Night Owl
When he met her, despite what he claimed, it wasn't love at first sight. She was just an ordinary girl, like any other. He had seen her countless times before, in a countless number of peoples face. She had so easily fallen victim to his charm, and he had taken the chance to flee, oblivious to the fact he had just walked away from the woman who would possess his thoughts entirely in the months to come.
It wasn't until the second time they met, while he was out on a job, that she really caught his attention. It was her eyes. Although she couldn't move, still bemused by his beauty, he had no doubt that if she could, she would murder him. Her eyes regarded him with nothing more than hatred.
It brought a smile to his lips.
"It's ironic, is it not?" he mused, "your eyes, brain, and heart show and feel such hostility towards me – yet your body doesn't seem to agree." He reached out and lightly grabbed a lock of her hair. And in return, she gritted her teeth nastily.
"Go rot," she spat out at him.
He laughed airily, not expecting this reply. "I'd rather not," he told her as he looked down at his newly acquired watch, "But I should be going." He let go of her hair and took a step back before speaking again. "You're quite interesting. I'll be sure to visit again."
And visit again he did. Whenever he sought her out, he'd often find her running around, cleaning the grass of all its weeds and replacing them with small red, blue, green and white flowers. He'd always give her a short break from her work, making sure she didn't move a muscle when he would pop in to say hello.
She never did seem to enjoy these breaks as much as he did. Her eyes always held the same unchanging iron that he had seen the first time they had met.
He wondered if it was just him that she showed these eyes to. Or more correctly, if it was only him she hid her real eyes from. He was, for some reason or another, determined to find out.
His curiosity had him visiting the small town in mid-daylight, something he had never done before. What he found, although not completely unexpected, astounded him. He watched silently from the shadows as she smiled brightly, laughing. Emotions he hadn't been aware could cross her face, were shown undauntedly to everyone she saw.
She didn't see the thief lurking in the dark.
His little visit to the town should have been forgotten, but he rarely did what he should have done. And his visit stayed ingrained in his mind, and her laughing face always appeared on the back of his eyelids.
And soon, his already frequent nightly arrivals quickly increased. His interest and curiosity was far beyond any normal level. He didn't understand her. And he didn't understand why that bothered him so much.
"Do you know why thieves are so mysterious?" he'd asked her one night, bending over slightly so that he was eye to eye with her. She looked much different close up, less threatening, and almost tender, yet still with the same cold eyes. He wondered if he was the only one whose heart was beating faster.
"Because they're always trying to hide the fact that they have no good qualities?" She'd said. Obviously, he was.
He laughed, standing back up straight. "No," he told her, making a small little circle around her, " It's because you're intrigued by us, and you don't know why."
She looked up at him, completely disinterested. "Don't flatter yourself."
Although it wouldn't seem like it to an outsider, or a normal person at all, he began to think that perhaps the hatred she'd once held for him was slowly dissipating. She would answer the questions he asked her, and once, to his great surprise, she even told him the events of her day.
"It almost died," she'd said, shaking her head slightly, "If I had come in a minute later, I'm positive it would have had its head cut off and legs stuck in the grinder." He had just stared up at her as she talked, resting his arm on the fence and a small smile pulling at his lips.
That event had given him hope, that maybe the two of them were somehow closer than he had thought before. But it had all been childish fantasy, as he soon learned. A thief makes no one happy.
She appeared one night, standing quietly beside the path he always took to enter the small town, an aura surrounding her that was much different than the one he was accustomed to.
"Did you come to see me?" He asked her playfully, walking over to where she waited.
She stood quietly for a moment.
"Mm…yeah," She finally answered, looking down at the ground intently, as if there was something intriguing there. He had to look to make sure.
Having her come to him had never happened before, and it made him happier than he was willing to admit. He smiled fondly down at her, feeling as his heart warmed up just by being near to her.
It was odd. He had never experienced something like this before, yet it felt so…natural. He still didn't understand her, or understand what was happening at all. But he did finally understand one thing. He understood why it was she always filled his brain with thoughts of her. It seemed like such a simple explanation now.
"And to what do I owe your valuable company?" He'd asked, leaning down so that he could see her face.
She looked up just then, and their eyes locked, a hold which he immediately wanted out of. Her eyes weren't filled with hatred, or the unmoving iron he had always been greeted with. They were tender and raw, and filled with regret.
He stepped backwards stupidly, confused. He said nothing, and watched as she opened the rucksack she held in her arms. She reached in, her hand empty, but when it came out, she held lightly onto a small blue feather.
He chuckled, and before he knew it, he was laughing hysterically, holding onto his side tightly.
"You're getting married," he said in between his laughter. How stupid had he been? Believing for even a moment that she could return his feelings; that she could love a thief.
He stepped forward and plucked the feather from her fingers. He looked it over, still laughing. "It's a beautiful feather. He would make you a happy bride—Marlin, I think his name is." He looked over to where she stood, standing quietly. "Too bad he won't be able to," he said as he turned the feather over in his hands, as if he were inspecting it.
He looked back at her again, watching as she bit her lip lightly. "Oh, don't worry. I won't steal your precious feather," he set it back in her palm, closing her fingers around it. "There's something much more valuable I'm after."
And with that, he walked away into the black of the night without another word.
He returned the following night, and found her reading quietly in her house, an unusual sight.
"I'm home," he'd called humorously as he walked in, wiping his feet casually on the rug. She looked up at him, not surprised at all by his entrance, as if he really were coming home.
"I know I said I wouldn't take your feather. But it seems there are some things I just can't steal. So the feather will have to do." He walked casually to the counter, and swiped it from its doors. "Well. That's really all I came to do, but I will be sure to visit you again soon." He turned around, ready to walk out the door. But she stood in front of him, blocking his exit.
"Give it back," she said. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, her eyes were still tender, and her voice showed no trace of anger, yet she was planted firmly in the place in front of him.
"Hmm…" he said, as if he were pondering what to do. He waved the feather around high in the air. "I don't think I will. It's quite pretty; I could make a good amount of money off of it."
"Give it back," she said again. Each word poked him like a dagger, but he refused to show it.
"Do you hate me that much?" he asked her, leaning down so that they were eye to eye, a small smirk on his face.
But before he knew it, she had put her lips on his. It was short, quick and passionate. Or maybe it was long and hard. He wasn't sure. But either way, it was most definitely passionate.
Though too soon, her lips were away from his, and she told him the same thing for the third time, yet not with the same words.
"Skye…" It was the first time she had said his name to him, and he now knew, it would also be the last.
With that, he dropped his hand to his side, and let the feather fall freely to the ground. He didn't say anything else as he walked away. There was nothing to say.
No. That was a lie. There were so many things he wanted to say. He wanted that feather. He didn't want to leave her. She had always made him so happy. He loved her. Or at the very least, goodbye.
But instead, he left quietly, once again, a lone owl in the night.
I've been wanting to write a story with Skye for a long, long time. I hope the end result was okay. I had fun writing it though, Skye is such a unique character. There are a lot of fanfics out there that portray him differently, because he always leaves you wondering who he really is. I may eventually write something else with Skye, and play around with him (not meant to sound dirty), to see how I can portray him differently.
Anyways, thanks for reading this and I hope you liked it. Any reviews you have for me, I'd love to read.