Disclaimer: I don't own anything that is Tamora Pierce's. It tends to work that way, much to my dismay. But I plan on one day taking over the world, so then . . . No, I'm joking. Actually, not really.
A/N: I really need to update some of my other TP fics. But . . . writing Beka/Rosto is just so fun, ya know? *laughs nervously*
One shot: The Darkest Form Of Trust
She didn't understand him one bit, and she wasn't sure she ever would. Beka rubbed her eyes tiredly, unsure of why she was feeling a slight ache in her chest. Maybe she was sick. Maybe it wasn't Rosto that made her feel like this. She certainly did not want it to be. It would have been completely wrong, a Dog and a rusher. They were not meant to be, clearly. The gods would not play such cruel a trick.
Yes, she was probably just coming down with a stomach bug or something of the like. She did live in the Lower City after all, full of scummer, dirt, and everything else that was classified as unclean. It was the place she loved, though; the place she'd grown up in. Beka did not want to fully understand it, because it was confusing, but she knew that sometimes the Lower City people were all she had.
Her Rogue friends were Lower City people, too. Of course, she had Goodwin, Tunstall, and all the other Dogs and some of the few nobles that weren't crackbrained, but they didn't fully comprehend her empathy with the Lower City . . . except Ersken, that was. He was the exception. Aniki, Kora, Ersken, Phelan, Rosto . . . gods, as much as she didn't want to admit it, especially Rosto. They understood her, mostly.
But now, Beka was lying in bed with a sweet and funny feeling in her stomach. She had just seen Rosto, Aniki, and Kora at the Dancing Dove. She had noticed how the other mots stared at Rosto like he was a God.
He was extremely handsome, of that Beka was sure. As much as she teased Rosto about his 'white' hair, she knew that the bleached blonde was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, as were his dark, lucid eyes. He was the tall, mysterious man that most mots enjoyed thoroughly.
But he was caring, too. Beka knew that. It was a surprise to find somebody so . . . appealing . . . to be kind, and thoughtful.
Gods, what was wrong with her?
Finally deciding that sleep had deserted her completely, and extremely relieved that she had the day off on the morrow, Beka heaved herself out of the suddenly uncomfortable bed and climbed lithely out her window. She scaled the wall to the bottom, hearing her feet hit the ground with a light, almost inaudible, thud.
It was dark outside, the time just around midnight, and cold. The pigeons flocked around her, warming her to some extent. Beka suddenly realised she had left Pounce behind, and began to call for him, but before a single sound could escape her frozen lips, Pounce answered her unspoken question.
No, thank you. Some of us like our sleep, instead of fretting about 'tall, mysterious men.'
Why couldn't Pounce at least pretend he cared? She thought irritably, and then sighed. Beka knew that Pounce cared, as much as he would avoid the subject. He was a cat, after all, and cats liked their sleep.
Beka still rolled her eyes at his pert reply, though. She left, checking her dagger sheaths quickly, and began walking to the nearby sea. It would calm her down somewhat, she hoped. It usually did, anyway.
It didn't take her long. Well, she was walking at quite a brisk pace. There were quite a few people around, drinking and joking. They recognised her, she knew, and didn't try to harass her further than 'Evening, Bloodhound.' Which just caused Beka to roll her eyes again.
The sea wind was so beautifully relaxing. Beka sat on the rocks, looking out over the moonlit ocean and smiled lightly. Corus really was beautiful at night, even in the Lower City. The sand was soft against the bottom of her feet and the cool seawater nourished and massaged them.
"I didn't know you could scale walls," a soft, lulling voice commented from behind her. Beka nearly jumped a mile, despite the fact that she knew that sweet, and sometimes menacing, voice.
She raised her eyebrows at Rosto. "Excuse me?" She tried to act ignorant. "Are you following me or sommat?"
He just winked at her. "Perhaps," he said, sitting down on the rock next to her. "So, what's got you looking so glum, ginger?"
Beka sighed. "I don't know what you're on about."
She was such a bad liar.
"Hmm," was all Rosto replied. He smiled. Beka supposed that he thought, in time, she would crack. That one day she would confess and bare her soul to him. But she couldn't do that, because it would just complicate things. Their relationship, for one thing.
"Don't you have a court rule, your majesty?" she muttered sarcastically. She was getting irritated at the fact that just his smile could make her go sarden crazy. "Just leave little lonesome me out here to be glum. I'm sure I will survive, having faced a lot worse things before."
Rosto smiled at her. "Most have left," he replied. "I should be in bed, really." He didn't say anything further.
"Then, why aren't you?" Beka pressed.
He laughed, somewhat bitterly. "I couldn't sleep. I kept having dreams."
She decided to be sympathetic. "Nightmares?" she asked; she understood that.
"No, just dreams." He had a funny look in his eye as he watched her appraisingly.
Was he saying that he'd dreamt of her? No. That couldn't be true. Of course, Beka had dreamt of him before. Many times. All much against her own will, much against her own preferences, she ended up being bombarded with traitorious dreams about Rosto the Piper.
"About...?" Beka was curious.
Rosto didn't answer her. He just looked out at the ocean, and if she had not known better, she could have sworn that there was a sad, disappointed look in his eye. It was one of the emotions she was feeling, too. Rosto was the cove that she could not have . . . he was out of reach . . . and yet Beka wanted him so much. She needed him.
She could not have him.
"I'm sorry," Beka whispered, almost inaudibly. Rosto did not ask what she was referring to, what she meant. He did not even flinch. He did not even acknoledge her, until finally he spoke slowly.
"I guess I understand," he replied softly. He looked so . . . vunerable. He did not look like her Rosto. It was on impulse that she kissed him. Beka couldn't resist. She just seized him and pressed her lips gently to his.
That was all she had meant it to be. A gentle kiss.
But it soon turned into something else. Something more fierce. Months of hidden emotions and unfathomable feelings poured into that one kiss. Rosto's eyes were smouldering, full of an unknown emotion.
Finally, Beka pulled back and rested her head between her knees. What had just happened? She then looked at Rosto again. He looked back at her. There was no hesitation in his eyes. There was no confusion.
"Oh, gods," she whispered.
Rosto sighed. "I know."
Beka lifted her head to meet his eyes. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"
Rosto laughed lightly, ever the happy cove, and pulled her tightly to his chest. "I don't know, love, but I've got to tell you, I am quite enjoying myself." His voice was so warm, his words so kind, that Beka couldn't help but answer him.
"Me, too."