A/N: This will be my update for at least the next week, if not longer. I'm going to band camp (no electronics allowed except tuners), and then I have a lot of summer homework that I procrastinated on up until this point, so it will be quite awhile before you guys get another update. Sorry. :(
The sound of chains clinking over tracks made her heart pick up. Her palms were slick with sweat. Diaval's breath was heavy beside her. "Did I ever tell you that I'm afraid of rollercoasters?" he finally asked. They started up the slow, steady incline that would be sure to send them plummeting to near death in a few minutes.
"No."
Up, higher, higher, higher. Tree branches came close about her face. She could feel the blood draining out of her face. People were starting to stick their hands up in the air. They were nearing the crest of the hill. "Maleficent, in case I die of a heart attack or something, I need to tell you something." She looked to him and prayed she didn't appear as utterly terrified as she felt. Diaval's face was white as a sheet, his eyes rounded in saucers. "I love you."
Her mouth opened to question him. The floor dropped from beneath them. A sharp curve pitched her into Diaval's chest. And she suddenly understood why rollercoasters were on her list of forbidden things.
Maleficent never screamed. Ever. Screams were something programmed out of her since she was a child; any sudden noise could spook a horse. Her father used to tell her that horses spooked at two things—things that move, and things that don't. She clenched her jaw and fisted her hands in Diaval's shirt, his words long forgotten. The wind roared by her as it once did so many years ago, but she was not distant from the thundering of the machine below her. Strong arms secured around her. She never screamed. But Diaval was positively deafening her. She tried to focus on the sound of his shouts rather than the snatching and whirling and twirling of the hefty machinery.
Her gut began to churn. Their angle shifted abruptly, and she had the briefest feeling of weightless. Blood gushed to her head. I'm upside down, she thought, her thoughts strangely disconnected. The strongest pain pulsed not from her back, but from her scalp, and she realized that Diaval had grabbed fistfuls of her hair in terror.
The ride screeched to a stop as soon as it had begun. She was still clutching at him desperately. His arms were folded protectively over her back and tightly grasped her hair. "Diaval," she mumbled. He grunted. "It would be kind of you to relinquish my hair about now." Their lap bars lifted, and she reached to unhook the seatbelt that bound them together. Her fingers were jittery and didn't want to work right. He looked like he was going to be sick. She stepped out of the car and steadied herself against it.
Diaval crawled after her and fetched her cane, leaned against the wall as it patiently waited for them to finish their attempted suicide. His face still broke into a grin, sickened though it might have been, and he weakly said, "Two things in three days. We're on a roll." He stumbled a bit to the right and nearly trampled an eager child.
Maleficent grabbed his elbow to steady him. "I'm supposed to be the one with balance problems," she reminded him. "Since you haven't yet succeeded in killing me, let's find a place to sit down."
He slicked his hair back in the way that he knew she found charming and led her to the bench just outside the entrance to the ride. With a shaky hand, he took the list out of his pocket and crossed out two words: "No rollercoasters". "Wanna go again?" he asked her, his eyes twinkling softly.
"No," she replied adamantly. Arching an eyebrow, she questioned, "Do you?"
His eyes widened. "Hell no, but I would go again if you—Oh, bumper cars is also here! C'mon! We can knock that out, too!" He made a move to leap to his feet, but identifying her lack of enthusiasm, he sat back down on the bench. Her patient emerald-gold eyes trailed over him, and he amended, "But not right this second, I'm guessing." He didn't touch her like he wanted, though he could tell she was hurting, and he felt a prickle of guilt in his chest. Was she angry at him? Maybe. But then her head settled on his shoulder, and he decided she wasn't. He placed a warm hand on her back and rubbed up and down, applying little pressure, just enough to make the knotted muscles relax. "The swinger looks fun," he commented. His pulse had finally calmed in his veins.
"Diaval, right now I am trying to decide whether or not I want you to take me to the hospital, so please shut up." It felt like her spine had twisted like a wire in her back, all out of line, and as the muscles relaxed the nerves seemed to contract more. She had taken Advil before she got on the ride—a decision she was now regretting.
His jaw clamped shut, and he pushed a bottle of water into her hand. He placed one light finger at the nape of her neck and trailed it down her spine. She shivered in response. He could feel the ripples on the bone, the places where it wasn't shaped quite right, through her shirt. "I'm sorry," he apologized quietly. Maybe she was right; maybe he expected too much of her, pushed her too hard. She wasn't a broken thing that needed to be fixed. But he would never, ever let her live believing she was crippled, and if that meant he had to put her in some damn ice skates and drag her across a frozen pond, he would do it.
