Disclaimer: I own no one.

A/N: I was just sitting in bed and noticed a spider web so I wrote this story in like 30 minutes. Set in the future and it's a literati. One- parter. Read and review!

Spider Web:

Woven so neatly and intricate, the spider web is a natural beauty. So precise and carefully interlaced, the spider web is a net in which it catches its prey. How can a creature so small and so grotesque, make such beautiful strings that join together and wind towards the center?

Her fingers are like the legs of a spider, delicate and soft. They tiptoe across his bear chest, claiming the territory. She's an angel and she doesn't even know it. There's always something even more beautiful about her. Like the fact that she loves him back, or simply the ways she smiles at him; it's different. The smiles she shares with him feel special.

She sleeps so peacefully, so quiet and at ease. She sleeps like all of the bad things happening in the world right now don't faze her at all. She is the epitome of perfection. Her eyes flutter open, like a butterfly just learning to fly. He smiles down to her and she smiles back. Rory nuzzles her tiny face closer to his.

"Morning," she whispers.

"Morning," he whispers back and kisses the top of her head.

Once out of the many times, the silence is soothing; as soothing as it should be when it rocks a baby to sleep.

Her feet reach his and he pushes them away. She looks up at him, hurt flowing easily into her mesmerizing blue orbs.

"Your feet are cold," he informs her.

"So make em' warm!" she tells him.

It figures she'd say that. He takes her feet, with his own, and covers them with his individual heat. She smiles contently and looks like putty in his arms. He wraps his arm around her tighter, more protectively, tenderly- gently.

"Better?" he asks her.

"Much," she responds, leaning towards him and kissing him lightly. He reaches for her hand and plays with her fingers. She looks up at him questioningly.

"Something wrong?" she asks.

"Nope. Just thinking," he says as he smiles reassuringly at her.

"What about?" she asks him. Of course she'd ask him this.

"Rory," he groans.

"Jess," she groans back.

He sighs and says, as he plays with her fingers, "Your hands remind me of the legs of a spider."

She furrowed her eyebrows closely together.

"Should I be offended?" she asked.

He chuckled and said, "Of course not! Your hands are beautiful."

She thinks for a moment then smiles.

"My hands remind you of spider legs?" she asks smiling.

He blushes and says, "Forget I said anything."

"No! No," she says smiling, "I think it's cute!"

He groans and shifts uncomfortably. She laughs and says, "Oh stop! You're such a baby!"

He pouts and she laughs.

She looks back up at him and says nothing.

"What?" he asks.

"You're strangely sensitive this morning," he rolls his eyes, "Have you been seeing someone else?"

"Oh shoot! The jig is up! You caught me!" Jess says dully.

She rolls her eyes at him and they fall back into a comfortable silence. Without the exchange of words or expressions, Jess points to the corner of the room. Looking closely, one would find a spider spinning a beautiful web. Jess holds tightly to her hands and laces them with his own, creating their own spider web. The two lay in bed, watching the spider create a marvel.

The spider is a unique creature; its webs are a public monument. The fragile legs of the spider twist and whirl a thread of silk into a circle of indifference.

"Much like a subtle spider, which doth sit in middle of her web, which spreadeth wide: If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, She feels it instantly on every side" (Sir John Davies, The Immortality of the Soul (sec. XVIII, Feeling))

THE END

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