Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Disney characters in this story. Obviously.
Author's Note: ...Well. It's been a few years since I've posted fanfiction on this site, hasn't it. I've had this sitting around on deviantArt for awhile and I thought...w-well, it couldn't hurt posting it here too. It's a silly story I've had in my head for a few years and I've just now started putting it into words. For a full description, please visit the story on my deviantArt page (where I'm also known as Elera).
There I also explain that there's a strong likelihood that I won't be finishing this fic due to the general silly nature of it as well as personal conflicts. But who knows, if there's enough interest for it and if inspiration strikes, then I shall give it my best. :3
The title is likely due to change since the current one is lame and thought up in a moment of stress.
One last note: the time period of this is somewhere between the 17th-18th century. The nice thing about Mickey Mouse; you can pop him in any century (and any strange situation) you want.
Enjoy~!
Perhaps he should have sensed it, the weight of the fog. The evenings of Little Bituhluck were often thick though, as the presence of rolling mist wafted from the harbor and climbed up her jagged black cliffs like a fleet of specters performing some nightly pilgrimage. Yet tonight the fog was heavier. Although Mickey Mouse had not grown up in the seaside city, he had spent most of his career as a traveling sailor, and therefore still should have recognized the signs of something unfamiliar and threatening slithering on the back of the pearly white, seemingly docile weather. The unfriendly presence was intangible at any rate, negating any usefulness that might have come from being attentive. Anything unusual about a fog almost always is intangible, whether it's a fog that has chosen to be oppressive or one that has elected to simply be a nuisance. Mickey regarded the current atmosphere as neither, and this was because he wasn't regarding it at all. There were bigger things on his mind, things that could make a guy's hands sweat despite the bitter nipping of the cold night air.
Without taking notice of any landmarks along the deserted city street, the young mouse followed the hazy glow of chilled yellow streetlamps as they flickered pitifully and tried to overcome the wet air that was continuously choking them. He had registered earlier in the day that there was a good chance of snowfall, judging by the clouds in the sky, but that had been in the morning, when Mickey still had some brain left in him.
Horace Horsecollar, Mickey's boss, the local blacksmith and the town's biggest but friendliest blowhard, had been there to agree with him about the snow, to nod fervently and determinedly challenge anyone who disagreed with the forecast. "Snow t'day, yessir, no two ways about it. Gonna be a doozy too, you ken quote me on that. Better get it all put away before th' afternoon's up, Mick, 'less ya wanna spend all t'morrow diggin' out everything an' th' kitchen sink." Mickey found it was always easier to consent to his taller, older friend, if only because it was always safer and more time efficient, if less entertaining than the flustered indignation of a Horace being teased.
Thus far, despite their joined hypothesis, not a single flake drifted from the sky as Mickey walked through the sleeping city. Mickey might have missed it entirely even if it had. There was only room in his mind for one thing, that one precious thing who selfishly replaced all other thoughts every time she waltzed onto his mental stage. As Mickey's eyes drifted from streetlamp to streetlamp he'd picture her entering his daydreams with those tiny hands curled around the folds of her satiny skirts. She'd run to him and swoosh all about as though to clear away everything, everything else in the world like insignificant sand off of a rug. Gone were the quiet houses, gone were the closed offices and stores, gone were the stone-paved streets. He'd only have to picture that pale, pink-cheeked face crinkling up in bright, merry laughter against dark, smooth, flawless skin everywhere else and he'd be gone, his mind completely flooded with her.
Miss Minnie. His Minnie. His was the girl with the brown, shimmering eyes, the long, dark lashes, the shoulders that habitually drew themselves upward to protect her soft neck and blushing cheeks when he'd threaten her with tickling fingers. She was the girl whose every curve seemed to flow right into another one, twisting unexpectedly for one path and then falling peacefully downward like a gentle brook carrying its passengers safely home for the next. That was all his.
Naturally Mickey, being a fella of little vocabulary and even smaller education could not compose such flowery prose even in his most dedicated and ardent musings, but the near-painful throbbing of his heart, the violent wringing of his stinging stomach was poetry enough. He knew from the bottom of his soul that his miss was a lovely one; pretty he would say sometimes, very pretty at others, beautiful when he wanted to embarrass her in their private moments together. He was plenty aware that it felt 'good' when he was allowed to run his hand down the side of her impossibly soft face, 'swell' when his arm snaked around her back and rested his fingers perfectly in the curve of her waist. Without being a doctor, Mickey knew that by design her waist had formed that way for him to cling to with ease.
