Stand By Me: An admittedly cheesy fluffy story. You have been warned.
Skittery reflects on his life with Dearbhail on their granddaughter's
wedding day. Its rated this for future planning *nods* This definitely
would have taken me ten times longer to get out if it were not for Vinyl
RPing with me.
An old hand lightly traces a photograph on the mantelpiece, the fingers wrinkled and darkened by years of toil. She'd been gone for a little under a year now. He still felt her near him so he wasn't too sad any longer. It helped that their granddaughter had moved in to attend college. But that was all over now. Their granddaughter, Moira, had developed a passion for playwriting. He was supposed to walk his granddaughter down the aisle. His eyes glazed over with memories as he continued to stare at the picture in his hand.
"Papa, are you okay?" the voice brought him from his memories and back into the present. Turning around, the elderly man thought he saw his wife on their wedding day. The bright reddish orange hair, Moira had inherited from Dearbhail didn't help the confusion at all. She also had her temper. He smiled slowly, remembered the couples first real fight.
*^~*^~FLASHBACK*^~*^~
"You really don't ever smile, do you?" Dearbhail grinned at Skittery, her eyes twinkling with a plan. The two of them sat in Tibby's on their first anniversary. It was a year ago Skittery had rescued her from Oscar Delancey.
"Whats d'ere ta smile about? The damned strike nevah woiked. Why pretend to be happy? Like some people I know," he responded, look up at Dearbhail accusingly, a finger stirring his drink slowly. This argument had been coming for weeks. They both felt it. Dearbhail had been over compensating for his awful mood. This meant she was perky all the time. Which they both knew was just an act. She was just as miserable as he was. "Why do ya feel ya need to pretend for me, babe? We both know you's as mis'rable, is not woise than I am"," he challenged, reaching for her hand.
"Unlike you, I don't dwell on things I can't change and what have I told you about cussing in front of me?" Her voice steadily rising in pitch as they sat staring at each other. Dearbhail's eyes sparkled with a fire Skittery hadn't seen in days. This was how the two of them had sustained the heat between them; even though they hadn't gone any farther than kissing.
"Why do ya care bout me cussin, it ain't no big deal ya know. And I don't dwell on tings. What's ya problem taday?" he scowled , gripping the edge of the table before him tightly, his knuckles white.
She smirked. "You know I hate it when you cuss at me. I hate it when you talk like that, and that, dear Skitts, is my problem." Her green eyes danced as she watched his jaw tighten dangerously.
He smiled back at her, as he answered, "Is it now? I'm damn sorry," His smile turned a bit evil. "Damn it, I'm doing it again." Wincing as she kicked him under the table, Skittery downed his drink quickly.
Sighing, Dearbhail stifled a laugh "I should hate you". Finishing off her small sandwich, she sat back, licking the crumbs from her lips. Dearbhail grinned triumphantly, seeing Skittery pale visibly. She had one this argument, as usual.
His face was a mask of pure innocence as he inquired "Why? What'd I do this time?"
"You intentionally try to piss me off," she growled, covering her mouth when the swear left it. She had never said any sort of curse word before. She would have to go to confession over this. Dearbhail heard her father's voice in her head, scolding her relentlessly.
"YES!!!" Skitterey beat his fists into the air. "I got you to swear!!"
Without so much as another word, Dearbhail stood, her eyes boring into his. Skittery's breath caught in his throat. He swallowed loudly as she turned on her heels, storming out.
"Awww, wait up!!" Skitterey ran after her, a rare smile still gracing his lips. He was getting used to these little word plays they would pull on each other. When he left Tibby's Skittery felt himself being pulled into the alley next to it.
"Don't do that!" Dearbhail grinned, kissing him hard then walking away abruptly.
Skittery stood, stunned for a moment. "WAIT UP!" He ran after her, and pulled her to the ground. Instantly he felt Dearbhail tense up.
Her eyes were as big as the saucers her mother intended to leave to Dearbhail in her will. Laughing too loudly, she turned to him "May I help you, sir?" her face trying to hide a wave of nervousness threatening to control her.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I seem to have misplaced my heart, perhaps you have it?"
