Fixing to Fly

Chapter Twenty-Two

Author's Note: All right. That's it. No more deadlines. Every time I post a bloody deadline, real life feels the need to leap in and smash it all to hell. I don't know what to say, besides I am seriously, honestly, from the bottom of my little heart sorry for taking so long with this chapter. For some reason I'll never know, my HP muse decided to take a vacation on me. Add to that school, and the fact I've been working 20 hours every week for the last couple weeks, and you've got one tired, grumpy little author with no spare time. I really am sorry that it's taken me so long to publish this; I hope you all haven't lost your affections for this story, because there's still so much more to come! And it only gets better. (In my opinion, anyway.) Again, I apologize for my absence, and fall to my knees pleading you, dear reader, to still read and enjoy my story. *Adele grovels* Reviews would be nice, too. *Adele grovels some more* Okay, I'll let you get to Chapter Twenty-two, so you can decide whether the wait was worth it.

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For a long moment, Brian Keeler stood, contemplative, at the end of Oliver Wood's hospital cot, studying the attractive blonde who lay fast asleep at the side of the Keeper. She was slumped forward in her chair, one folded arm serving as a pillow as she slumbered on the edge of the bed. Her other arm, the wrist of which was splinted and bandaged, was flung protectively over the chest of the unconscious fourth-year. Brian couldn't help but smile as he examined the scene, though he still debated between waking the girl and letting her sleep.

Luckily, that decision was made for him.

"What do you want, Brian?" said Darcy suddenly, without opening her eyes or shifting from her position.

The Beater started. "You're awake?"

"It would seem that way, wouldn't it?" she replied glibly, and lifted her head off the mattress, giving her gold curls a quick jostle with her fingertips as she stretched her cramped shoulders. A yawn swept over her—and was abruptly cut short when she burst into giggles at Brian's mystified expression. "What?"

"Are you like, a mind-reader now or something, brat?" he teased, despite his bewilderment.

"No. You just breathe really loud," she shot back, then rolled her eyes. "I woke up when the infirmary door opened, and I knew it was you when you got closer because I can smell that horrific cologne you insist on marinating yourself in." She wrinkled her nose slightly and feigned a sniffle for effect.

"Hey, I like how this cologne smells," he protested.

"And I like the way coffee smells, but you don't see me dousing myself with it every morning," replied the Seeker smartly.

Brian grinned. "Nah, that would be a waste; you just hook it right into your veins and bite the head off of anyone who tries to communicate with you before you've been infused with two cups' worth," he said and, noting the slightly homicidal gleam in the blonde's eyes, quickly went on, "Everybody missed you at breakfast this morning. It was probably a good thing you weren't there, though; Kotter was being really bitchy and Keely was making it worse by provoking him."
"And this is new?" she said, one silky gold eyebrow cocked in skepticism.

Laughing his agreement, the Beater said, "Yeah, no kidding, huh? But seriously, it probably wouldn't have been as bad if you'd have been there. What can I say, girl, you've got presence."

Darcy's brilliant blue eyes suddenly narrowed as she studied her friend. "Okay, Bri, that sounded suspiciously like a compliment, and you only compliment me when you want something from me or when you're about to tell me something I'm not going to like. So which is it?"

"You know me too well, DC," he chuckled, but the sound was without mirth.

"Yeah, and I also know you're stalling, which means you've got something to tell me," she countered, as a twinge of anxiety made itself known in the pit of her stomach. Staring steadily into the handsome male seventh-year's emerald eyes, she pressed, "Brian… what is it?"

Brian sighed deeply and seated himself on the edge of Oliver's bed, facing Darcy. Taking her hands within his own, he began, "Sweety, this morning… well, I noticed that people have started to talk."
"People always talk," she quickly replied in a tone of practiced nonchalance.

"Well, yeah, DC, no offense, but you're not usually the topic of their conversations," he replied with a sympathetic smile. "And… well, I think there's actually some truth in a lot of what's being said."

"Brian!" Darcy jerked her hands from his grasp as though she'd been burnt.