Yes, despite his lack of expertise Mickey was also terribly aware that in his possession was a girl who would stick her tongue out at him saucily at a community picnic when she thought no one was looking, or whisper alarming comments into his ear in Miss Daisy's parlor that would throw him into fits of unbridled laughter which she would try to shush despite her own hypocritical giggling. Minnie wasn't like all the others.
Theirs was an immature romance, the town had decided as a committee, even if it was harmless. Then contrarily Minnie would take Mickey completely by surprise in all her other moments, like when she'd look up at him from her position in his arms with soft, earnest eyes and tell him dozens of gentle, vulnerable secrets without even having to voice any of them. The charming, clever girl who could split his gut with her innocent sense of humor was also the same whose little hands would slide around his head and neck to pull him into the sort of tender kiss that could make a guy feel positively airborne. Little fragile Minnie, who he felt so strongly that he had to protect from all the world, was perfectly capable of knocking him flat on his back with a flutter of those eyelashes.
Mickey didn't have to compare her lips to pink rose petals and other such nonsense to know their language, didn't have to liken the sensation of being with Minnie to flying or dancing on the stars to just know that – that he had fallen madly in love with her. So much so that as he fingered a silver ring in his pocket, he could almost feel the words coldly burning even on his fingertips.
Of course, that might have actually been the nausea, compounded with the bracing cold of the night air. Mickey couldn't quite tell the difference. He was terribly cunning in the solving of local neighborhood mysteries like who had nipped a bit of pie from Clarabelle's windowsill (Mickey's best friend Donald Duck) and who had accidentally blown a hole in fisherman Goofy's deck with a misguided anchor (Donald again), but when it came to his own affairs Mickey severely lacked perception. He was even worse when it came to women.
He walked briskly now, trying to physically beat the assault of Minnie-centric memories racing behind him, memories now that could so easily turn sour if things didn't go right tonight. After all, the whole reason why Mickey had quit sailing two years ago had been to be with Minnie in the first place, even if he'd never exactly told her.
One fateful night his ship had, under most mysterious and violent circumstances, lost its way in the thick fog and crashed upon the treacherous rocks near Bituhluck Harbor, stranding him and his crew in the middle of the thrashing, stormy bay. As he and his men lied there, pinned helplessly beneath the wreckage of their sunken ship waiting to drown or possibly worse, the good people of Little Bituhluck had come to their rescue. With them, amazingly, had been a young, spunky girl who really oughtn't have been anywhere near such trouble, but if she hadn't been, Mickey would have never been discovered beneath his patch of debris. Only a person as small as herself could have managed to squeeze under and through the wall of shattered timber, and it had been a sheer miracle that she had found the doomed sailor in the first place.
Even now as he turned down peaceful Garner Street he could remember in striking detail lying there in the wet dark, legs trapped painfully between two rocks, mouth tasting strongly of salt and coppery blood. Then suddenly there had been the interruption of cool hands and beautiful brown eyes sweeping over him for any signs of life. By the time the pretty girl inspecting him hesitantly came to investigate his mouth to see if he was breathing, he'd tried to say something, which had come out as a croak, and she'd started and shrieked and made a general fuss. Even now Mickey would chuckle fondly each time he remembered her scolding and accusing him of pretending to be a dead man just to frighten her, then he'd smile fondly at the memory of her quick and wild change to terrified concern and sympathetic cooing.
But in the end, she'd saved him. She had torn her fancy dress, lost one shoe, but she'd saved him and then spent the next couple of months nursing him, a perfect stranger, back to health until he could walk and take care of himself again. Day after day, when Mickey had been at his most helpless, those healing hands had tended to his injuries, those dark eyes had studied him with a nurturing glow. When the repairs of his old vessel had been completed, and the time came for the sailors to pack up and head for home, every last man had gladly left...but Mickey had gladly stayed behind.
To say that over the next couple years he lived as a captive would have been accurate. For the first time in memory Mickey's wanderlust had been quite boldly tossed aside for somebody, who by all rights, could have had her pick of the litter rather than settle for the runt. There had been nothing binding him to her yet he'd followed her around with invisible shackles around his ankles, and all the while trying to pretend as though his intentions were aimed elsewhere.
A girl of such high status and social standing, even if she is adopted, is meant to have rich suitors of equally high standing, now isn't she? Mickey had constantly been reminded by himself and the various nosy onlookers in town of this. Yet he had seen no reason why he couldn't possibly remain friends with the girl, just as he had found friendship in Goofy the fisherman, Horace the blacksmith, and Donald the – the – e-er. In his own words, the duck was constantly 'in between jobs,' so around town and especially by his Uncle Scrooge he was more affectionately referred to as Donald the leech.
