A/N: Standard disclaimer applies. This was written for an O.T.P war on LiveJournal some time ago.


Avon's Blessing

Zidane had never seen Dagger this way before. The change was increasingly pronounced as the minutes ticked past, and he was beginning to be properly horrified. It had all started when Dagger, mucking around in some corner of Daguerreo for an older manuscript of 'I Want To Be Your Canary', touched fingers with another young scholar who had just happened to be on the search for the very same book. When the embarrassment and introductions had been gotten over with, the two (three, to be more specific) settled down for some basic Literary Discussion. This scholar (dandy, Zidane thought) professed to be the grandchild of Lord Avon, and was currently carrying out research to compile a comprehensive anthology of Lord Avon's works, complete with his memoirs and letters. Poser or not, he was truly a learned Lord Avon enthusiast. Zidane couldn't help but observe that Dagger's voice was, as always, calm and level all throughout the meeting, but that as time went by she was leaning forward more and more, and her face became like a hawk's as fierce excitement danced in her eyes.

The debate became more and more heated; Zidane caught terms like 'catharsis' and 'intentional fallacy' and 'metonymy' floating around. These words completely escaped him – he must have heard Ruby say things like that once in a while, only Ruby had no idea what she had been talking about. And when Zidane expressed his own opinion on what on earth that betrayal of Marcus had been all about, silence hung in the air while the two turned on him with respective Looks. Although Dagger placed her hand over his in an unexpected attempt at comforting, Zidane felt terrible. He decided enough was enough when the smooth-faced scholar with nice teeth and dimples embarked on a description of a memory of his grandfather's bathing habits. Dagger had laughed outright at that.

They finally left the library five minutes later, with, quite unfortunately, an appointment scheduled for a week later. Zidane's shoulders were slumped, he was stomping in the water; while, somewhere behind him, Dagger walked with a definite new spring in her step. There was a small smile playing around her mouth. Zidane's sulkiness did not escape Dagger, however; when she inquired politely about what the matter was he tossed a 'Nothing' back at her and stomped. Harder.

The water hit Dagger's tunic when she realized, and with a hand over her mouth to hide a suppressed giggle, she asked,

"Zidane… are you jealous?"

"I'm not," Zidane half-roared in reply. He stuck out his foot to kick at the nearest ledge, missed and fell backwards, rump-first, into the water. He sent up a huge splash and cursed quite audibly, even as Dagger bent over him. Her shoulders were shaking slightly, her eyes dancing in mirth.

"Come on, where would we be without 'Bring my beloved Dagger to me'?"

That was their line, it wasn't something to be trifled with in the least – "You're not yourself at all," he said despairingly up at her.

"Silly boy," Dagger said, then swooped down and kissed him. Of course, before long Zidane quit moping and marveling at the 'silly boy' line and decided that he really couldn't complain anymore. Not even if there was water seeping into their clothes and they were only a few feet away from the Leviathan shrine itself. How could he find fault with Dagger being so merry for a change? He didn't entirely appreciate the fact that its catalyst had to do with discovering her literary kindred spirit, but, well…

Perhaps alcohol would do the trick. Yes. He really ought to try that.