"Hold on now, babe, listen to me a second before you start yelling. It's not like they're calling you a slut or claiming you've got a third… boob or something." She shot him an annoyed glance at this, but said nothing. Brian took it as his cue to continue. "People are just starting to wonder why their Head Girl has spent the last week forsaking food, sleep, studies, and friends—including her boyfriend—to sit at the bedside of a very unconscious but otherwise unharmed Oliver Wood. You told me yourself, Darce, he's only got a concussion. He's just… taking a little longer to wake up from it, that's all. Some guys have more stamina than others."

The Seeker regarded him with an unamused stare. "It's disturbing how you turn even the most chaste and mundane topics into sexual references," she told him pointedly.

"And you are trying to change the topic," he shot back, poking a finger into her shoulder.

Slapping at his hand, she demanded, "What? What do you want me to say, Brian? Yes, I've been spending a lot of time in the infirmary! But I've managed to finish all my homework no differently than usual, I'm getting plenty to eat, and I've been sleeping just fine—"

"In your own bed?"

Darcy opened her mouth to answer, but after a moment, her gaze wandered away toward the ceiling and she replied noncommittally, "I sleep in my bed."
"Did you sleep there last night?" He grabbed her chin in one hand, forcing her to meet his eyes as he studied her, and before she could answer, he said, "No. No, you didn't." The blonde chose not to respond to this, evoking a weary sigh from her friend. "Darcy, what's going on here, huh? This isn't like you."

"I'm concerned for my teammate! How is that not like me?" she protested with irritation.

"Darcy…" A look of deep concern swept over Brian's features, and suddenly it was he who was unable to keep her gaze. His emerald eyes fastened to the floor, he said softly, "Darcy. I saw your face, when Oliver fell. I saw your eyes."

Slowly she shook her head, filled with uncertainty. "Brian, I don't—"

"Dammit, Darcy, listen to me." His voice was calm, but filled with an intensity that was startling, instantly silencing the female Gryffindor. "I saw your eyes when Oliver fell. Darcy, if you hadn't already had that Snitch in your hands… you would've let us lose the match, just to save him." He nodded at the fourth-year's prone form. "You could've let him fall, and I don't think he'd have been hurt any worse than he already is. But you dove for him, and somehow, you caught him, even though you damn near knocked yourself off in the process. Now I'd love to think you'd do the same for any of your Gryffindor teammates, but…" At last he met her gaze, and could tell from the flash of guilt in her blue eyes that he need not complete his thought. Instead he said, "I know you do care about your teammates very much, I'm not questioning that. But I also know that I've been stuck in the infirmary before with Quidditch injuries, and you didn't sit by my bed for an entire week, and I'm your best friend."

The Seeker could only stare blankly at Brian. "I don't know what you want me to say here. I don't—I don't know what you're trying to get out of me."

Sighing, Brian said, "You're still not seeing it, are you? Can you not see what's right in front of your face? What all the rest of us have already seen? You're in love with Oliver Wood."

As her jaw did a slow drop toward the floor, she attempted to protest. "I—how could you—I would never—I don't even—" She forced herself to stop, and fully collect her thoughts, before starting again more slowly, "Brian, I cannot love Oliver Wood. I do not love Oliver Wood. It's just not possible, okay?"

Brian stared back at her, unconvinced.

"Okay, so maybe Kotter and I have had some problems. Maybe I don't love him… but I can't love Oliver either! I mean, it just wouldn't work."

"Why wouldn't it work?" he interjected, folding his arms over his chest.

"Because…" For several moments, she searched her mind for a viable reason, but drew only a blank. Flustered, she at last snapped back, "Because it just wouldn't, okay?"

To her exquisite annoyance, the Beater burst into laughter. "DC, you are hopeless, you know that?" he related between snickers, ruffling a hand through her blonde curls and further agitating the girl. "But I shouldn't make fun of you. Love can make people do crazy things…"

"I'm not in love," she began to protest, but her friend's attention had wandered elsewhere—specifically, to an innocuous-looking, rather battered old book laying along with the other gifts and get-well cards on Oliver's bedside table. Wide-eyed in surprise, his gaze flickered to the Seeker.

"Darcy… that's not your copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, is it?" he demanded, and grabbed for the object in question before she could react. Flipping through the dog-eared pages, many of which bore the particular feminine scrawl of Darcy's own handwriting, he answered his own question, "It is. Girl, tell me you're not going to give this to Oliver?"

