Disclaimer: I don't own any of these people. Irvine belongs to Square, and the young lady in question belongs to Warner. Don't sue me cause, since I am not making money off this, you won't get anything.
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Affection and Sleep
by: Laura Owen
She isn't heavy, even though she always insists that she would break his leg if she sat on it. Her weight on his left leg is more of a pleasant reminder that he had someone that he truly cherished.
It was like this a lot. She worked on her homework, and he played chair for her. He just watched her for hours on end, as she sat with her chin cradled on her hand, going over reams of paper, flipping pages in bizarre looking books, and occasionally writing something.
Her hair, her beautiful brown curls, fell in unruly tendrils around her face as she worked. When he wanted to see her face, he would tuck them behind her ear. He never got a reaction when he touched her while she was studying.
Just to see what would happen he had once trailed several of the tiny kisses that she loves down her jaw line. Nothing. Not even a twitch.
She was so intense.
The only time she moved while she studied was if he had to get up. He'd stroke her back and say her name. She would stand up, never taking her eyes off what she was doing, and then sit back down in the chair that he moved under her.
He really wondered if she would land on her ass if he didn't put the chair there.
But he was not about to try that.
SO she sat on, studying so hard that she forgot to blink. What she was studying, he was learning too. Simply because, all he had to do for those hours was look at her and read what she was done with.
It was interesting, to say the least. She was learning magic. But not his kind of magic. This was what he called standard magic. Charms, potions. He could heal, she could too. But her's was different. She had to have more that just a mantra. She had to have a wand. She had to enunciate clearly. No mumbling.
He got the impression that he magic was a lot more useful than his. At least here at The Park.
She sat on, ever vigilant. Sometimes he thought she did it because she was afraid that it would slip out of her head. Other times, he thought it was just her way. Her habit.
But it didn't bother him. With her studying, he had as much freedom as he pleased.
He rubbed her back, "'Mine."
She stood and he moved the chair under her as she sat back down.
He walked towards The Library doors, then doubled back. He passed her again and leaned down kissing her cheek before he went out the doors on to The Arbor Porch. His boots made dull thumps on the stone of the steps as he walked down.
He thought that he would go to His Range, but was drawn to The Fountains by the sound of laughter. He saw several of the other members of The Clutch flinging water balloons at each other. He leaned up against the low wall and watched for a few minutes. The black haired boy, Harry gave up on trying to hit his girlfriend Ginny. She was just too quick. As a last effort to soak her, he picked her up and tossed her in one of The Fountains. But she got him back. When he extended his hand to help her up, she pulled him in.
He made a mental note to never underestimate that particular little girl.
He moved on, down the lane covered with shadowy creeping vines with huge, delicate flowers that seemed to change color at whim. After thirty-five steps, he turned right and was on His Range. He went straight to the small cottage and unlocked the door.
There were plenty of things here that he could just think about and have done, but unlocking doors was not one of them. He carried three small keys on a chain around his neck. One opened the door to his bedroom and any exterior door of The Park. Another was to 'Mine's room. The third was to the door of His Arsenal.
She had asked him to keep all his weaponry down here. After the sicko blonde, Draco, had gotten his hands on the Exeter and had run loose in The Park with it, She had asked him to keep them all locked up.
He laughed at the memory. She had been so calm as he had taken a sniper shot at him from just outside the Writing Office. She had even giggled when he had hit the little bastard and his arm had nearly come off. He'd wondered if he had killed that ass, he was so still laying in a pool of blood in the foyer.
"No," She had told him. "No one dies here. They just fade away."
He selected a gun and relocked the door behind him. He had learned that he could actually fight things here. All he had to do was think of the creature or person he wanted to battle, and they would appear. He thought now, back to his world. One person he wanted to battle and win.
And he appeared. In all his non-communicative glory. Shaggy brown hair flipping in the light breeze that had picked up. Gunblade hanging at his side.
Fight. One word, one thought and it started.
He rolled, he dodged, he shot. His opponent had the better weapon, but he had the speed.
Reload. Fire. Hit. Hit. Hit.
When he was hit by the Gunblade, it felt real enough. But there was no blood, no real wound. It slowed him down, but wasn't messy.
He landed two well-aimed shots; one in his opponents head, the other in his chest. The session ended. The Gunblade faded, it's owner going with it.
He sank to his knees, then lay flat on his stomach in the cool grass. If it wasn't for the lack of wounds, he could have sworn that he was dying. The pain of six very large holes in various areas of his body was tearing him in two. He just stayed still and waited for it to stop. It may take hours, but it would stop.
It just hurt like fuck knows what in the meantime.
He stayed there for a very long time. So long in fact that 'Mine came looking for him. She was the only one who knew where His Range was. Anyone could have found it if they wanted to. But 'Mine had a great view of it from her bedroom windows.
'Mine was worried. Very worried. Her voice shook when she asked him if he was okay.
His "Fine" didn't seem to help though. He was feeling better. He was just stiff. He tried to explain this to her. Tried to explain that the weapons didn't leave real wounds; that it was all not really real, but she wasn't believing him.
Just to prove that he was going to live, he got up.
And fell over again.
His ribs were on fire. His knee felt like it would fall off.
'Mine was really about to go crazy now. She didn't seem to be able to wrap her brain around what he kept telling her. She knelt down next to him and gave him the once-over.
There was a spark.
She finally understood.
No real damage. Just pain.
