A/N: Hello! This chapter is short, angsty, and a little fluffy for my tastes. In all honesty, it could have been almost completely omitted from the story without affecting the plot much, but I took the time to write it, so I'm taking the time to post it. It makes up for its loss of length in the sixth chapter, which I just finished. :) Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Reviews are appreciated!
Life as a bird was unbearable. It had been three days since he had been honest. He didn't know how near or far he was from their (now her) nest, or how much distance was between him and the moors. All he knew was that he was starving, he was weak, and the other birds despised him. He had been knocked out of four trees, and he was certain several of his ribs were broken.
He knew that he wouldn't live much longer, but that was okay. He was fairly certain he was past the age of the average bird, and life without Maleficent was no life. He missed her. Gods, he missed her more than he missed his vision, more than he had ever missed the sky.
It was almost a comfort when the snarling of dogs came upon him. One grabbed his right wing before he could fly away. He heard it shatter. Then he felt it, and he wished for death to come quickly, but it didn't. It instead came along with sides of many broken bones and torn flesh and blood, so much blood, when he finally blacked out.
She was running toward the sounds of howling before she heard squawks of pain coming from the throat of a raven that could only be Diaval. She was slow. Her legs were slow. Her breaths came in gasps, but she persisted, her staff long ago discarded. Her feet kicked at the two attackers that were atop her pet bird with clipped wings, and they ran off squealing into the bushes.
She knelt by him, and his form morphed into a man. He was in his undershorts, as he had been when she'd chased him away. But the wounds… Oh, his wounds. "Diaval," she breathed. Her hands ghosted at the deep tears in his chest where flashes of white ribs could be spotted.
He groaned, and she selfishly relished in the fact that he was conscious enough to feel pain. "Come to…watch me die…did'ja?"
"Shush, shush, quiet." Her hands danced over his abdomen. Gods, she could see some of his intestines. She shook her head. "Oh, Diaval." A ball of magic crafted itself in her hands, and she blew it there, where his stomach was torn clean open. That was when he began to yell. The magic was burning him, healing him but killing him at the same time, and all he could do was shout until his chest, which was also just now healing, ached and burned and smarted.
When his cries faded, he could hear her talking over him. "Diaval, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you were right. Please, you were right. I was being…" Her breath caught in her throat. "I was being a petty child, pet. Please, please, just get better. Just heal up, and I'll take you home." Her voice softened. "I'll tell you a story, then. I'll just tell you a story."
He faded in and out of consciousness as she spun tales over hours. He almost made it to the end of Cinderella, but he was never strong enough to speak, or to let her know that he was listening, hanging on her every word.
Once, when he awoke, she was curled into his nearly bare body, tracing the scars on his chest, which still ached with every breath. But she was still telling stories. She had run out of fables and was now telling of her childhood, and he wanted to hear those stories even more, so he strained to listen. His eyelashes flickered, as though staring blindly at her would help him focus. Her story wavered, though. "Are you awake, pet?" she asked hopefully.
His hand was in hers. He couldn't speak, not yet, but he gave her hand a weak squeeze and tried to open his eyes, but his lids were sealed nearly shut, so he gave up, content to grasp her hand.
She kissed his forehead. "I never knew it would be so hard to find a blind bird in a forest this size." She had searched for him? How hadn't he known? Of course she would have searched for him. No matter what he had said, she would never be cruel enough to leave him to die. "The little beast missed you, and I had no idea what to tell her." So that was why she had done it, to sate the need of their fledgling. That was alright with him. She was here now, regardless of the reason, and that satisfied him. "Are you thirsty?"
Thirsty? He hadn't given much thought to any of those needs. But his lips seemed sealed shut. He couldn't imagine them parting for water. A canteen pressed to his lips, and they parted in the slightest. He swallowed. He hadn't realized how dry his throat had been until the water slid down it. She took away the canteen and wiped his face with a cool, damp piece of cloth.