Primly the female Gryffindor pursed her plush pink lips.

Again Brian laughed, this time in sheer amazement. "DC, this is your most prized possession in the universe. Your brother gave this to you for your second birthday—"

"First," she corrected.

"—and I've never seen you without it. You love this book! Are you actually going to give this to him?" He closed the text and ran his fingers over the worn green leather cover a last time before at last relinquishing it back to Darcy, who hugged it delicately to her chest. "Damn girl, you've really got it bad for him, haven't you?"

"I just want to show him that I appreciate his friendship," she answered testily. "Besides, I've practically got the damn thing memorized." She ran her fingertips affectionately over the familiar gilded gold lettering on the cover, smiling at the book as she would an old friend. Absently, she added, "It's survived sixteen years with me now, and I think it's finally time to pass it on to someone who will enjoy it as much as I have."

Brian smiled warmly at his friend—before promptly belting out in a singsong voice, "Darcy and Oliver, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…" and suddenly he found himself on the business end of Darcy's wand.

"One more word and I will slam you so hard with a tickling charm," she warned darkly, and when he opened his mouth as if to test her resolve, she muttered threateningly, "Rictus…" But before sempra could pass her lips, he'd leapt to his feet and sprinted halfway across the infirmary.

As he reached the double oak doors, he called over his shoulder, "Well, suppose you don't need me hanging around. I'll see you at practice this afternoon!" and disappeared into the hall.

The blonde-haired Seeker sighed deeply and let her head fall once more to the bed, face hidden within the hollow of her folded arms. She adored Brian like a brother, she truly did, but some days it took all her will not to bludgeon the life out of him with a Beater's club. And him accusing me of being in love with Oliver, she mused, rolling her eyes. So she enjoyed the fourth-year's company. So she spent a lot of time with him. So she had dreams about the chocolate-eyed Keeper. So she was giving him her most prized possession. So she had kissed him. That didn't mean she was in love with him.

"Nah. I couldn't be…" she murmured to herself, as exhaustion began a slow creep back into her body. As Brian had guessed, she'd spent the previous night in the infirmary, positioned much the same way as she was now. She'd woken at least once an hour to check on the unconscious fourth-year—adjusting his blankets, fluffing his pillows, running a cool, damp cloth across his smooth brow. Each time she ran her fingers tenderly through his hair, she waited for those familiar brown eyes to flicker open, and that charming smile to slip across his face. And each time he failed to twitch so much as an eyelash, she would remember that moment on the Quidditch field a week earlier, when he had called her beautiful, and suddenly she knew she would wait an eternity for Oliver.

Darcy dozed off with a smile on her lips as she dreamt of her Keeper…

…and jolted back awake as long fingers traced through the locks of her gold hair. As she sat straight up in her chair and wildly eyed her surroundings, a wonderfully familiar—if not slightly raspy—chuckle reached her ears. "I didn't mean to startle you, Darcy."

At last the blonde looked down at her unconscious friend, and found him not quite so unconscious after all. In fact, Oliver was very much awake, and beaming a positively brilliant smile at her. She felt a grin of her own spread rapidly across her features. "Hey, you," she said softly, reaching out to take his hand within her own. "It's about time you woke up."

"Likewise," he teased, his voice a low croak. He made a face and attempted to swallow a few times. "Merlin, which one of you medical geniuses decided it was in my best interest to perform a Drying Charm on my throat while I was out?"

"Very funny, Mister Comedian," she shot back, though the sarcasm was lost in light of honest pleasure in her voice. "If you can find the power within yourself to keep quiet for a few minutes, I'll get you something that should make you feel a little better."

Oliver responded by clasping both hands tightly over his mouth.

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a departing playful smack to the arm before hurrying off to a nearby supply room. She busied herself gathering and mixing the various ingredients of a Restorative Potion while her mind ran in circles over the emotions that were trying to flood her body. She could feel her heart racing inside her chest, a not-entirely-unpleasant flutter tingling through her stomach. It was almost as if… good god, she wasn't… she wasn't giddy, was she?

She gave the goblet of potion a final stir and emerged into the infirmary to find her patient propped up in his bed, calmly waiting for her reappearance. He flashed her a glowing grin as she approached and for a moment Darcy's head spun.