It was discovered by Mickey though that such powerful, strong obsessions over pretty young girls can't possibly be quelled, not from someone so passionate and stubborn as himself, and not when the target of his obsession smelled so consistently of sweet flowers and informed him of this fact each time she stood too near. The longer Mickey resisted, the hotter that little flame within him burned, until – a measly six months into his captivity and much useful flirting besides – he went completely and utterly mad and laid out all of his noble plans to court her and care for her – right upon Minnie's lips. It was a clumsier affair than it sounded, but it wasn't without its beautiful intentions.
He wasn't met with any objections anyway, and what followed was a long and steady courtship, the roots of which laid in the business of romantic, secret visits to Minnie's window and the rising frequency of being caught with his sweetheart doing ungentlemanly things to unladylike places in unorthodox locations about town. It isn't exactly socially acceptable, Mickey presently recalled as he stepped over a wide puddle on Taylor Road, kissing a lady's neck just behind the scant protection of a curtain in a public dress shop. Nor is it, he thought as one of his pant legs managed to take on some water anyway, polite allowing his ear to be nibbled on behind the bushes at the local park. As it turned out, having access to the only person he'd ever wanted in his life had brought out a hunger in Mickey that made for very lousy secret-keeping, and if that hadn't been enough, the young and amorous pair had shared the unfortunate habit of being far too forward in public with their hand-holding, skirt-tugging, jacket-sharing, gift exchanging, arm linking, playful winking, shared giggling, obvious gawking across crowded rooms, and general larking about.
Their affair was a secret to no one, and therefore as time carried on it failed to be one even for the couple in question. They were acting perfectly silly, Minnie declared one golden afternoon on the cliffs, and Mickey was inclined to agree, although it was hard to say no to her for anything when her finger was drawing little pictures right there on his chest. Most days now there was no pretense or attempt to sneak around in any way...save for one.
Mickey rose to his feet, having just climbed over the wall of Minnie's yard and dropped down over the side, his boots inconsiderately flattening a patch of grass. In his nervous haste he whipped around and headed for the side of the house where Minnie's bedroom waited. He was stamping through her precious garden as though he had no control over his own path whatsoever. It was probably for the best that he didn't realize he had some say in where his limbs carried him, otherwise increasingly-terrified Mickey would have likely told them to turn right back around and run screaming for home. This was preposterous, ridiculous, he was telling himself through barely moving lips. Expecting a honey like Minnie to stoop down to his level and accept his – er - proposal - - or - or whatever. What a laugh! Mickey almost did, except when his teeth parted open they only chattered violently in his hysteria. He supposed Minnie would be doing all the laughing for him when they got down to it, seeing as how she couldn't have wanted anything from him except for a bit of fun before she found herself someone real, someone with a successful career and a stately house that sprawled over more land than hers did. It was unfair to assume such things about her when Minnie had only proven time and time again that she was quite un-shallow and fiercely loyal to him as well as, if she was to be believed, terribly fond of him, but Mickey needed to think any number of things to convince himself to not go through with his foolish, foolish -
His frantic thoughts drew to a sharp halt just as his feet did.
There was something up there by Minnie's window already. Mickey didn't believe his eyes at first, yet there was nothing about to prove them wrong.
There, clinging impossibly to the glass was what could only be described as a creature. Its form was as vapory and dark as a shadow, its shape as unnameable and shifting as a splotch of splattered ink. So dark it was that at first Mickey was certain he was imagining it, but as the thing shifted slightly there was no denying the presence no matter how much he wanted to.
Recognition beat terror. Mickey was stricken with the sudden cold notion that he had seen such an unsightly vision before, further amplifying the horror of stumbling upon it unexpectedly. For the second time in almost as many years he had strayed into one specific waking nightmare, was seized with paralyzing fear that was uncharacteristic of the usually brave young man. His heart stopped, his legs refused to move, the chill of the air grew painful and stabbing -
And then anger replaced everything when he realized. The animal, the monster – whatever it was – wasn't even looking at him. It was peering into Minnie's room. It was looking at her. Watching her sleep probably, and possibly the light scratching sound he could barely make out was the yearning call of claws scraping against the glass, asking for an invitation inside. Whatever supernatural terror Mickey had succumbed to had only been temporary and brief, as his normal fears always were. That same overwhelming, frothing, hot sense of protectiveness that always shot up within him in a crack of lightning when his Minnie was being threatened did so now with alarming quickness. Mickey's face twisted with disgust and there was an enraged shout. "Hey, you!"
