The Reason Why
By: The Hellcat
If a butterfly beats its wings
The tension in the small, rented cottage just outside the city of LR was thick enough to be cut with a knife.
Vash had been acting more like an idiot than usual; Meryl's explosive temper ran so short it could be declared a nuclear warhead; and lately Knives had taken to whiling long hours away in his cramped bedroom and staring out the small window, patchy and brindled with the dirt kicked up by passing cars.
Which is the reason why it came as such a shock when Meryl knocked rapid-fire on Knives' open doorframe, folding her arms and leaning against the jamb with a Cheshire Cat smile. Knives, never moving to acknowledge her presence, tracked her ghostly reflection in the window.
If a butterfly beats its wings
For a moment the only noise was the rattle of the window panes, loose in their sills, as pickups thundered past the cottage. Knives could not hear the clocks tick-tick-ticking downstairs, or the sweaty, breathy grunts of the construction workers down the road, or the burring of cicadas in a desert where nothing more significant than an insect survived the wild heat.
The girl's glass reflection resembled a watercolor painting that had been inundated: her fair complexion looked ashy, her red lips the color of rose quartz, and her grey eyes were as pale and stormy as the sky outside. Knives, irritated with her presence, finally spoke:
"What do you want?" He did not snap, careful not to let it show that this particular breed of insect had managed to get under his skin. Instead his words were clipped and impatient, dipped in malevolence and laced with arrogance.
If a butterfly beats its wings in China
"Dinner's ready," she said. Even while she spoke, her lips were upturned in that clever smile. That I-know-something-you-don't-know smile. That damned if-you-don't-get-it-now-you-never-will, all-knowing, confident fucking smile. It aggravated him.
It aggravated him even more when she remained motionless, studying him with those overcast-sky eyes, her arms crossed assuredly over her chest.
"Thanks," he said sarcastically, drawing the word out and smiling derisively into the window to give the usually polite word an insolent spin. He hesitated, then asked coldly: "why are you in such good spirits?"
Meryl shrugged, dropping her arms to her sides and pushing off from the doorjamb. "What put you in such bad spirits?" She mocked. Still smiling, Knives noticed. He curled his hands into white, bloodless fists.
If a butterfly beats its wings in China, does a hurricane happen on Gunsmoke?
Meryl crossed the Joshua Tree floorboards, hesitating just behind the flaxen-haired Plant. He was close enough to feel her body heat, hear the quiet exhalation of breath, and smell the unparalleled perfume of rose petals, White Doll's Daisy, and snowdrops that worked its way into her fingers after long days at her job at the florist shop.
Then Knives felt the mattress depress slightly with a muted moan of springs, and his eyes widened in sheer, unfiltered disbelief. Was she...sitting on his bed? Before he could recover, she leaned back and planted her hands on the bedspread so that she was sitting side-by-side with Knives, though facing the opposite direction. Slowly, the Plant tore his gaze away from the glass and stole a sideways glance at the insurance agent.
The smile had disappeared, he noted wryly, replaced by a small furrow of concentration in her forehead. She stared at the far wall, brows knitted, eyes half-closed, mouth just barely parted.
Does a hurricane happen on Gunsmoke?
The insurance girl shook herself visibly, and Knives quickly returned his attention to the window, furious that he had been caught staring. A flush spread through his cheeks, tinging his skin pink. Why did he care?
Meryl looked at the Plant with a breathless sigh. "What happened to your lip?" She asked, tapping her hand at the corner of her own mouth.
Knives' face darkened. "Cat scratched it." He said simply, hoping short responses and the lack of eye contact would discourage the young woman from conversation.
Which is the reasonwhy it came as such a shock when he felt the light flutter of delicate fingers on his cheek. At first he thought he'd imagined it, but the fingers, as soft and gentle as butterfly kisses, continued their path across his cheekbone, coming to a halt over the scab on his mouth.
Does a hurricane happen in Gunsmoke, or does a spider fall in love?
"What—" Knives began, but he never got any further because Meryl closed the distance between them, and the way her eyes dropped to his lips spoke loudly and clearly of "what" she was doing. Knives went rigid, eyes still deer-wide, feeling as though the wind had been knocked clean out of his lungs.
Meryl brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth teasingly, let them linger for a long heartbeat before pulling away. Her hand had flattened, fingers splayed, against his cheek, and she stayed that way for a moment, lips an inch from his mouth, fingers pressed against his cheekbone, before leaning back again and allowing her hand to fall away.
"What..." He tried again.
Meryl shrugged in a careless way that both infuriated and intoxicated the Plant. "'Kiss it and make it better'," she quoted laconically, standing and straightening her skirt girlishly.
"Soup's on," she reminded him as she walked toward the open door, the heels of her boots padding hollowly against the floor. She paused to grab the doorknob as she left, pulling it shut behind her. Knives watched her leave, unmoving. The expression of surprise and childish bewilderment was especially out-of-place on the Plant's frosty countenance.
"Soup's on," he repeated quietly, with a snort. Downstairs, he could hear the clangs of pans and ceramics, muffled by the insulation under the floorboards. To his surprise, Knives found that he was hungry.
But not for soup.
A/N: Happy belated Knives-Day, everyone! Better late than never, huh? Besides, Kritikos forgot too! points accusing finger