She moved and lifted his head into her lap. He closed his eyes and tried to smile. She didn't say anything to him. She just cradled his head and ran her hands over his face. She was so soft. Her fingertips felt like silk as she traced his eyes and the tiny lines around them.
He'd lost his hat when he fell. It was the first time she'd seen him without it and she was somewhat fascinated with his hair. Her hands played in the shorter layers that framed his face. She pulled them straight, then let them fall back into waves.
They stayed like that for a long time. Her hands in his hair, his head on her lap. His muscles began to relax and the pain was nearly gone. He was so comfortable. He was falling asleep.
He felt her lips brush across his. That was interesting.
A simple kiss.
Just upside down.
He had to laugh as she sat back up. They had kissed just about every way he could think of. Light pecks. Lingering lip locks. Tongue. No tongue. Little kisses. Big ones. Gross, wet kisses. Dry kisses. He'd nibbled her earlobes. She'd traced the outline of his collarbone with her mouth. The day before, he had surprised her as she walked by a seldom-used hall closet by grabbing her wrist and jerking her inside with him for seven minutes of heaven that lasted half an hour.
But upside down was a new one on him.
And by all appearances, it was new to her too. She was laughing too.
He didn't speak as he got up and tested his knee again. It was fine, just a dull ache now. She offered to put the Exeter away, and he handed over the key. He watched her as she hefted the far too big for her gun and rested it on her shoulder.
It looked so wrong.
She was so lithe. The Exeter was so bulky. She was so innocent. The Exeter was a machine for killing.
It made him sick to look at that scene.
He turns to get his hat. He can't look at her carrying his gun. It's just wrong.
'Mine comes back and hands him the key. She's locked the door behind her. She's just responsible that way. A cold breeze kicks up suddenly and he realizes how late it is.
She likes cold breezes. Especially just after dark. She had been born in that fall and She was attached to the season. She also liked winter, but never manipulated it like she did that cold, fall breezes. It wasn't unusual for a cold wind to pick up on a night in mid-July.
'Mine had dressed for the cool air. Her black cloak was fastened tightly at her neck and her arms were covered. He did not want her to get sick because of him. But she had been responsible again.
He liked that about her.
He let his hand slid into hers as they walked back to The Park. He held the front door open for her. She had hated that the first few times he did it. Thought he was being a chauvinist. He'd explained that he did things like that so that she wouldn't have to.
That had really made her mad.
He had rephrased and told her that it wasn't like she couldn't, she just didn't have to. Not with him around.
That had earned him nearly four straight hours of cuddling during the movie of his choice. He had been wondering ever since what he could do to get several more hours.
'Mine told him that dinner had passed him by, but there were leftovers. She had ordered pizza because it was Friday. He thought that She just got better and better and said as much.
"You've still got the Block on her name, don't you?" 'Mine was concerned about all the Blocks he still had. He'd been at The Park a week now, and he couldn't grasp She's name.
He'd heard it a million times. Every person here knew it and used it. He just never could get it. It was like he went deaf when She's name was said.
"Yeah, I guess," was his answer. He was used to the second of silence when She's name was said. It seemed normal to him. He explained this to 'Mine. She seemed to understand.
"You'll hear it eventually." 'Mine was always confident that the little problems would improve.
He really liked that too.
He asked her what she wanted to do for the rest of the evening while he ate. She didn't care. She never really cared much what they did. Lots of nights, they would go laugh at Ginny's brother trying to figure out some new technology. Or they would spend time trying out the sound system in The Telling.
But tonight he was so tired. It made sense, of course. He was worn out from healing the invisible wounds he had gotten earlier. It showed. 'Mine knew he was nearly dead on his feet.
It was her idea to put him to bed. He laughed. She wondered what was so funny. She was serious. She would go up with him, tuck him in, and read him to sleep.
It was ridiculous. But he agreed.
She waited in his room while he showered, raked a brush through his hair, and pulled on a pair of purple pajama pants. He figured that seeing him naked was not on part of the 'putting him to bed' plan.
'Mine had done a lot by the time he walked back to his room. She had turned the bed down; not even Matron had done that. From somewhere, not his room, she had gotten a thick book. What really surprised him was that she had changed clothes.
'Mine looked like she was planning to stay the night in her blue cotton pajamas. When he asked her, she said she was sleepy too knew she wouldn't have the energy to change when she got back. He promised to fall asleep quickly, like a good boy.
She rolled her eyes at him and told him to get in bed.
He hung his hat on the bedpost and crawled in between the sheets. 'Mine crawled up with him and settled herself right next to him. He snuggled his head into her stomach and threw one arm across her legs.
She would NOT be going back to her own room tonight.
He kept his word, though. When she started reading, his eyes closed. He only heard
The comfort of such a friend at the moment as Colonel Brandon-of such a companion for her mother-how gratefully it was felt! -a companion whose judgment would guide, whose attendance would relieve, and whose friendship might soothe her! As far as the shock of such a summons could be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance, would lessen it.
He, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost dispatch, and calculated with exactness the time which she might look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The horses arrived even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon, only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words….
He last coherent thought was he hoped that he wasn't too heavy for her to sleep comfortably.
Excerpt from Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen. Bantam Classics edition. Chosen for it's reference to Colonel Brandon who was played by Alan Rickman in the film production by Ang Lee. Alan Rickman will be in the Harry Potter movie as everyone's favorite Potions Master. See, these things make sense, sometimes.
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