"I'm sorry, Diaval," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." Her forehead brushed against his, and he became aware of just how close she was to him. Her warmth danced near him, soothing him, and he succumbed to the weariness that dragged at his mind just a bit too soon to hear her almost inaudibly continue, "I love you, pet."
When he next awoke, he felt it all. "Oh gods." He could talk. That was a plus, though his voice grated painfully in his throat. His chest ached like a fire. His stomach turned like he was going to vomit, but he couldn't roll onto his side.
She didn't seem to have moved since he fell asleep. "Diaval? Diaval, how do you feel?"
Before he could answer, water trickled with welcome into his dry mouth. "I still…can't see," he tried to tease. His voice sounded like rocks striking against each other, hoarse from disuse, and he wondered how long he'd been asleep.
"You've been out for three days." She tilted another sip of water at him. She was so warm, so near, so there. His head was nestled in what felt to be the crook of her neck, and he felt quite like a new hatchling, being doted on and cared for. Her hand traced the scars on his collarbones.
"Story," he prompted. His voice sounded sharper than he wanted, but it hurt to talk at all.
More water trickled into his mouth. "Alright, I'll read you a story." She turned to one that she hadn't read him before. "Once upon a time, there were two siblings named Hansel and Gretel…" She spun the tale and, much to her chagrin later, did the voices differently for each character. She thought Diaval must have fallen back asleep, but he listened to her intently as long as he could. When unconsciousness finally ensnared him again, he slept to the words, "Little duck, little duck, dost thou see? Hansel and Gretel are waiting on thee…"
It was several hours before he awoke again. Maleficent was curled into his side asleep; her rhythmical breaths warmed his cool cheeks. The breath in his chest didn't ache as it had before, and his stomach wasn't as sore. He was healing. He felt a small, comfortable smile settle upon his face, and he squeezed her arm just enough to wake her.
"Pet?" Her voice was exhausted, but she still guided the canteen to his lips. "I fell asleep."
"I didn't mean to wake you." His voice wasn't as sharp as it'd been before. He gave a soft sigh.
"How do you feel?"
"Better," he replied honestly. "Lie still. You must be exhausted." Her hands were smoothing down his hair, as if he was somehow concerned with the exact way it was slicked back at the moment. "I mean it. Rest."
He could feel her eyes boring into him, and it was brief battle of wills before she caved, conceding, "Alright." His lips curled into a smile. She lay back down at his side, but didn't completely relax, nor did she go back to sleep. She kept her hand on his shoulder, and every once in a while it would smoothly glide down his arm. He remembered vaguely that the dogs had broken that wing, but it was healed now. "I was so worried," she confessed quietly.
"You're not sleeping," he grumbled.
"Neither are you."
"I've slept for days. Your turn."
She sighed. "I can't. The dogs might come back."
"I can assure you, if they come within half a mile of me, I'll wake you," he deadpanned. He caught her hand and squeezed it. His arm was just a little sore. "Sleep."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"I had to fight with four brothers over food as a hatchling. I can assure you that I can out-yes you. Go. To. Sleep."
"I have eyes," she shot back.
"How does that in any way pertain to the fact that I can... You know what, never mind. Don't sleep, if it suits your pretty fancy. I can't have my wife being unhappy." He couldn't keep the smugness out of his voice, though he did regret that last bit at the foreboding silence his mistress fell into. "I jest, mistress," he provided finally.
"I know." But her voice was hurt. "Don't call me that anymore."
"Wife or mistress?"
"Neither."
"How come everybody gets a cute nickname except you?" he protested, hoping to lighten her spirits. He knew she blamed herself for the horrible mess he had gotten into. He didn't want her to, even though a small part of him—the angry, jealous part—blamed her as well. She had chased him away. He, a blind raven, being cast away by the only one who had ever cared for him. But he had also stepped far across their limited established boundaries, and he had said some things that he knew would hurt her. "Me, Aurora…Who gets to give you a name?"
"I have a name. It's godmother."
"I can hardly call you that."
"And Aurora doesn't call you pet."
