I (still) don't own Ruby. And to the regret of some, I don't write for it either.
I also don't own, or even possess, the skill of Paul Harvey, in prose of speaking.
/
/
Oum made a Farmer
/
/
Oum said, "I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, milk cows, work all day in the fields, milk cows again, eat supper and then go to town and stay past midnight at a meeting of the school board." So Oum made a farmer.
/
/
It's two in the morning when he quietly opens the door to his home, trying not to wake his recent guest. Even if she is the visitor and he the owner, even if he is dead tired and desperately wants to fall into his own bed and pass out, he courteously tries to tiptoe past the living room sofa where she has slept since her first night here.
It's hard to do that when green eyes are already wide awake and watching for you.
"Where were you?" his guest asks, and he thinks there's a tension in those three words that he hasn't heard before. He doesn't know what it is, because he doesn't know the true meaning of fear, so the closest thing that comes to mind is a young sister afraid of the dark corners of the barn at night.
"The town hall meeting went a little long," he deigns to explain, even though he is tired and worn out and owes her no more answers if he'd rather sleep, and he wants to sleep so very much. "There was a military recruiter there, looking for volunteers to join the peace keepers. Offering good pay too," he answers instead, in case she is looking for a job.
"What did you tell them?" she asks. He's not imagining it now- her shoulders are as stiff as a plank of wood and there's a concern beyond just the prospect of midnight dalliances or friendly women of the town.
"That I'm busy," Jaune answers honestly. "I have my hands full enough trying to manage this farm as it is. It's just going to be a bit harder if the usual farm hands go off to join the military. I couldn't afford to do that if I wanted to. Which I-" His sentences are broken by massive yawns, but he manages to be understood. "Which I don't," he finally manages.
She relaxes, a cat unwinding as a scare passes. "I see," she says with a relieved smile. "Why don't you get some rest?" she offers, no longer delaying him.
"If," he starts, but yawns once more. "If you're still here in the morning, can you wake me up in three hours?" he asks. "I can't fall behind on the morning chores."
"Of course," she agrees. "I'll help as well."
He tries to say she doesn't have to, that he's already given his word that she can stay as long as she needs, and that as a guest she doesn't have to pay for her unexpected stay even if she hasn't indicated how long it will be. Arc words, and all that. But he can't manage around the yawns. Instead he thanks her and trudges off to bed, falling asleep before he finishes falling, never even taking his boots off, and not once having any dreams of glory or duty or any of that martial heroism.
Instead of dreams of legends and adventure, what he remembers next and always is how he's woken up by a gentle shaking as she keeps her word. He's so tired he can't even think be embarrassed that there's a beautiful woman alone with him in his room. Again. But he's not so tired that he can't feel refreshed- or notice that his boots are off and there's a blanket over him that he hadn't put on last night. Her smiling face suggests who he has to thank.
(Not blame. Never to blame. That's simply not how he thinks- he never learned what irony is, but he wouldn't use it if he did, basic honesty is so ingrained in him. The phrase would never come to mind.)
"You're still here," he says, something between a question and wonder. "Thank you."
"As long as you let me," she says simply, still smiling but still reserved, still giving no hint on when she might leave or where she might go next.
"I gave you my word," he reminds, a bit sterner than he intended- maybe he's still tired, maybe he doesn't want his hospitality to be exploited, but really he's... irked... that she doesn't believe him. Believe in him. He... dislikes... distrust, and if the world before she came here filled her with it, he'd rather she stay with him as long it takes to fix that.
"You can stay here as long as you want."
"Then I shall," she says, reaching forward to pull him up and onto his feet and towards her. He's still tired, and he so stumbles, but she's there and catches him with her arms on on him even as his arms encircle hers for a moment.
"Thank you," he says softly into her ear, expressing gratitude as he should whenever someone does something he should be grateful for, and this certainly this counts- both the catch, and what she said before. He may be too tired to be flustered by her proximity, but he's not too tired to smile in gratitude. Will never be too tired to smile for her.
She turns, but not before he catches a glimpse of slightly rosy cheeks that don't confuse him in the least. Perhaps they might once have, when he was just a boy, but he is a man now. Jaune may not know the true meaning of fear, may not understand irony, may not even be able to even think in terms of hate, but that is because he was raised by parents who taught him better and more important things. For all the things he is too innocent to think, he is far from ignorant when it comes to the most important thing of all- love.
"Come, I've made us breakfast already," she says without a stammer, and with that she leads him by the hand into his kitchen in what is rapidly becoming their home.
(He never buys an alarm clock again- never needs to. Pyrrha- reliable, tireless Pyrrha- wakes him with a smile every day for the rest of their lives.)