Before it was even reasonable there was a sizable rock in his large fist and he was chucking it. It sailed through the air, straight as the truth, directly for – only the shadow whipped around with a flash of menacing white, empty eyes and was leaping down in a blur of darkness. There was a loud crash only Mickey didn't hear it, because now a heavy, large body was descending upon him and knocking him flat on the ground. Clawed hands reached and made an attempt for his throat - to crush it, to rip it open, to bite it, who could even say – and Mickey certainly didn't want to. But just as his sense of protectiveness could whip through him in a lick of flame at a moment's notice, so too could his sense of self-defense. The cold fear wanted to take him again, but Mickey burned.
His teeth clenched and his fists curled, and just as quickly as he regained his breath from having it knocked out of him, Mickey was hurling punches from left and right. He kicked and together he and the demon struggled, turning over and over in the grass, Mickey continuously fighting even as the creature would manage an attempt to strangle him. He could barely see what he was fighting, the world was shrouded in a horrible, blinding blackness save for the looming presence of furious white eyes. Cold hands gripped him, searched him, clamped down upon him with surprising hatred. The thing paused, seeming to leer down at him only it was difficult to tell, and most alarming of all, Mickey was met with the distinct feeling that his thoughts were being read. The moment seemed to last, and last -
Until suddenly it was over.
Perhaps the blow Mickey had last dealt his foe was mightier than it had expected – for his small size the mouse was terribly strong – or perhaps the creature sensed that the scuffle would attract attention – but without warning the living shadow swept off Mickey and fled. It swiftly disappeared into the fog and over the wall, only Mickey just barely caught the escape in action. He laid there on the grass, panting in an attempt to catch up with his racing heart and very seriously considering rising to his feet and giving chase. In fact he was about to, because if he had one fatal flaw it was definitely rashness, but just as -
"Mickey!"
"Huh?" Hailed by his name, he turned his head to find Minnie herself at her window. Even in the moonlight he could see that her face was pale and her eyes were wide and searching. "M-Min - !"
"Mickey, just what do you think you're doing?" she interrupted, her voice starting as a panicked cry and then falling swiftly into a hushed whisper so as not to wake anybody. Mickey felt this was unnecessary, because surely one of her servants or even the master of the house himself had heard all the racket. Next he thought this accusation was unfair, because if he was doing anything it was protecting her from demonic prowlers and that was something to be rewarded.
"Wh-what am I - ?" he spluttered loudly, rising clumsily to his feet and not bothering to brush all the clinging grass from his jacket (not that he would have even under normal circumstances). "I-I was just – well heck, d-didn'tchya see – ya saw it, didn't ya? Tell me ya saw it!" Surely she must have.
"Shh!" Minnie hissed, only instead of looking completely annoyed there was concern mixed in as well. She leaned further out of the open second-story window to watch his ascent up the vine-woven trellis, the one she had time and time again warned him he would likely break if he wasn't careful. Now this couldn't be further from Minnie's focus. "Saw what? Are you out of your mind! What was – what could have possibly - oh, Mickey, you broke my window..."
Mickey reached her at the top of the trellis in record time and glanced up, eyes first falling on Minnie's shocked face, then trailing upward to find that indeed, his rock had crashed straight through the glass and left a gaping hole. This was the moment when he usually would have chuckled guiltily, flashed her a toothy grin, and done everything in his power to butter her up, but now was not the time. His head was full of monster and conspiracy and for Mickey that meant action. He shook his head stubbornly and shooed her away to pull himself up on the ledge with an easy hop. There was shattered glass upon the sill and on the cushioned seat in Minnie's room below it, but Mickey ignored it as easily as he might have fallen leaves and climbed across the seat and into her room anyway.
"N-nevermind!" he snipped, stealing her cold, trembling hands in his large ones and pulling her closer to him, just as much for her attention as it was for assessing that it really was her, that she really was alright despite that – that – that thing spying on her. "Ya musta seen it, Min, i-it was - !"
"Miss Minnie?" a muffled voice asked beyond her bedroom door. Upon instinct Mickey was yanking her completely into him, arms snagging her around her little waist even as she was perched on her knees on the cushioned bench. He was fixing the door with a ridiculously challenging expression, possibly expecting the creature itself to come strolling into the bedroom next, ready for another friendly go at it.
"I-it's nothing! I'm – I'm okay, everything's okay!" was Minnie's controlled, practically sung answer back, even as she shot Mickey a flustered little look. Really now, dear that he was, he was impossible to reason with when he was like this. He also knew better than to draw attention to these little window dates, because maybe the whole town knew about him courting her without anybody's permission, but it was still inexcusable and improper for him to be visiting her in this fashion, in such an intimate space as this and with her being – i-indecent. Gentlemen weren't supposed to view a lady in her night things, even if Minnie had taken the time to swathe herself in a lacy robe first. She spent most of these evenings with Mickey laughing and sinning just as much he did, but Minnie wasn't prepared for anybody to know that. She didn't want to go about upsetting people.