She was much better at this whole arguing business than him. He gave a dramatic sigh of defeat. "I have been slain by the wicked argumentative powers of Maleficent. Avenge me!" Was that a laugh he heard? He hoped so. If it wasn't a laugh, it was probably a choked sob. He wasn't quite sure which one of those was more likely to come from her; they both seemed improbable.
She asked quietly, "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" He lowered his voice to match her soft, low tone.
"You're trying to pretend that I didn't chase you away, and that you didn't almost die for it."
"I didn't almost die," he tried to defend, though his voice was weak, because he knew how close he had been to death. He knew how he had been so prepared to welcome it, and how he had prayed that in the afterlife, he would be able to see again. It was an odd dying wish for a bird.
Her voice was barely audible. "Your intestines were leaking out when I beat them off of you. I was so sure I was too late…" She swallowed hard. "And you're avoiding my question."
"The question does not matter to me."
"It matters to me," she replied. Her hand was about his collarbones again, but this time her index finger wandered up his neck, tracing those scars and leaving goose bumps in its wake. "I will never understand your forgiving nature. I take advantage of it far too often."
"Stop!" Her finger halted. "Stop beating yourself up about this." He pushed himself up and hissed at a sharp pain in his chest, but steadied himself against the dizzying head-rush. "I crossed a line, and I hurt you, and then this happened. Those events are not as related as you want to think they are, except that you saved my life again, and there's no way I'll ever be able to repay three life-debts, so we're stuck with each other till I die. Now stop whining, and go to sleep!"
Maleficent paused. Diaval was not typically prone to outbursts. "I don't want to sleep. I'm going to stay awake with you." Her hand was on his cheek. It was warm.
He took it and kissed it. "Of course you would want to stay awake with my beautiful self," he purred. Then, before thinking his actions through, he launched himself at her as he had done so many days before, and tackled her into a hug. It made his healing bones ache, but he squeezed her hard about the middle. He could feel the stubby remnants of her wings poking through her shirt. She was stiff, but under his touch she gradually softened. "I don't care what you say," he murmured. "I love you, and I know you don't believe in love, and I'm sorry if that makes you really uncomfortable, but dishonesty is not in my nature. I love you." His lips were against the hollow of her neck, moving against her skin.
"You are—"
"If you're going to call me a fool, I don't want to hear it."
She laughed softly. Tears threatened to emerge with it. "I was going to say perfect, but that word may apply as well." Her hand fisted in his hair. How was his touch exactly what she needed? How could he soothe her so easily? Why did her heart beat faster with something other than guilt? Why on earth did he love her, knowing that she would never again be able to return such a sentiment openly?
Then his lips were on hers. It lasted but a moment before he snapped away. "That wasn't your cheek, was it?"
"Most certainly not."
He blushed heatedly, but didn't move away from her. "Sorry." He licked his lips. They tasted like apples and honey now. He shivered and unfurled himself from around her. "I am quite the fool." He both desired and wished away her touch. His back ached faintly, and she was soon pushing him back down on the make-shift bed of moss she had managed to organize for him. He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.
"Diaval."
"Maleficent."
"No."
"I refuse to sleep until you agree to do so with me."
Her will was angrily staring at him through hot emerald eyes, but Diaval was unbothered by her glare, because he couldn't see it. The tension in her finally trickled away, and she relaxed into him. "Wake me if anything happens." Her cheek pressed to his shoulder, and it wasn't until her breaths fanned steadily across his cheeks that he realized she had fallen asleep while using him as a pillow. Soft emotions stirred in his belly, and he stroked her unwrapped hair with care. He wanted, if only for a moment, to kiss her forehead, but decided that he shouldn't push his luck after the whole missed-the-cheek incident.
His hands wandered up her neck and found the base of her horns where they adorned her head, and he scratched around them where they sprang out of her scalp. The texture of the flesh there was different than anywhere else on her body. Her horns were warm with blood that flowed through them. He liked them. Sleep came to him quickly, casting him in comfort.