"Ouch," she cringed at the terrible line he used on her, "Walk me home?"
Skitterey nodded, and got off the ground, ignoring the knowing glances the older women on the streets were giving them. It was like those women could read his mind. He promised himself and Dearbhail he wasn't going to be like Oscar but it was difficult sometimes. She was just so flirty with him.
Eying those women, Dearbhail asked him in a hushed voice "What do they think is going to happen?"
"Probabaly something naughty. Let's please them." Skitterey grabbed her hand and twirled her into him, leaning and giving her a long, deep kiss.
Laughing shortly, Dearbhail pressed her body into his tightly, threading her fingers through his unruly hair. "Punk," she growled, kissing him deeper, a tiny moan escaping her lips. " Whoah... We need to stop soon," Dearbhail warned herself more than him.
"Who, us or they do?" came the reply against her lips. The two had escaped to a darkened alley just down the street from Dearbhail's tenement.
"If we don't... I won't be able stop myself," she sighed apologetically.
He laughed and gently cupped her face with his hands. "Do you really want to stop?" he asked, searching her eyes.
"No... And yes," Dearbhail, pulled herself away from him a little.
"Okay," he said, sighing, and running his fingers through her hair.
"You understand right? I want our first time together to be special," she explained, holding his hand to her face, kissing the side of it. Her eyes pleaded with his to forgive her and understand how she felt about the subject.
He paused, and then nodded. "I understand." The two stood at her front door. The air was heavy with tension. 'I can' take much more of this. Sweet Jesus! She's bitin' her lip again. Down boy,' Skittery talked himself out of taking her right on the stairs.
"That and I don't want to disappoint you," Dearbhail added, opening her door and turning to face him. Leaning against the door frame, Dearbhail took the pins out of her hair. Her hair fell in bright reddish orange waves down her back. "See you tomorrow, then?" she asked, the tone of her voice seemed a bit desperate. Compulsively, Dearbhail, tugged her hair behind her ears.
'Jesus not da hair. Anythin' but the hair. Jis a few more seconds, Skitts. Youse can handle it,' Skittery talked himself out of slamming the door with his foot and taking her right on the stairs. Before Dearbhail had time to think, Skittery leaned in to where their noses almost touch. He supported himself with a free arm above her head on the door while the other moved along her arm slowly. Unable to hold back any longer, yet careful to keep the evidence of his arousal away from her, he lifted her chin and kissed her deeply. The look in her eyes when he pulled back told Skittery he could easily take advantage of the situation. "You could never disappoint me," he murmured, pulling her closer to him, nuzzling his face her hair and deeply inhaling her scent. "I'd better go," he apologized, prying himself from her arms with great difficulty. "Dinner tomorrow, right?" he grinned, a rare thing for him. He kept on walking away from Dearbhail backward to keep his eyes on her as long as possible.
*^~*^~END FLASHBACK*^~*^~
"Papa? Are you okay? Papa... Mom! Papa's out of it," Moira's voice broke though Skittery's thoughts. Looking down on the source of the voice, Skittery's mind saw Dearbhail. He stared in awe just for a second. "Papa, ready to walk me down the aisle? Only two more days," Moira grinned, her green eyes sparkling merrily. Yes, Moira was Dearbhail's spitting image. 'How unsettling, yet comforting at the same time,' Skittery thought, taking his granddaughter's hand in his. The only difference between the two was that Moira had taken after Skittery being pretty tall.
Smiling warmly, a real smile, something Dearbhail had helped him learn to do, Skittery nodded slowly. "Two whole days, huh, Kitten? How can you stand it?" he teased, tweaking her nose. Moira was getting the wedding dress the women on Dearbhail's side of the family had been wearing since Dearbhail's grandmother married in Dublin almost one hundred and fifty years ago. "You look more like your grandmother every day," his voice cracked with emotion as he set the picture back on the mantel. 'I love you, Poet,' he thought, watching Moira twirl in the gown.
