Just what is M'low thinking? A brief vignette that explores his pre-hatching mentality as well as demonstrating my amazing powers of resurrection. Thanks to WinterIrony, Mecotl, and Jenna, & astrokath for your comments. They are inspiring, and I am sincerely grateful for your attentions.

I, Too
Intermission No. 1: I Need You.

You are in love.

It was one of those passé, pastoral scenes that he had always tried his darndest to avoid. You know, the ideal sun-and-green every which way and a big, brand-new spanking lake smack dab in the precise center of all the unnecessary vegetation. Nonetheless, he hadn't really had the time to consider the clichéd-ness of the setting, since it happened to be a get-in, get-out, zoom-to-the-Hatching-to-see-results-of-machinations sort of thing. Oddly, his guard was all the way down in spite of the tensions that usually came with conclusions to epic planning's, mayhap due to his supreme confidence in the turnout. He was the calm before a storm, silence and stillness and serenity beyond reason as he perched in an irritatingly picturesque way at the lake's edge, splashing idly at his wallowing green. It was with that mindset that her suggestion floated upon, light as a lilypad on a glass lake, that managed to cut him true. He visibly startled as if slapped, composing himself after a long minute to look at her quizzically. Even so, his "Really?" came out even, though colored slightly by disbelief.

In contrast, she pressed earnestness on him, staring through the murky water. Yes. He stiffened. She rolled over, twin gems vanishing into blue as she darted away. You are in love with a rose.

His shoulders relaxed with his sigh, letting his head loll backwards in a visual release. He spoke to the sky. "Flowers are fickle things, love. Too fickle even for me."

He is not fickle! Her flung objection continued with her physical flinging of herself from the water, intentionally soaking him with a wave. Laughter was her response as she nosed him, blinking blue eyes as he pushed at her. He has big thorns all over him, and no matter how much you try to shake him off he will only cling to you all the tighter.

"Like you?" He smiled as she bared her teeth in devastating riposte, plunging back into the safe depths. "And how would you know?"

Only the rose wouldn't know. I know because you say, "Rose, rose, rose," over and over very loudly. And everything is…pink-colored when you do.

"Pink?" The disbelief was real this time. "I'm scandalized." He cast a hand towards his chest, pantomiming a truly offended Lady.

Pink, she confirmed, and fluffy. Like I am bouncing on those bales that the rose herds. And to the side, a miffed, And that I am not allowed to eat.

"Do you mind?" He pursed his lips, smiling smugly. "I would think that you were jealous, darling."

Yes. I mind the not eating. Oh—No. I quite like this…rose. When you think of him, I can finally hear you. Even if everything is pink… I do not mind. If anything, I wish that you would think of him always.

"Always. I'll remember that." He leaned his head on his hands, he regarded her with a fondness parents reserved for their beloved unruly children. Aware of his sudden scrutiny, she posed, arching her neck in what she hoped was a graceful 's' as she glided towards him, an immense swan. Her eyes met his and held. That way, I can always hear you.

In that moment he withdrew completely, hiding the tendrils of his creeping pride at the fact that she indeed did not know. Yet. She recoiled, all three lids sliding in a drawn-out blink. "You cannot hear me…?" He beckoned.

No. You close yourself off to me and I do not know why. You do not need to hide from me.

He dismissed her sorrow. "I assure you that there are things that you are better off not knowing."

You know everything about me and I do not care.

"I…you…" Her hurt slid from beneath his ramparts, poisoning his thoughts with red. He attempted to clear his mind, tried again, "You…"

You will say that I have nothing to hide. But that is not true. I simply hide nothing from you.

"I don't let you know these…things... because—because you will hate me."

Hate? She flexed her jaws as if the thought of the word left a bad taste. Hate? You are talking like a wherry without its head. I know no… hate, and I will certainly not learn it towards you.

"That is easy to say, now, when you don't know."

Then let me know. I want to know.

A long pause. "I don't want you to know."

She snorted, not satisfied in the merest sense. At least you are honest.

The red was everywhere, pushing out every bit of rationale he had gathered to stick together throughout the Turns. He clambered to his feet, hands snatching forwards, gripping the sides of her head. "What do you want from me?" He shook her, and she allowed it. Gasping with the effort, he pulled her close, glaring into her eyes. "You've obviously been planning this for a long time."

She continued to stare.

"What? Shards, tell me!"

She shook free of him like water slipping from fingers. You keep these thoughts like spiny armor when, really, the spikes are on the inside. They will kill you. She wailed like a child bellowing loss of a cherished toy, butting him with her upturned snout. I do not wish for you to go this way.

I do not know who you are anymore. You are a rider, yes, but you become like all the other riders when I cannot hear you because it is your thoughts that make you my rider. I love all of your thoughts because I love my rider. They are a part of you, and when part of you is missing it is like an arm or a leg missing. You need your arms and legs like I need to hear you.

Sweat beaded his brow with the effort of understanding her onslaught of words and cold fear. And as he tasted her pain and anger and fear, she forced her way past his walls, enveloping him in her love.

Do you remember, now, what it means to be whole?

He could remember the Hatching when he first felt that monstrous amount of love, the heat of Fort's Sands and T'kul's hand at the small of his back, the harsh whispers of, "Bronze, you hear me? Bronze," as the hand pricked him forward into the white mass. He could remember the solemn affair, the rustling of thousands upon thousands of wings and blinking jewel-bright eyes in the semi-darkness. He remembered tasting fear, the swell of sound when the hatchlings spraying from their shells joined the shrill humming of the already grown. He remembered the crests of anticipation and disappointment as each one stumbled gracelessly towards their boys, all that were, obviously, better than him. He remembered trying to convince himself that it didn't matter, that he could find his rose and repay him back without whoring himself to Fort and High Reaches. He remembered, then, the feeling of being loved, being safe, and being needed, all by a whiny voice that knew his name in spite of all he had done to bury it under Rats. He remembered her virulent plea, I need you.

In that moment, their bond flowed unhampered, a brief sweetness made all the more sweeter as M'low reached forward again, pressing his brow to his Vivianth's. She crooned, blinking coquettishly. You love me. You know you do.

"You spoil everything."

I try. She sighed, undulating back into the water to rest her head on his lap. He grunted with the weight, then allowed it. You will tell me one day. It was not a request.

"Yes." She closed her eyes.

He knew that she would forget all of this in three days. He knew that he could probably never tell her and get away with it, and he snatched that treachery back as he began to rebuild his walls. Just for today, he promised her wordlessly, and if—no 'if.' It was going to happen. It would happen, and then he would never have to be apart from her again. He knew she could feel him fading, but chose to leave it at that. All would be well, just like that moment when he first reached for that precise spot on her eyeridge and scratched, and nothing else in the world mattered.

That was what it should have been.