There was a suspicious pause, followed by a hesitant, "A-alright miss. If you say so..." And yet again they were quite alone.
Mickey didn't waste any time, nor did he release his hold on her. He spoke lower now, but Minnie knew this was less out of concern for disturbing the peace and more out of his love of dramatics. Mickey could be quite theatrical, as she knew more than anyone. And breaking her window, of all the ridiculous, aggravating things, was nothing short of theatrical.
"There was s-somethin' out there, Minnie, i-it was – I-I-I don' know what it was but it was big an' it was right on your window, just sittin' there, just lookin' in atchya, I could tell, just – it got me an' - just holdin' right on like a – a - " His eyes darted about each pleasing feature on her face, searching for a proper animal to compare it to. " - a – a lizard or somethin', I dunno - !"
Only regaling Minnie with ghost stories about big lizards clinging to her window seemed awfully stupid. He was sorry he'd put the image in her head, because he could see that her eyes were widening and her brows were climbing skeptically. The fact that Mickey was always an inarticulate, stuttering, unfocused mess when he was driven to excitement was not helping matters. He drummed his fingers on her back for support and tugged at her during the more difficult parts. She was usually splendid enough to offer her gentle assistance at such tongue-tied times, only at this moment Minnie was far too lost and far too irritated.
"W-wasn't a lizard anyway, i-it was – aw, shoot, it was much worse, Minnie, ya gotta believe me! C-couldn't even make out what th' heck it was an' – an' – I've seen it b'fore! I know I have! It was big an' dark, an' – an' glowin' white eyes an' th' biggest set a caws ya ever saw! I-it was just on th' – an' it was lookin' right in – right atchya – w-woulda gotchya too if – an' if I hadn't – just imagine if - an' I threw somethin' at it an' th' so-an'-so attacked me! Jumped right off an' whoosh, we had it out, I smacked that cuss around for a bit b-but he slipped right through m' bare hands, just took right off, an' – an' - " He stopped to catch his breath, only to find that he could not read the expression on Minnie's face.
She seemed...stunned. That was about all he could tell. Following an awkward pause he nudged her desperately with his nose. His voice took on a softer, beseeching tone when he asked, "Ya...you believe me...d-don'tchya...? Huh, Min...?"
Well, if there was anything to believe, it was that Mickey had completely lost his marbles. Minnie was more trusting than that however, although she was certainly having trouble piecing together everything in his story. She stared at him, feeling more uncertain and scared for her beau than she was of something creeping outside her bedroom – if only because dwelling on such a thing would have been far too dreadful for her to handle. Mickey certainly did look as though he'd been through an ordeal; other than the grass sprinkled all over his rumpled clothing he was fixing her a look far too rattled and vulnerable to be a part of some vicious prank. She could feel his hands tightening their hold on her, a sign that he had been genuinely frightened on her behalf.
Minnie knew for a fact that Mickey was seldom scared, at least when it came to the things Minnie thought a person was supposed to be scared of. Darkness, spiders, swimming by the cliffs, getting hurt, being high up, wandering the woods alone outside in the night...those things didn't phase him in the slightest. He was awfully brave, even when he didn't have to be, and it was a quality in him that had always driven her to powerful admiration since the very first day they'd met. For him to be frightened, that had to mean something. Gradually that little old window ceased to be a concern.
"I-it...you've...seen it before...?" she whispered, fixing him with wide, worried eyes. One arm secured itself around his neck, the other saw unconsciously to the gentle business of brushing grass from the side of his face.
Mickey nodded slowly. "Uh huh...long time ago...I...I don'...remember when, b-but..." He fell silent.
"I-it's...well, maybe it was just an animal or..." she tried.
Mickey shook his head. "Ain't never seen an animal like that. Minnie, ya gotta believe me, it wasn't a – a wolf or somethin'...it was worse, far worse than that..." Silence. Minnie took this information in with a pained face, because if Mickey was certain...well then that was just the way it was, wasn't it? It wasn't an animal if he said so, and after that, Minnie was out of options. There was nothing to do but place her faith in him, even if the truth was scary.
"...A-are...are you okay...?" She drifted to him, searched him with those same eyes that had personally cared for him all that time when he'd been on the mend.
Relief swiftly washed over Mickey until he practically ached. So she did believe him. Good ol' Minnie – she always did, when a fella got to the heart of things. Somehow these things never had a chance of being alright until she did. He nodded so hard that his ears practically flapped, his face brightening as it gazed up at her. "Uh huh! Yeah – yeah, I'm okay – are – are you okay, Min?" A silly question since nothing had ever touched her, but for all Mickey had known she'd stepped all over that glass or – or something. Besides, girls were delicate – you weren't supposed to frighten them or anything, as Mickey had found out far too many times when he'd purposefully tried to scare Minnie in good fun. Girls got violent when you did, as it turned out.