*^~After Dinner That Night~^*
"Tell me about when you proposed again, Papa," Moira requested, sitting at her grandfather's feet as he relaxed in his easy chair with his pipe.
An old hand lightly traces a photograph on the mantelpiece, the fingers wrinkled and darkened by years of toil. She'd been gone for a little under a year now. He still felt her near him so he wasn't too sad any longer. It helped that their granddaughter had moved in to attend college. But that was all over now. Their granddaughter, Moira, had developed a passion for playwriting. He was supposed to walk his granddaughter down the aisle. His eyes glazed over with memories as he continued to stare at the picture in his hand.
"Papa, are you okay?" the voice brought him from his memories and back into the present. Turning around, the elderly man thought he saw his wife on their wedding day. The bright reddish orange hair, Moira had inherited from Dearbhail didn't help the confusion at all. She also had her temper. He smiled slowly, remembered the couples first real fight.
*^~*^~FLASHBACK*^~*^~
"You really don't ever smile, do you?" Dearbhail grinned at Skittery, her eyes twinkling with a plan. The two of them sat in Tibby's on their first anniversary. It was a year ago Skittery had rescued her from Oscar Delancey.
"Whats d'ere ta smile about? The damned strike nevah woiked. Why pretend to be happy? Like some people I know," he responded, look up at Dearbhail accusingly, a finger stirring his drink slowly. This argument had been coming for weeks. They both felt it. Dearbhail had been over compensating for his awful mood. This meant she was perky all the time. Which they both knew was just an act. She was just as miserable as he was. "Why do ya feel ya need to pretend for me, babe? We both know you's as mis'rable, is not woise than I am"," he challenged, reaching for her hand.
"Unlike you, I don't dwell on things I can't change and what have I told you about cussing in front of me?" Her voice steadily rising in pitch as they sat staring at each other. Dearbhail's eyes sparkled with a fire Skittery hadn't seen in days. This was how the two of them had sustained the heat between them; even though they hadn't gone any farther than kissing.
"Why do ya care bout me cussin, it ain't no big deal ya know. And I don't dwell on tings. What's ya problem taday?" he scowled , gripping the edge of the table before him tightly, his knuckles white.
She smirked. "You know I hate it when you cuss at me. I hate it when you talk like that, and that, dear Skitts, is my problem." Her green eyes danced as she watched his jaw tighten dangerously.
He smiled back at her, as he answered, "Is it now? I'm damn sorry," His smile turned a bit evil. "Damn it, I'm doing it again." Wincing as she kicked him under the table, Skittery downed his drink quickly.
Sighing, Dearbhail stifled a laugh "I should hate you". Finishing off her small sandwich, she sat back, licking the crumbs from her lips. Dearbhail grinned triumphantly, seeing Skittery pale visibly. She had one this argument, as usual.
His face was a mask of pure innocence as he inquired "Why? What'd I do this time?"
"You intentionally try to piss me off," she growled, covering her mouth when the swear left it. She had never said any sort of curse word before. She would have to go to confession over this. Dearbhail heard her father's voice in her head, scolding her relentlessly.
"YES!!!" Skitterey beat his fists into the air. "I got you to swear!!"
Without so much as another word, Dearbhail stood, her eyes boring into his. Skittery's breath caught in his throat. He swallowed loudly as she turned on her heels, storming out.
"Awww, wait up!!" Skitterey ran after her, a rare smile still gracing his lips. He was getting used to these little word plays they would pull on each other. When he left Tibby's Skittery felt himself being pulled into the alley next to it.
"Don't do that!" Dearbhail grinned, kissing him hard then walking away abruptly.
Skittery stood, stunned for a moment. "WAIT UP!" He ran after her, and pulled her to the ground. Instantly he felt Dearbhail tense up.
Her eyes were as big as the saucers her mother intended to leave to Dearbhail in her will. Laughing too loudly, she turned to him "May I help you, sir?" her face trying to hide a wave of nervousness threatening to control her.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I seem to have misplaced my heart, perhaps you have it?"
"Ouch," she cringed at the terrible line he used on her, "Walk me home?"
