house, and let out a breath she'd been holding since thirty seconds ago. He was finally gone.
She could have cried with relief.
15.
Another week passed and things were going as planned.
She couldn't avoid him anymore at school, as he had already found all of her hiding places, and she saw him much more often. They never talked or chatted, and he made no effort to. Occasionally he would ask her about something related to their project, to which she would give the shortest, most efficient answer possible.
She began to grow slightly more comfortable in his presence. He never teased or pranked her, and she saw him do no such thing to any of the other students, but he had a cold countenance about him, as if surrounded by a layer of ice, and she was still wary. She figured that if he hadn't recognized her by now, he never would, and her guard dropped ever so slightly, by the smallest degree, to the point where she no longer tensed when he came within walking distance of her.
She would never, however, hold tight to the idea that he had changed.
16.
It was a Tuesday, she remembered, when things started to go south.
They were nearing the end of their project, and he had suggested they go to his place instead of hers - he already had everything they needed, and it would be silly and time-consuming to move everything from his house to hers. She remembered a bad feeling in her stomach, like she knew that it was a bad idea, a road that could lead nowhere good, but she had (reluctantly) agreed.
When she finally got the courage to go outside, walk across the street, and knock on his door, she felt - even more than before - that it was a terrible mistake. She was thinking heavily about running back across the road, to safety, when he opened the door. She kept her eyes down as he silently looked her over, and there was a distinctly irritable sigh on his end before he let her in.
He led her upstairs and into what she could only assume was his bedroom. She tried not to look around too much, but she had never had the pleasure (or displeasure) of seeing inside her enemy's fortress. She was not amazed or astounded at how clean and expensive everything looked - it was the suburbs, after all - but she wondered how much it had changed over the years. Was it like this seven years ago? Her musings were cut short as she came to face his desk, their work station for the project.
It was laden with all sorts of items and tools and directions. She noted that there was only one chair to sit in, and she had wondered if he had expected her to stand the entire time they built the volcano, but her thoughts were halted when he suddenly went downstairs and disappeared for a few minutes. He reappeared in the doorway, shuffling past her with a chair in hand. He set it beside his, and motioned for her to sit down. She silently obeyed, keeping her eyes on the chair.
They had been working efficiently for about an hour, if she remembered correctly, when the incident happened. She had dropped something - whether it was paper, clay, or something else entirely, she couldn't remember - and they had both bent down below the desk to pick it up. She let him reach for it, and was about to stand back up when he suddenly held it out to her in an attempt to hand it back. She sat crouched, unmoving, staring at the object he held - it may have been a pencil; she remembered it being small - and then she made the dreaded mistake.
She looked at him. His eyes widened considerably when she did this, probably in shock, because she hadn't looked him in the eye since the day she had discovered him in the library for the first time. They both stared, frozen in their places, and she felt an onslaught of self consciousness as he snapped out of his daze and began roaming his eyes over her face, quickly studying every feature as though he would never get the chance to do so again. And then it happened.
Suddenly his gaze snapped back to her eyes, and his own widened further in recognition. And she could tell that, in that moment, he knew. He knew who she was, knew what he had done to her, remembered. She sat there, stomach moving to her throat, and time paused for a few agonizing seconds. And then, snapping back to reality, she gathered herself, stood up, and turned.
She ran.
17.
She was able to avoid him for four days after that.
She took extra special care in staying away from the places he frequented, and extra extra special care in blending in with the crowd at the places she couldn't avoid him, like the cafeteria. Class was no problem, because there could be no talking or conversing in the first place, but she knew that she couldn't keep it up forever.
And she was right.
18.
He confronted her on the seventh day, in the library.
He had cornered her much the same way as he had before, when she put off doing their project together for as long as she could. He had looked very determined, she remembered, and she, she was sure, looked very frightened. She contemplated running, or screaming, or yelling for help; anything that would get him away from her. But she stood frozen, heart hammering hard in her chest, watching as he purposely stalked up to her.
