Title: At Last

By: Old Fiat n. Fr

Summary: When you love someone you'll do anything to protect them.

Notes: I wanted to do a Corny/Maybelle story with intrigue and with a plot other than them just getting together so here goes.

Rating: … with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Pool!

Why: Violence and some other stuff too.

Currently listening to/watching: Nothing. Though that could change at any time.

Brief: This chapter might be somewhat too violent for some of you (which is why it's rated T) so I just thought I'd warn you in advance. I don't think that this exceeds the T rating, but I thought it would be best to tell you so that if you're sensitive to that kind of thing you will be better prepared to deal with it. Thank you for your time.

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Chapter Four

"I'm sorry, have you ever even held a golf club before?" Corny rolled up his shirt sleeves and raised an eyebrow pointedly at Maybelle.

"Excuse me for not being one of your country club buddies." Maybelle laughed before beckoning him closer. "Why don't you show me?"

A wide grin spread across Corny's face before he wrapped his arms around her torso, placing his hands on top of hers. Maybelle gave a little shiver as he adjusted her hold on the club. Guiding her, he gently tapped the ball and it slowly went into the sideways tumbler (Corny had brought it along since the park wasn't actually a golf-course).

"Now, you try." He let go of her before removing his ball from the tumbler and dropping a new one on the ground in front of her.

Maybelle had been just a bit mesmerized during Corny's brief instructions. While she still had her hands correctly positioned, she had somehow managed to forget the distance of the tumbler from her. As her eyes went from the glistening moonlit grass up to the moon itself she swung the club way over her head and shot the ball clear across the park into the fountain at the other end. "Oh my word!" She put a hand to her mouth, shocked and amused at her blunder. "I really don't think that golf is my game."

"Lord," Corny laughed out loud and picked up his club before starting his long trek to retrieve the ball. "I'll get it and you can try again. We just won't count that one!" He started to hasten his steps and disappeared behind a hill, the fountain glimmering in the distance.

Maybelle yawned and leaned against the club Corny had loaned her. It was around two thirty and she was just a little bit fatigued. She was enjoying the date but she probably should have consumed more coffee before leaving the house. She yawned again and shut her eyes momentarily. She opened them to see Corny walking purposefully towards the fountain. She smiled to herself as she watched him: his handsome, confident stride; his sculpted, glorious form; his sprayed-to-perfection hair; his adorable little rear; his—

Maybelle's thoughts were interrupted by a rustling noise behind her. She spun around, fear and anxiety joining forces in her head. If anyone caught her out here she knew that there would be no explanation that could save her from getting fired.

Her eyes darted around the trees and shrubbery she faced. She couldn't see anyone. She would have gone in for a closer look but she didn't really feel safe doing that without Corny being there.

She could feel herself sweating coldly under her dress. She was absolutely positive that she'd heard something. She prayed silently that it just be a rabbit or one of the neighborhood cats. After a few seconds, she'd managed to convince herself that it must have been one of those and felt comfortable enough to turn her back on the greenery.

She shut her eyes and leaned heavily on the golf club, trying hard to even her breathing and qualm her cold shivers. She finally relaxed and the tiredness returned, causing her to yawn again.

There was another noise behind her, this one more like the crack of a twig or a small branch. All of Maybelle's fears returned as she felt a large hand press against her shoulder.

She turned to see a tall, tanned, white man wearing a charcoal fedora, a dark suit, and a long, black trench coat that was torn and appeared to have multiple stains on it. The man's smile was wide and thin and was smeared across his face. His nose was slight but looked as though it had been broken multiple times. His eyebrows were pale and sparse. His irises were pale but almost entirely eclipsed by his massively dilated pupils and one eye wasn't looking in exactly the same direction as the other.

As Maybelle stared into those eyes she didn't feel any sort of human connection; it didn't even feel as though the man was looking at her or had noticed her staring. They seemed empty and blank, but dangerous and cold-blooded. They were like the eyes of a crazed-horse, enigmatic, incomprehensible and, ultimately, harmful.

Maybelle felt her lungs fill, by instinct, and her throat open as a scream or cry tried to make its way out. However, before any sound could issue forth, a large, hard, wet fist had already slammed itself against her cheekbone and knocked her to the grass.

The man bent down quickly, pulling some white, cotton gloves on his hands and grabbing her ankles.