"Of course I'm okay, don't I look okay?" she responded, straightening up now in an attempt to put on a braver face. Her brushing became frantic now as the situation began to catch up to her. Mickey fighting somethings off her window in the dead of night, somethings outside her window, Mickey and – and – somethings. "Goodness' sakes, y-you're the one going around, f-f-fighting and br-breaking windows and b-being attacked b-by things..." Her teeth were chattering and her lips were trembling, a result of having the window open wide for so long and letting the freezing night air waltz right on into her cozy little bedroom. This should have cued Mickey to take some responsibility for her, only -
"Th' – th' thing!" he repeated, the bright relief in his face now shifting back into alarm. "Oh my gosh, it's still out there! It could – it could get somebody! We gotta – I-I gotta - !" He shifted, clearly about to bolt out of her arms and then likely tell her to stay put, but Minnie was going to have none of it, not tonight. She'd seen this dance before, and had she ever learned how to prevent it.
"Oh no you d-don't, Mickey Mouse!" The arm that wasn't around him yet dashed around his neck and steered him firmly back to herself. She fixed him a hard, reprimanding look, because it was one thing for him to play hero all the time when there was danger afoot, danger he could handle, and then it was another to allow him to go dashing off, unarmed, unprepared, for something he couldn't even identify. "You're not going anywhere, do you understand me? I'm not going to let you just run off and get yourself attacked by – by whatever-it-was!"
"Aw, gee, I won't either - " he began, but it was already futile.
"And I suppose you're going to just leave me here, all by myself, with nobody to p-protect me?" she added with pursed lips. It sounded selfish, sure, but it was a ploy more than anything. If Mickey wasn't going to protect himself, she was going to have to do it for him even in her own roundabout way. She wasn't gifted with great strength or impressive speed, but Minnie had a practicality, a wit, and a spark about her that protected her at least in civil conversation. "And with a broken window too! Nobody around here's going to believe me when I tell them you're out fighting lizards and – and whatnots - "
"B-but it wasn't a lizard, M - !"
"Well I don't imagine I even care what it was, all I know is that it attacked you, didn't it?"
"Uh huh. An' - "
"And it's g-going to attack you again first chance it gets. I bet that's what you're going to tell me next."
Mickey's mouth swung wide open like a gaping barn door and remained that way. He was too bewildered to retort, stricken as he was by the all too familiar feeling that Minnie knew everything about him, even the parts she technically couldn't have known about. He stared at her, unmoving, waiting for some sort of command from his detached self. Latching on to this development, Minnie settled down and went back to her gentle brushing of grass blades on his shoulders. Her eyes drifted down from his face to where her fingers were brushing him, her long, dark lashes sweeping her pale cheeks. Now that there was less determination in her gaze, she was trembling again.
"S-so, I...I d-don't see why...why you can't wait until it's morning to b-be attacked. When...when you can see what you're doing at least," she suggested softly, her cold-induced stutter returning. Another violently cold breeze drifted through the window, playing with the fabric on her robe. She trembled yet again, only she didn't draw nearer for protection like Mickey expected her to. As if her words hadn't been enough, that really did it.
Mickey stared at her in surprise first, trying to work through everything that had just happened. It was all a little too much to process, these supernatural occurrences and then swift arguments with a girl he was supposed to be...erm...exchanging very serious words and tokens of affection with. In fact it was so much to handle that he eventually pulled her in, making up for the inexcusable distance between them. He'd just received the shock of his life, and sometimes it was good to stay close, even if he would have rather eaten all the shingles off Minnie's roof than admit it. True or not what he would admit was that she needed to be comforted more than him, because she was cold and frightened, and it seemed like the honorable thing to do. Mickey nuzzled his way right into the curve of her neck where it was cool and private, just to rest there, to tell her in his own secretive way that he was conceding. He wouldn't go monster chasing...not tonight, anyhow.
How on earth was she always able to do that to him? Take whatever burning, frantic emotions he was feeling and set them gently aside in so few words? She'd leave him feeling raw and clean; her reasoning was cold water slapped across his face. Stay, she was telling him, when so much of him was itching to go running after that terrifying mystery...yet he stayed. He was there for a long, quiet moment, not explaining anything to Minnie because he knew she would understand. Before he knew it he was helping himself to a soft, sweet little kiss from his position on her neck, not because he was necessarily in the right frame of mind with all the hysteria of that evening, but because she was there. He could do it.