He came to stand about a foot away from her, face serious as she all but trembled before him, hand shaking slightly as she slowly put back a book she was thinking about reading. She wasn't really sure why she was so afraid of him; maybe it was because now that they were grown he was just so much bigger than her, or perhaps because of all of the emotional trauma she suffered at his hands as a child. Whatever the case, she was scared beyond belief, and she waited with bated breath as he contemplated what to say.
What he did surprised her. Crossing the border of distance between them, he reached out to the shelf of books beside her, delved his hand in between the many titles, and pulled out the book she had been holding not five minutes ago. He brought it back to his side of the invisible barrier that separated them, briefly turned it over in his hands, and inspected it. He held it out to her, and after a few seconds she hesitantly took it.
"It's a good book." He'd said.
And then he brisquely turned around, and walked off. She let out the breath that had threatened to burst her lungs, and after he had disappeared from sight she looked down at the cover: Jane Eyre. She wondered when he had developed even the slightest interest in literature, and even more so a liking for contemporary romance novels. She moved to put it back, untrusting of his taste in books, but something - she wasn't sure what - made her pause, then slowly reel it back into her arms. Then, on a whim, she walked over to the librarian, pulled out her card, and checked it out.
She enjoyed the book very much. Once she had cracked it open she found that she couldn't put it down. It took her three days to read it. It probably would have been one if she had been able to settle down with it over the weekend, but this was not the case. She read it every chance she got; on the school bus, at lunch, in the library. When she was finished, she actually felt the urge to read it again.
But then she thought of him. And the mere fact that he had recommended it to her - save the fact that she had already been considering checking it out herself - stayed her hand.
She took it back that very same day.
19.
The next time they crossed paths, she noticed a very inherent difference in his behavior. She had been late in getting to class that day, and just as she ran to catch the closing door, he appeared from inside the classroom. He said nothing, holding the door for her as she caught up. She almost immediately slowed her pace, but not in fear. She felt the oncoming wave of confusion wash over her as she came up to him, stopping just a few feet away as she stared at him.
This time it was he who kept his eyes down, and as she studied him coolly she noticed that his usual aura of distance and coldness had all but evaporated.
She took a step, paused, and went inside.
20.
Over the next few days he continued to surprise her.
If he didn't hold the door for her one day, he would hold her books for her the next. He gave her much more space, no longer hunting her down whenever he needed something - usually input for their project. He had started to send her little smiles whenever they saw each other, and once he had even complimented her hair. It had gotten to the point where, over time, it was almost expected of him to be courteous to her.
And that scared her.
21.
After giving it more thought, she started to become more anxious of him.
What if it was a trick? She wouldn't initially think him to be so cunning, but she also wouldn't put it past him. As the days passed, she grew more and more suspicious of his intentions, and over the weekend, when she had all of her thoughts to herself - when she really had time to think -she was convinced he was the Devil. She tried to calm herself down before Monday came, but she was able to do little more than work up a stomach ache.
When morning came, and she found herself staring cautiously at him as he held the door for her, she had spiraled her nerves into a train wreck. She felt a nervous sweat come on whenever he walked by, and she dreaded the very thought of having to keep her guard up for an oncoming attack. Her stomach was in so many knots she wasn't sure if she would have to make a dash for the bathroom - or the trashcan. In the end she made it through the day.
But just barely.
22.
He came to talk to her after the third day.
They were eating outside that day, just behind the school, when he had walked up to her table. He hesitated, as though unsure of himself, before sitting down across from her. He was quiet, lacing his hands together in front of him as he looked down at the table. She wondered what it was that warranted breaking the unspoken boundary between them, but she already knew.
Finally, he opened his mouth. "What are we going to do about the project?"
Honestly, she didn't know. She knew what she wanted to do, and that was to forget about the entire thing and run far away. But that would never come to fruition. So, she said the only thing that came to mind: the truth.