Skitterey nodded, and got off the ground, ignoring the knowing glances the older women on the streets were giving them. It was like those women could read his mind. He promised himself and Dearbhail he wasn't going to be like Oscar but it was difficult sometimes. She was just so flirty with him.
Eying those women, Dearbhail asked him in a hushed voice "What do they think is going to happen?"
"Probabaly something naughty. Let's please them." Skitterey grabbed her hand and twirled her into him, leaning and giving her a long, deep kiss.
Laughing shortly, Dearbhail pressed her body into his tightly, threading her fingers through his unruly hair. "Punk," she growled, kissing him deeper, a tiny moan escaping her lips. " Whoah... We need to stop soon," Dearbhail warned herself more than him.
"Who, us or they do?" came the reply against her lips. The two had escaped to a darkened alley just down the street from Dearbhail's tenement.
"If we don't... I won't be able stop myself," she sighed apologetically.
He laughed and gently cupped her face with his hands. "Do you really want to stop?" he asked, searching her eyes.
"No... And yes," Dearbhail, pulled herself away from him a little.
"Okay," he said, sighing, and running his fingers through her hair.
"You understand right? I want our first time together to be special," she explained, holding his hand to her face, kissing the side of it. Her eyes pleaded with his to forgive her and understand how she felt about the subject.
He paused, and then nodded. "I understand." The two stood at her front door. The air was heavy with tension. 'I can' take much more of this. Sweet Jesus! She's bitin' her lip again. Down boy,' Skittery talked himself out of taking her right on the stairs.
"That and I don't want to disappoint you," Dearbhail added, opening her door and turning to face him. Leaning against the door frame, Dearbhail took the pins out of her hair. Her hair fell in bright reddish orange waves down her back. "See you tomorrow, then?" she asked, the tone of her voice seemed a bit desperate. Compulsively, Dearbhail, tugged her hair behind her ears.
'Jesus not da hair. Anythin' but the hair. Jis a few more seconds, Skitts. Youse can handle it,' Skittery talked himself out of slamming the door with his foot and taking her right on the stairs. Before Dearbhail had time to think, Skittery leaned in to where their noses almost touch. He supported himself with a free arm above her head on the door while the other moved along her arm slowly. Unable to hold back any longer, yet careful to keep the evidence of his arousal away from her, he lifted her chin and kissed her deeply. The look in her eyes when he pulled back told Skittery he could easily take advantage of the situation. "You could never disappoint me," he murmured, pulling her closer to him, nuzzling his face her hair and deeply inhaling her scent. "I'd better go," he apologized, prying himself from her arms with great difficulty. "Dinner tomorrow, right?" he grinned, a rare thing for him. He kept on walking away from Dearbhail backward to keep his eyes on her as long as possible.
*^~*^~END FLASHBACK*^~*^~
"Papa? Are you okay? Papa... Mom! Papa's out of it," Moira's voice broke though Skittery's thoughts. Looking down on the source of the voice, Skittery's mind saw Dearbhail. He stared in awe just for a second. "Papa, ready to walk me down the aisle? Only two more days," Moira grinned, her green eyes sparkling merrily. Yes, Moira was Dearbhail's spitting image. 'How unsettling, yet comforting at the same time,' Skittery thought, taking his granddaughter's hand in his. The only difference between the two was that Moira had taken after Skittery being pretty tall.
Smiling warmly, a real smile, something Dearbhail had helped him learn to do, Skittery nodded slowly. "Two whole days, huh, Kitten? How can you stand it?" he teased, tweaking her nose. Moira was getting the wedding dress the women on Dearbhail's side of the family had been wearing since Dearbhail's grandmother married in Dublin almost one hundred and fifty years ago. "You look more like your grandmother every day," his voice cracked with emotion as he set the picture back on the mantel. 'I love you, Poet,' he thought, watching Moira twirl in the gown.
*^~After Dinner That Night~^*
"Tell me about when you proposed again, Papa," Moira requested, sitting at her grandfather's feet as he relaxed in his easy chair with his pipe.