His Minnie was a practical one. Reasonable. Rational, even. Always right when it was important, even when she did silly things from time to time. And nobody was allowed to kiss her there, or move up to her cold cheek and kiss her there as well. Something any guy with his head screwed on proper would have been envious of to be sure. He would have kept on, only...Mickey sighed. He was troubled. Minnie could sense all of this, and being that practical, reasonable sort she took up the slack and delivered him a kiss as well, a brief one right on his mouth, before drawing away to shut the window, latch it, and draw the thick curtains over it.
"...Was gonna take ya for a walk t'night," Mickey softly informed her, his voice a weak and cracking version of the fire it had been when he'd shouted before.
"That'll just have to wait, won't it?" Minnie responded gently as she went to fetch a basket to sweep all that broken glass up. Mickey, being one not much for housework of any sort and usually rejected whenever he tried offering his eccentric assistance, hovered over her instead and watched. Anyway his mind wasn't on it, and had it been his messy home he might have sat directly on the glass without so much as a worry.
"S'gonna snow tonight," he added, because if it was himself he was talking to, this would have been incentive enough. Mickey leaned around her and peeked through the curtains she had just drawn, only to find that the night was still eery and quiet, foggy and dark, yet the air was absent of any snowflakes. Beyond all the buildings and streets of Bituhluck he could just barely make out the harbor and the lonely cliffs.
"All the more reason to say inside." Minnie pursed her lips slightly over her work. "And all the more reason why it's going to be difficult for you to...oh, Mickey, how are you going to get home?" To his surprise she was suddenly looking up again at him, no longer brushing glass away and staring at him with wide, intense eyes. "I-I mean later – with – that – well, it isn't safe, that's all! If anyone knew you'd come by...oh, I suppose that doesn't even matter, not with that dreadful thing on the loose...you should stay here, Mickey, oh, tell me you will, just until - "
"H-hey, c'mon, Min, I – I'm okay!" he protested just as her hands made their way upwards to cling to his shirt. It was strange, but the fact that she was worrying so much, as Minnie tended to do, actually made him feel slightly better. It was almost comforting to be met with something so familiar, or perhaps it was because when either he or Minnie was losing hope, it was the other's job to rise to the occasion and be strong. It was his turn again. Mickey stood up a bit straighter then, his hand finding her cheek. "Honest I am...an'..." He gazed down into her eyes, reading the sort of fear in them that he hated to see. If anything, she was supposed to be more afraid of the creature coming back for her, not of Mickey bumping into it in the night. That was right, what if it did come back? In that respect Minnie was correct about not taking chances, and feeling much more resolute now, he added, " Ya know I'll stick around for a bit...don't even gotta ask me or nothin'...m'not goin' anywhere right now, am I?"
She shook her head slowly, like she wanted to believe him badly but was unsure. Minnie trusted him deeply, yes, and yet he could be unpredictable at times. Sensing this hesitation, more out of practice than in skill, Mickey sat down on the seat below the window and pulled her down after him with her still clinging to his shirt. "There! Look, I can't go anywhere now, not with ya holdin' me like that." He was looping his own arms around her middle, trapping her there so she could keep right on doing it. "There, ya see? M'not goin' no place. M'not goin' any place at all. Came all th' way out here t' see ya. Gee, gotta look after ya, don't I...?" Even through his stress he smiled faintly down at her for the first time all night, and that made a world of difference. He couldn't possibly be thinking about sneaking away if he was smiling like that.
Eventually Minnie worked through her hesitation and smiled back, relieved and grateful, and with a sigh she was snuggling right on in where she belonged. She couldn't have helped it anyway, because of course she could trust him when it was really important. She should have remembered that all along. With her head on his shoulder things became much more clear and obvious, at least in matters such as this. She could tell Mickey agreed with her when he leaned his head upon hers.
"Mm," was her delayed response, followed by a murmured, "I don't know how you expect to look after me if you can't even take care of yourself..." She shivered, still experiencing the chill from her busted window. "Wandering around the streets alone all at night...and just to see me." She was quiet for a moment, resting and trying to absorb the comfort of his embrace while the two of them pondered the evils of the world. Then, when Mickey had been least suspecting it, he heard her ask somewhat timidly, "You...you were just out to see me, weren't you? I-I mean...I thought you weren't coming at all tonight...since you're usually earlier than this...so I went to bed..."