She took a few deep breaths against the blinding white pain until it ebbed into its usual dull ache. His apology met her ears, and she wanted to reject it; it wasn't his fault that she couldn't bear up under something as simple as riding a rollercoaster. It was certainly his fault that she had been on the rollercoaster in the first place, but his eyes were guilty enough without her throwing a snarky remark at him. Her legs and back protested as she stood, but Diaval grabbed her elbow, and his eyes were intently scanning her every nook and cranny with earnest concern. His words from atop the rollercoaster echoed back at her: "I love you." She forced a smile. "Bumper cars, then?"
"Bumper cars with you are no fun."
"Driving sixteen hours to California with you is no fun. Staying in two shitty hotels isn't fun. Riding rollercoasters isn't fun. Trying to outsmart medical professionals isn't fun." She couldn't believe she was actually letting him take her on a carousel. But yet there they were, about to have a seat in one of the fake carriages pulled in a circle by fake horses.
He bowed and gingerly pressed his lips to the back of her hand. "My lady," he stated warmly, gesturing toward the seat. She rolled her eyes and sat down. He sat beside her. "We should ride that one water ride."
"You are not getting me wet."
"Fine. You can watch. I'm riding that water ride."
Twenty minutes later, when Diaval was in a raft with several strangers, she peered down at him from the viewing deck. With a smirk, she dropped two quarters into a geyser machine and squirted him in the face. He shook out his hair and glared at her. She lost sight of him around the ride's bend. A soft smile adorned her face.
A strikingly familiar voice startled her from her thoughts. "That wasn't very nice, Mal."
She whirled around on him. Her grip on her cane tightened till her fingers were white. Blindingly hot memories brought tears to her eyes—Silver, cracking, pain, sirens, can't breathe can't breathe, heavy, snorts, can't move—before she managed to squeeze out. "What do you want?" She wanted to lift her cane from the ground and beat him with it, but she found herself relying on it heavily. Her knees were weak. Her mouth was dry. She needed Diaval. Where was he? He had to hurry. He would see her, he would steady her, his presence would strengthen her like it always did…And that was when she realized she relied on him more heavily than she had ever trusted her cane or her pills.
Stefan took a small step toward her. She took a larger one backwards. The railing pressed against her back. Cornered. Trapped. "Is that any way to talk to an old friend, love?" He reached to touch her hand.
She leaned away from him. "Don't touch me." Her voice, her damned voice, quavered and gave away the utter terror budding in her chest. He wore the same cologne he had sported all those years ago. He still wore it too heavily, enough to smother her in it. "Enough to kill a horse" her father once joked. How right he had been.
"Mal, the past is in the past." His breath was rotten with cigarette smoke. She could see the yellow in his teeth, the staining of his fingers, the premature wrinkling of his skin. "I've been wanting to see you. I thought, maybe, since all this is behind us, we could go out sometime."
She stared at him with her mouth agape. He wanted—He wanted her back? He did this to her, and then when he realized that his reasons were petty, he decided that he wanted her? "You bloody bastard." She lifted her cane off of the ground. If she swung it hard enough, she could knock him out. Granted, she would probably fall down in the process, but it would be worth it.
A warm hand touched her back. "Do you have a problem?" Diaval growled at the stranger. He was thoroughly soaked, but his eyes were fierce as ever.
Stefan backed away with his hands up. "Not at all, not trying to cause any trouble. Just trying to talk to an old friend, is all." Fake charm laced his tone.
Old friend. Maleficent could watch the realization snake across Diaval's features. His eyes heated in utter fury. His jaw set. His fists clenched. He drew himself up to his full height and took a step toward Stefan, who leaned back with fear in his eyes. "You stay the fuck away from her, you fucking bastard. Or I will beat the snot out of your head." His hair was prickling. He could feel the gazes on him of people skirting around what looked like the beginnings of a fight. "Get lost, prick. I'll beat you bloody, I'll—"
Her hand on his arm stopped him, and her voice came, icy and composed, toward Stefan. "I would love to take you up on your offer, old friend," she spat. "But as you can see, I am otherwise occupied." She flipped her hair in a girlish way and smooched Diaval's cheek loudly. Her arm curled through his. "Come along, love." She lightened her tone and smiled at him brightly. "We have some swings to ride." She pulled firmly on his arm, and with a final venomous glare at Stefan, he obediently followed her in the general direction of the swings, letting themselves get lost in the crowd before the man dared pursue.
"Why didn't you let me hit him?" Diaval whined while they clambered into a double-seated swing. "I've never hit anything but pigs before, but c'mon, there's not really a difference, is there?"
"If you hit him, we would've gotten kicked out of the park. If you would've stepped out of the way and let me knock him unconscious, the perks of being crippled would have let us continue to enjoy our day."
"All you had to do was ask." He pulled their lap bar down and held onto her cane. The ride lifted off of the ground, and he tensed in response. "How high does this thing go exactly?" he mused.
