AN: Hey there! So, a little while ago I saw this a post on tumblr titled "Things that you said...". Basically, it is a collection of prompt ideas and the idea is to write a oneshot per prompt, all of which have to be centred around the idea of "Things that you said...". For example, "Things that you said at 1a.m.", "Things that you said through your teeth", "Things that you said that I wished you hadn't", "Things that you said when you were at your happiest", etc.
So, I've decided to make this fic a collection of prompts! Basically, I'll be writing a oneshot per prompt idea.
The prompts will be narrated in second person, and the point of view will vary. Sometimes it will be Nile's POV and some other times it will be C.C.'s POV. Anyway, hope you like it and I'd love to get your reviews!
L.
1 – Things that you said at 1 a.m.
You hear her. Despite the music booming in the background and despite the cheerful (yet deafening)voices of the rest of the attendants, you hear her.
"The truth is, I am lonely."
That's what she says as she leans into the balcony railing and her eyes get lost in the horizon, melancholy and unfocused – this is when you think that, maybe, going to the terrace was a good idea after all. There is more silence. More… privacy, maybe? Is it possible to have privacy in the middle of a wedding ceremony? You don't really know, and you don't care either – not to mention that the twelve scotches you've already drowned down are keeping you from having any clarity of mind.
You look into the horizon as well, and for a moment, you enjoy the mesmerising sight of New York City spreading out right before your eyes, with its shining lights, crowded streets and buzzing nightlife – the city that never sleeps, right? But seconds later, you find yourself going back to her words, and the beautiful scene before you becomes blurred. You decide to stop focusing on it, and it doesn't take long for the colours and buildings and signs to blend together, becoming nothing but a colourful blotch.
Her words were uttered with an almost tangible hurt, and you so want to tell her that you feel lonely as well. That finding yourself alone at yet another wedding is also hurting you. That seeing her hurt is making you suffer, too. But you don't speak – it's not the moment for you to say those things. It's not the moment for you to downplay her sadness with a pity party of your own.
But, even if you aren't brave enough to let her know how you feel, you want her to realise that she is not alone. Sheepishly, and after taking a deep confidence-building breath, you reach out for her hand and cover it with your own; you feel happy when she doesn't pull away. It's comforting, you have to admit... the feeling her hand underneath yours…
"So am I, Babcock," you whisper, loud enough for her to hear.
"Are you really, Niles?" she replies listlessly.
God knows you are. God knows the emptiness you feel when you go to bed alone every night, wondering about why love has been so cruel to you when it has been so kind to others, such as your employer and best friend. And there you are, fighting feelings that are too confusing and painful to even try to acknowledge them and holding the hand of the only person that makes you feel like you are not alone.
At times you hate her – why is she, of all people, the human being that you crave to hold at night? Why C.C. Babcock?
But your hate never stays for long… you know love is right behind it. Because, when the anger wears off, you find yourself daydreaming about a life with her. A life where you don't have to mask your love behind zingers or an endless prank war.
Because you are tired of this unending war.
And you suspect so is she.
There has been no winner up to now, and you both know there will never be one. You both are losers in this story, but you are too damn proud to wave the white flag.
You claim to hate each other; to be the bane of each other's life…
And yet here you are… together, at 1 a.m. in the morning, drunk and holding hands in a balcony at Maxwell and Fran's wedding. This is one of your rare truces – they never last long, but God knows just how much you need them from time to time.
"I really am, Babs," you say with unusual softness. "We are both quite lonely."
You would have never admitted this to her on any other night, but this isn't just another night. The truce is tacit, and so is the fact that you won't hold anything done or said against the other. Tonight is free game.
"At least we are lonely together," she says, turning to you and giving a wan smile.
"Isn't that what we've been doing for years already?" the words tumble out of your mouth before you have time to think about them, but you can't bring yourself to regret them. "Being lonely together?"
You observe her think… she is so beautiful when she allows her vulnerability to show… it makes you feel special. Special, because the beautiful and powerful woman in front of you doesn't show her weakness to just about anyone. It's further proof that, despite the pretended animosity between the two of you, she trusts you.
And then, after a small infinity slips past, she gives a small chuckle and nods. It's not a humorous chuckle, mind you, but rather a resigned one. Not that that matters when she comes to you or when you both wrap your arms around each other simultaneously.
"Yes..." C.C. whispers and lays her head on your shoulder. "We truly are lonely together."
"But this is not a night to be lonely," you say, pulling away to look into her eyes.
"And what do you propose we do about it? What should we, two chronically lonely people, do to keep the loneliness at bay?"
You smile down at her and use one of your hands to tuck a loose ringlet of golden hair behind her ear before you kiss her on the lips. Gently.
You swear you can feel the warmth of your kiss righ in the centre of your soul. It is short, yet loving and filled with an emotion and meaning you don't really feel ready to even think about them.
Honestly, you don't want to think of anything at all.
You just want to hold (and be held by) her. You want the happiness only she can give you.
"We go home," you finally say, smiling, as you separate your lips from hers. "That's what we do."
"Home…" she repeats, mirroring your smile. "Let's go then."
You don't need to clarify what you mean by home – both of you know it means the Sheffield mansion. Deep down, however, there is a hopeful part of you that suspects that, even if there was no mansion, home would be wherever you feel like going, as long as you are together.
You know words won't be needed, and you certainly don't speak as you sneak away from the party, not caring about saying goodbye to anyone.
No one else matters.
Not tonight.
Your guards are down and you've agreed on a temporary truce. You don't think about what is going to happen tomorrow morning or if this is just another part of an endless string of mistakes, because, truly, you don't care.
She is there and so are you. Nothing else matters.
And, at least for tonight, everything is right with the world.