Here's another one. I figured both Beat. and Ben. (What? I can't call them B and B…too confusing. OR Be and Be. And Bea just looks…I dunno. That's how I took notes, anyway. Beat and Ben. MOVING on.) would be a bit giddy and (ahem) eager after their sudden explosion into love.

This Looks Rather More Like A Nuptial Than The Last One

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Here we are, after the end of the play. After the double marriage. Evening.

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It had required a huge amount of self-control to stay within the bounds of polite society. You'd think that at one's own wedding there would be some allowances made, but there was no such luck; instead, everyone was looking at you all the time (or at least half of everyone- thank goodness for Hero and Claudio.)

It was driving Beatrice mad.

She couldn't admit that, either- she was getting quite enough sly looks, thank you very much, without completely losing all dignity. It would have almost been better if they had been kept at the opposite ends of the party, like in stories from the far east- then, at least, there would be distractions, and temptation would be more difficult to give in to.

But, and she suspected that someone up above was having a good laugh at her for it, custom here dictated that they hardly leave each other's sides throughout the entire ordeal. Some small relief could be found in knowing that Benedick felt the same way (she could see it in his eyes- he'd never been very good at hiding his thinking from her), but there was many a moment where she had to clamp her fists tightly behind her back to keep from punching the next well-wisher half-way to Naples. Couldn't they leave them alone for five minutes…!

They survived by joking. During the dances, for instance, Benedick had spun or flung her high up at every opportunity, winking largely at the crowd when she was forced to hang on tight to his neck to keep from falling. She'd got back at him, though, when she'd bested his jig so absolutely that he'd been hissed out of the circle.

She - and him- had been doing everything to get the other couple to take their place in the center of attention. This was supposed to have been their day, after all. Why should they get to lurk in the shadows? Next time, Beatrice thought crossly, I'll get people more…attention-grabbing to get married with. Then was aware of Benedick's hand folded around her own and, oh, marriage wasn't something she was going to do over.

They finally managed to peel away once the sun went down and the revelers had begun to make their way back to Leonato's courtyard. Benedick seized upon the chance and, saying that he wanted to revisit the place he'd been tricked that week (he waved away those who would accompany them by saying that he'd prefer Beatrice "humiliate him without an audience, for once"), managed to extricate them from the mass.

The stillness of the summer orchard closed in around them. Beatrice laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. He looked down at her.

"What is my lady thinking?"

"That I'm glad they're gone." She detached herself from him and twirled across the middle of the path. "There's so much space! I'll never underestimate the joys of fresh air again."

Benedick chuckled. "I've escaped chaining again, it seems. Shall I take you back and demand that it doesn't count if I've married a bird?"

She stopped, putting her hands on her hips. "The bird would be grateful," she replied, "If you would do so; she wishes that the toad leave her in peace."

"Ah, but this toad has remembered to bring his net;" and he swooped her up and kissed her thoroughly enough for her to need the support of his arms.

"I thought that that was supposed to bring out the handsome," Beatrice said, when she had caught her breath. "But no, you've still got your warts."

"Then perhaps we should try again," he suggested, and bent down. By the time they broke apart this time, they were both gasping.

Leaning back against a tree, Benedick lifted off the wreath of flowers that someone had procured for Beatrice's head (Hero had been given one, also) and ran his fingers through her hair, stroking it. Beatrice relaxed into his chest.

"Is this not strange?" she murmured, listening to the strong thrumming of his heartbeat. The sound comforted her. She wished that she could wrap herself up in it, like a warm blanket.

"Is what not strange?" He gazed down at her with an expression of greatest contentment.

"This." Arcing her hand vaguely to the side to encompass the grass, the stars, everything. "Us."

"In a way." He smiled. "A week to turn hatred to wed? That is a bit fast. But I suppose…" he shrugged.

"We never really ended it," Beatrice finished for him. She raised a palm to his cheek, and he turned his head to plant a soft kiss into it. "I hadn't recognized how we were always seeking each other out, ready and waiting with some fresh new jab. We couldn't let it rest."

"And Don Pedro had to stick his nose in." Benedick grimaced. "I'll be thinking up a reward for him as well as his brother."

"We will," corrected Beatrice. "And wasn't that to wait until morning?"

Benedick huffed. "Maybe."

"Besides," Beatrice continued, "I'm just as stuck as you are. More so, actually, because I can't dance off to who-knows-where whenever I please, like you can."

"You're coming with me," Benedick poked at her nose. "I'm not leaving you loose around here. Haven't you given your uncle enough strife? If I let you run free you'd bring the sky crashing down around his ears."

"Ah, yes, but I'd only be hurting one. You'd leave a trail of distressed maids in your wake from here to the isles of spice if I let you off on your own."

"However would I manage that?" He wrinkled his forehead, sparking eyes belying his tone of confusion.

"Hush." Her finger appeared across his lips. "I'm not going to say it, and you know it well."

"Dear Beatrice, sweet Beatrice, Beatrice of my heart, wilt thou grace me with a word?" His hands snaked down around her waist.

"Oh, no you don't." She swatted at him. He, grinning wickedly, didn't move an inch.

"I'll scream."

"We're married."

"Damn."

Benedick laughed in surprise. "I should watch my tongue around you, now that you're a reflection of me."

"Please do."

"Huh! If I were any sort of man I'd clap you for such impudence." He nodded as Beatrice raised an eyebrow. "But I'll take pity on you, just this once."

"Thanks ever so." Standing on tiptoe to kiss him again, she stopped and made a face. "Uncle will be wondering where we are."

"Based on the glances he was shooting Don Pedro as we left, I think he knows exactly where we are." But Benedick pushed her and himself back into the middle of the path. "We had better to go," he said regretfully.

"Fine. Off to the den of wolves." Beatrice took a step. "Coming, husband?" She stumbled slightly over the title. An peculiar new sensation pricked at her rib cage.

Squinting, Benedick crossed his arms. "I'm not going to trail after my-" He paused almost imperceptibly "-wife like a dog after his master."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to follow you. You'd lead me over a cliff and laugh as I tumbled down."

"Why then," said Benedick, and moved to claim her hand, "We'll simply have to walk side-by-side."