Love of Merlin, I am giddy! the though rose in her mind, and she had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from bursting into giggles. Instead she forced herself to focus on Oliver, and the slightly smoking glass of pale blue liquid she grasped in one hand. "Drink," she said simply, and thrust the potion at him as she slipped into the familiar contours of her bedside seat.

He eyed her "gift" warily. "Do I want to?"

"Mmm, probably not," she answered with a laugh. "But it will ease your sore throat and eliminate any residual vertigo or nausea from your concussion and extended unconsciousness."

As she spoke, Oliver downed the concoction, finishing off the last drops with a cough and a grimace. "Whoa. Nasty," he began, but paused at the sound of his own voice, now returned to its clear, healthy norm. He touched his throat with mild awe, nodding his satisfaction as he added, "But effective." He glanced at Darcy, who was watching him with an affectionate smile. "What are you smirking about, Quidditch Queen?"

"Nothing at all," she replied and, almost unconsciously, reached out to enfold one of his hands within her own, stroking his flesh with her thumbs. "Just… glad to have you awake."

For a moment, he stared uncertainly down at his hand, before a slow smile crept over his own features. "I'm glad to be awake," he said softly, and with his free hand, he swept his fingertips lightly over the Seeker's soft cheek. He waited for her to pull away, to distance herself as she always did when they got a little too close… but this time, she kept his gaze, brilliant blue eyes staring right back into his rich chocolate ones as his hand lingered on her face. It was only when he noticed the brace encasing her right wrist that he at last broke the connection. "Oh my god, Darcy, what'd you do?"

Glancing down at her own injured appendage, she laughed. "What, this? This… is part of a long story that, actually, I should probably tell you now that you're awake," she mused. "But first, would you like to take a guess how many days you were unconscious?"

"Whoa, whoa… what do you mean, days?" demanded the Keeper, frowning. "It's still Saturday, right?"

"Well…" She let her gaze wander to the ceiling, afraid that if she watched his expression much longer, she'd burst into uncontrollable giggles. "It is Saturday. Saturday the tenth, though, not the third. Congrats, Ollie, you've officially been a space cadet for a full week."

Caught between shock and skepticism, he stared at her. "You're kidding me."

The Gryffindor Prefect feigned offense. "Now why would I do that? I've had to spend the past week using our reserve Keeper during practice, who isn't half as good as you, which means that all my other players' performances were compromised, which means we're actually regressing in our skill level, which is not a good thing, seeing as we play Ravenclaw in just two weeks, and—"

A single finger fell gently upon her lips, effectively silencing the girl. "Okay, DC, I think I get it," he teased lightly, then blew out a slow breath. "Wow. Seven days. How could I… I mean, how did it happen?" He gazed questioningly at his companion.

She began to answer, then paused, contemplating the best way to explain the events that had taken place on the Quidditch field. Finally, she queried, "What's the last thing you remember?"

A frown creased the fourth-year's brow. "I remember… watching you grab the Snitch, and then I started to cheer… but then I got this sharp pain in my head, like something hit me…"

"That would have been the Bludger," she provided.

"Ahh, that makes sense now." Oliver nodded as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place within his concussion-addled memory. "After that, I remember feeling like I was falling, and things went black for a moment, and then…" a smile crept slowly over his face. "And then I saw you, and I knew I was going to be okay. And that's the last thing I remember before just a little while ago, waking up with you asleep."

Darcy let a grin of her own tug up the corners of her lips. "Well, you didn't miss much—on the field that day, or over the past week. What happened was, you got hit in the side of the head with a Bludger, which knocked you off your broom. You did fall, about fifty feet or so, but I managed to do a nice little mid-air catch—you're bloody heavy, by the way—and get you to the ground safely. That was when you woke up the first time, and after you blacked out again, Dumbledore took you off the infirmary, and since then, life has gone on at its same dull, uneventful pace." All this was said with casual nonchalance, finished off with a shrug, as if astounding mid-air saves were part of her daily routine.

However, the fourth-year who'd been the subject of that particular feat was not so blasé. "You… you caught me…" he said slowly, eyes wide and jaw unhinged. At the blonde's slight nod, he added in a barely audible whisper, "You saved my life…"

"I wouldn't go that far—" she began to argue.