She rolled her eyes. "You're afraid of heights and rollercoasters?"
"You hated the rollercoaster as much as I did."
She sighed and looked away. Diaval's constant banter was more tiring than spending the whole day chasing about an amusement park. An amusement park which happened to house the man she once loved. Written in her memory was the day she had last seen him; he had been younger, wearing jodhpurs, faint beard stubble instead of the full wiry thing he now bore. His show number stood more prominently in her memory than her own. 456. He sat astride a black colt, several years younger and suppler than Silver. If it was a competition of fit horses, he would have won easily.
It had never been a competition of fit horses. It had always been a competition of the smallest, lightest person with the stronger will of steel, and sabotage wasn't an uncommon thing in that world; almost weekly, a horse was drugged or some rider's food was poisoned before a show. But none of them had ever come with repercussions hers had brought. And no one had ever walked freer than Stefan, not even when a girl from Washington won rather than him.
Diaval's hand wriggled into hers. "Hey." He squeezed her hand. "Did you really have to lick me in the face, though?"
"I did not lick your face."
"I'm pretty sure I felt some tongue." His hand was tense on her cane, nearly white with force. He was afraid. But he was still beside her, facing his fear. She wished she could do the same for him. "Do you want to drive tonight or get another shitty hotel room?"
Her eyelids threatened to fall closed at the thought of a bed, any bed. But she really would prefer her own bed. "Whatever you prefer. You're my ride, after all." Wherever she slept, she would dream.
He gave a soft smile. "I promised you fireworks in California, did I not?" His thumb traced the back of her hand. "Tonight, we are going to break the no soda rule. Coke or Pepsi?" he teased. "Unless you'd prefer to break the one with alcohol, of course."
She frowned. "I can't have alcohol. Conflicts with my meds, makes me sick."
"You mean like a hangover?" he joked. She raised a challenging eyebrow at him and didn't respond. "Alright, I'll go ahead and cross that one off. And with pregnancy, let's don't and say we did, shall we?" He slashed out those two lines. "Here, dancing. We can take care of that while we're here. Soda and dancing sounds fun under the fireworks welcoming the new year." He paused. "Why aren't you allowed to have soda anyway?"
She snorted. "I had a bat-shit crazy doctor who was certain I would have arthritis by the time I was thirty if I drank anything but milk and water. He also told me no coffee, but I didn't even write that one down." The swings got only higher, and Diaval visibly paled under the sun. He shivered against the wind that whipped through his wet clothing, but she couldn't say that she regretted squirting him the face with the geyser at all.
He tightened his grip on her hand and cane. His shoulders were tense and rigid. She let her chin rest on his shoulder in an attempt to soothe his nerves. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. She was with him, and she wasn't scared. He wouldn't be afraid as long as she was by his side. His heart nearly choked him. I am in love with her.
He poured her a Coke on ice and waited patiently with earnest eyes. She rolled her eyes and lifted it to her lips. "Happy?" she questioned after taking a long sip.
He sat down next to her at the small table in the hotel room. "I'm always happy when I'm with you." He reached for her hand. "C'mon. We're supposed to start dancing now."
She looked away, but he didn't miss that her eyes misted over. "I don't dance," she sullenly replied. He wrapped her thin fingers in his own, ignoring her attempts to pull away. "Diaval, I'm serious. Cripples are meant for walkers and wheelchairs. Not dance floors."
His other hand wandered to her hip and started to pull her up. "I never said we'd go to a dance floor." Her thin form was easily lifted. "We can dance in here." He pulled her closer to him and dissuaded her attempt at resistance. A soft tune whistled from his lips. Then, quietly, he started to sing. "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor. Would you be mine? Could you be mine?" he rumbled in his voice of an oncoming storm.
She reluctantly let him pull her to his chest. A hand touched the one she rested on her cane, and his fingers pried at hers until they loosened. "Diaval, I can't." She was starting to panic. "I can't, I—" Her hands wound around his shoulders and grappled for support that he gave willingly. Her chin rested on his shoulder. The cane clicked dully against the desk where he placed it. The space between her and it seemed to grow, but with the distance, Diaval's touch grew firmer and warmer and safer, and her fear ebbed away.
Their bodies swayed in soft synchronization. "Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor? Won't you please, won't you please, please won't you be my neighbor..." Their feet shuffled together. He began to sing his ballad again until the pounding of her heart had quieted, and his breaths tickled her neck. There was rumbling in the distance where the fireworks exploded and lit the room through the window. "Happy New Year, Maleficent."
She couldn't reply for fear of shedding the tears that swam boldly in her emerald eyes, and she squeezed him tighter, hoping he understood that she returned the sentiment.