Mickey colored slightly. Indeed, she wouldn't have had any reason to ask why he was there to see her, since he visited her window almost every night for no other reason than just to see her or pull her along into his ridiculous adventures, but tonight he'd been late for something special. Not that she knew that, and not that he would inform her that he'd spent hours pacing his living room, trying to decide what it had meant, him forging a gift for Minnie – and all the reject rings before it - in secret with his own two hands during his short breaks at the blacksmith shop for weeks. It wasn't anything special, that ring...at first it had been intended as something innocent and pretty to go on her finger, nothing more. Mickey wasn't truly one to plan ahead, except in small special cases usually involving her. But as he'd grown more and more attached to Minnie, the more and more significant the thing seemed to have become. Maybe it wasn't an engagement ring exactly, but sort of a – a promise that someday...
"O-oh, I – uh, aw, only b'cause - " Mickey began, fishing for other excuses. As his lips flapped about, trying to produce something useful, his hand reached back absentmindedly for his pocket. Only he didn't find what he was looking for. Mickey's chatter stopped abruptly. The ring was missing. B-but that couldn't have been right, he'd been clutching it on the walk over, so surely it must have been in a different pocket. He began searching himself less secretly now, to the point that Minnie opened her eyes to watch.
"Mickey...? What're you...?"
"It's – it's gotta be..." But it wasn't, it simply wasn't. Mickey reached past her and peeked through the curtains yet again, this time squinting at the grass for a glint of shine in the moonlight. It was difficult to tell, not only because of the fog, but also because at last, the first snow of winter was beginning to sprinkle over the ground. Wherever that silver ring had gone, he'd lost it. This might have been a good thing, seeing as how he'd been so bone-achingly nervous about giving her such a heavy, significant gift in the first place, and yet Mickey couldn't help but feel sick. His gift to her, the one he'd been slaving over, was gone and she would never have it. She'd never know all the wonderful, intense things he felt for her without it, that was what Mickey thought. At this moment the color was draining from his face instead.
Minnie hesitantly took the side of it and turned him toward her since he was refusing to meet her gaze. Her pretty face was gentle, yet eager to know how she could be of any use. "What is it...?"
Mickey stared at her, into those dark eyes, at that pale face, at those pink lips...and he couldn't answer her. Wherever that ring was, it wasn't on her finger, and that was inexcusable. So was breaking her window, and so was not taking care of that monster outside of it when he had the chance. Minnie already knew that he'd failed to protect her, she didn't need to know about a dumb, lost ring either. He shook his head. "...Nothin'. S'nothin'..."
Minnie looked as though she wanted to contend against this fact, yet she let it slip by. She knew when too much was too much, and Mickey had apparently gone through too much that evening. Neither of them spoke any further about the matter. Gradually the two of them settled into a more comfortable position on the seat, Minnie practically curled on his lap, the two of them keeping warm in one another's embrace. Even with Mickey being distracted by that troubling ring the conversation couldn't help but veer back to the creature a few times, but seeing as how the only witness of the event himself had had difficulty figuring out what he had seen, he didn't have much to say about it.
So they spoke of the snow instead as it fell increasingly harder and faster on the town, and this led things in two different directions, one being about all the exciting things Mickey was planning to do in it, and the other being Minnie's declarations of all the wonderful and romantic things they could do together. Mickey was in full agreement, although he had to chide her for being such a girl at first. Minnie could see right through such acts of machismo, and was there to kiss him and prove to him how simply wrong he was. There was a small tiff, but it subsided quickly, a mere wave crashing upon the sand and swiftly retreating into other interesting topics, like what Mickey had been up to at the blacksmith shop lately, how Minnie was getting along learning her latest piano piece, and Donald's approaching wedding to Daisy. This last drove Mickey to uncomfortable thoughts about rings again, and he was grateful when Minnie didn't seem to mind dominating the conversation with talk of stressful wedding plans and emotionally strained ducks, and was even more grateful when, as her sentences became slower and her voice grew soft with fatigue, she was kissing him absentmindedly on the chin between points.
Her eyes slid gracefully shut, and her voice faded away altogether. Mickey held her in his arms and watched her as she slept. He could feel the gentle rising and falling of her body just as well as he could see it, could feel her peaceful sighs just as easily as he could hear them. He watched her with unbridled admiration, ever fond of the sight of Minnie asleep and completely at peace right in his embrace, but as things were, he couldn't keep his concentration completely on her in that moment. There was something out there, something that had been watching Minnie with something far darker and questionable than admiration. With what then, Mickey wondered, pulling back the curtain yet again to gaze through its frosted panes.
The town was all but painted white; the fog was thinning now under the weight of the snow. Perhaps the ring he had lost was somewhere out there and he'd dropped it along the way, or perhaps still a vine on Minnie's trellis had snuck artfully into his pocket and stolen it. Or maybe that other something had stolen it from him. That one dark something, with piercing white eyes and hateful claws, who – as Mickey stared far out towards the snow-covered docks of Little Bituhluck – he realized he had first seen two years ago on the night his ship had crashed.