"I don't know."
He spoke again, quicker this time, surer of what he was going to say. "We need to finish it."
Somehow, stating the obvious spoke more volumes to her than anything else ever could. She still wanted to run, to be free of his presence - the constant irritation in her side - but she knew that he was right. She needed to be rid of this beast, to kill it, to get it over and done with. She replied in all seriousness:
"Okay."
23.
They met after school every day after that, to work on their project.
It felt as though a weight had been lifted, and she found that in the coming days, it was much easier to be around him. They still met at his house, and for some unknown reason she was fine with this. They worked and worked and worked, and it ended up taking them three days to get it just right. They had ruined the first volcano, and it set them back until he could go out and get more supplies.
They were nearly finished when it happened. She was checking things over to make sure they had done everything right, waiting for him to come back from the bathroom. She was very focused on a particular section of the volcano, and she hadn't noticed him come back in. She had leaned back away from their finished work when she suddenly felt a chill. She froze as it ran up her spine, feeling a presence - his presence - behind her.
She got that feeling that one often gets when they enter a potentially dangerous situation; when the air changes, and the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end, as if the whole room is electrified, and they're justwaiting for the moment when they get shocked, burned, fried. She remembers distinctly the feeling of her neck hairs prickling as she felt his breath hit the side of her neck, moving up to her chin, her cheek, her ear. She was unsure what to do, so she stayed silent, still and unmoving.
Time passed, and as she waited for him to do something, she wondered if he wasn't exactly sure himself what he was going to do. And just when she was about to open her mouth, to ask what it was that he wanted, he spoke. His choice of words startled her, but their impact shocked her to the core.
"I'm sorry."
It took her all of two seconds to process the words, and almost immediately her walls crumbled. Her eyes welled, her throat constricted, her shoulders trembled. She let out the breath she'd been holding as the first tear fell, the careful barriers she'd built to protect herself over the years falling along with it. It wasn't the words themselves that moved her so - anyone can say they're sorry - but the way he had said them, as though he had really meant them. And as more tears and wracking sobs came, she knew that he was, indeed, really, truly sorry.
Another sob came, and she gasped, sniffling furiously at her suddenly loose nose. A pair of arms encircled her waist and she was slowly rotated around to face him, her tear-filled eyes obscuring him from view. Then he surprised her again. Swiftly but gently she was pulled to him, and as she buried her face in his shirt, she cried harder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, and she didn't object. They stood there for what seemed like forever, and he rubbed her back as she soaked his shirt, neither of them speaking.
After a while her legs grew weary, and she sunk to the floor, taking him with her. He pulled her into his lap, weaving a hand into her hair as he gently rocked back and forth, cradling her. By now her tears had ceased, and she concentrated on evening out her breathing. They sat together for hours - or what felt like hours - listening to the tick of the clock that rested on the wall. They remained silent, neither willing to break the sudden peace that overcame them.
She was too tired for conversation anyway, and even if she weren't she didn't know what she would say. It was getting late, she knew, and her parents were probably getting worried. But in truth, she didn't want to leave. She felt at peace; content, here, sitting on his bedroom floor. She felt a new wave of tears coming on, but this time of the happy kind. And in that moment, as she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his back, nothing else mattered.
He was sorry.
End.~
A/N: Not quite sure if I should have ended it here, but this feels right to me and I feel like it's long enough. I'll extend it if you want me to, but for now I'll just end it here.
Maggie's a lot weaker here, and Terry's a lot less mean, but like I said this is an alternate take on them (and totally OOC) so whatever. Do you think this counts as one of those fanfic off-canon warnings for a 'gentle!Terry'? Lol XD
I don't know crap about making an erupting volcano, or if that would even qualify as fair game for a high school science project (probably not) but whatever, it's done.
Anyway, I'll have Terry's POV up soon, and then it'll be finished.
Feel free to fave or review, or whatever it is that you do. Lol.
'Til next time,
Nikkette~