Maybelle tried to struggle against the excruciating pain that was driving through her head. It felt like the skin had split from the blow and some of the blood was sticking her hair to her face. She looked at the man, who was, at that moment, trying to hold her knees open and push up her skirt. She knew that if she didn't move quickly she wouldn't be able to escape.

She kicked the man as hard as she could in the shoulder, sending him back a yard. She scrambled into a standing position, feeling her head spin. She had to move.

She began to try and run away but all her body was able to give her was a shambling, slow heavy walk.

Before she had moved two paces the man had come to his feet. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. His eyes still dead and animal-like. She started to try and scream again but he grabbed her hair roughly with his left hand and pulled so hard that she barely choke out a breath. With his right hand the man grabbed her left leg and pulled it up so hard and so fast that Maybelle was sure she felt a tendon tear.

Her head was aching and her eyes were swimming in burning, salty tears. She stared at the man's face as he said, slowly and very clearly:

"And now, beautiful woman, I am going to—"

His words were cut off as a fist slammed into the left side of his head. He instantly let go of her and dropped to the ground, howling like a wounded beast.

Beyond the agonizing tears, Maybelle saw Corny Collins, standing there with his golf-club in his left hand and his right balled up into a bloody fist.

She wiped her eyes quickly with her skirt and was going to rush over to him and thank him, though she wasn't entirely sure how to express the enormous and all consuming gratitude she felt towards him. She smiled as tears of relief poured down her cheeks. "Corny, I—"

But Corny just shoved a hand roughly against her sternum, pushing her back a few feet and moved towards the man on the ground.

Maybelle was more than a bit hurt and started to call his name again but he didn't respond. As Corny raised the club over his head, she stared at his face. His head was flushed crimson and his eyes had the same blank, dead, and inexplicably dangerous expression that the attacker's had had. She felt herself choke as she stared at him: "Corny, what the hell are you—?"

Corny brought the club down onto the man's torso. The man shrieked as three of his ribs broke. Maybelle covered her mouth in terror as the man continued to scream, writhing in pain. Corny moved to the man's face, hitting it again and again and again, faster and faster until the man's writhing stopped. Corny continued to hit the unrecognizable, cadaverous form a few more times until he finally dropped his club and backed away from the corpse.

Maybelle looked at Corny through her wet eyes. He was sweating and shaking and she saw something shiny fall from one of his hands, though she couldn't tell whether it was sweat or blood. Whatever it was, it fell heavily to the ground and Corny didn't seem to notice.

Though she was afraid to do so, Maybelle looked up at Corny's face. Corny's eyes were wide and the cold, carnal expression had been replaced with one of loss and extreme remorse. Heavy tears streaked his face and he slowly dropped to his knees, his face crumpling as he went.

He sobbed.

Maybelle wanted to go forward and comfort him. She wanted to put her shoulder under his screwed up face and let him bawl into it. She wanted to thank him for saving her life. She wanted to comfort him and tell him that it was going to be okay. She wanted to hold his tie back as he threw up repeatedly on the grass. She wanted to do all of those things, but she couldn't. She just stood there and stared as he gasped for breath after retching all over the ground.

Corny finally slowed down his breathing and shook his head roughly, sweat beads flying off of his drenched hair.

Maybelle just watched.

Corny breathed heavily for a few more moments and then turned to look at Maybelle, as though he'd only just realized she was there. He looked lost and frightened but appeared to be somehow warmed by her presence.

"M-Maybelle," he managed to stutter out, wiping vomit from the sides of his mouth. "We-we need to hi-hide the body..." He trailed off at the sight of Maybelle's stony expression. "M-Maybelle?"

She started to walk slowly away, trying not to scream at what she had just witnessed.

Corny got to his feet as quickly as he could and put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her walking. "Maybelle, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't touch me ever again, Corny Collins!" She yelled at him. He was startled and seemed to be trying to read her. She didn't want to be read. She wanted to go home, bathe and cry.

"Maybelle, please, don't—"

"Don't touch me! I never want to speak to you again!" She grabbed his hand and threw it off her shoulder before storming out of the park and wrenching open the door to her car. She sat down, feeling nauseous, and slammed the door.

Maybelle drove away as quickly as she could, leaving Corny sweaty, sick, scared and entirely alone.