"No, Darcy, you did," he insisted, as a gauntlet of emotions battled for control of his features. "You—you could've fallen yourself—I could've broken your arms, when you caught me—I could've… I could've killed you…" A touch of panic had set into his voice, as scenario after horrifying scenario played through his mind, all ending in a single image: the beautiful young woman before him, lying deathly still on the ground of the Quidditch pitch, her limbs twisted to unnatural angles, her flesh ashen and cold to the touch. Almost impulsively, he reached out to capture her face within his hands, as though she would somehow slip from this world into the terrible dream that had invaded his thoughts, if he did not hold onto her. Tone thick with emotion, he demanded, "Why did you do that, Darcy? That was so stupid, why did you do that for me?"

She blurted out, "Because I couldn't let you get hurt! Because I… I…" the words died on her lips, tears suddenly pooling on her lower lashes as she became lost in the liquid depths of his rich mocha eyes. She could feel the warmth of his hands, pressed against her flesh, and through that contact, she could sense the thoughts racing through his mind; he wanted to kiss her, desired it with an intensity that was nearly overwhelming.

Her tongue snaked out to glide over her lips as she became aware of their proximity, of Oliver slowly leaning in to meet her even as her own body seemed to shift forward without her mind's urging. She would kiss him because he wanted it… she would kiss him because she wanted it, too. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her flesh, and a soft butterfly touch against her bottom lip as they met at last. Darcy closed her eyes—

"Well, I see you're up and around, Mr. Wood. Though I get the notion that my efforts had little to do with your recovery."

The two Gryffindors started, both jerking apart as they spun to view the intruder of their intimate moment. Madam Pomfrey stood with arms folded across her chest, an expression of weary amusement on her aged features.

Attempting damage control on the situation, Darcy produced her most charming smile and offered, "I'm pleased to report that our patient is conscious and responding normally to outside stimulus." She heard Oliver snort a laugh at this.

Madam Pomfrey surveyed them both with a dubious expression. "I'm happy to hear that, Miss Reed. Maybe now you'll be able to spend a night dozing in your own bed, rather than propped up at Mr. Wood's bedside?" she queried wryly.

For the first time since he'd known her, Oliver witnessed a pink flush rise in the female seventh-year's cheeks, though it faded just as quickly as she shot a smirk back at the nurse. "Maybe. So do I get extra credit or something in my Magical Medicine class for all the extra hours I've put in this past week?" Darcy replied cockily.

Slowly shaking her head, Madam Pomfrey sighed. "We'll see, Miss Reed."

They waited until the nurse had disappeared once more into her office before both breaking into laughter. "You've been awake for less than half an hour and already you're getting me into trouble," the blonde teased, serving her companion a playful punch to the shoulder.

"So you've been spending nights at my bedside, huh?" Oliver countered smartly.

"I'm not having this discussion with you," she replied pointedly, a smile quirking her lips as she rose lightly to her feet. "In fact, I should probably go let the rest of the team know you're awake, now that I'm sure your brain's not permanently damaged…" she paused, considered the Keeper, then amended, "Well, almost sure, anyway…"

"Ooh, you're just lucky I've been unconscious for a week," he shot back with a laugh, shooing the girl away with a dismissive wave. "Go on, get out of here, you prat."

Darcy paused in the doorway of the infirmary, much the same way Brian had earlier, and grinned mischievously at him. "I've missed you too, Ollie," she said, then dashed out into the corridor, sprinting all the way to Gryffindor Tower to spread news of Oliver's revival.

The fourth-year's gaze lingered on the door until he could no longer hear her steps echoing along the marble hall, then he relaxed back into his pillows, contemplating the stacks of get-well cards and gifts on his bedside table. It didn't take him long to locate Darcy's contribution among the various boxes; he instantly recognized the green leather-bound book before even glimpsing the gold-embossed title. He frowned, gently drawing the book into his lap as he fingered the worn cover. Had she forgotten this? He couldn't imagine she had; Darcy loved the book.

Curiously, he slipped open the cover, and found two separate messages scrawled across the first page.

To my baby sister DC,

Every good Quidditch player should have at least one copy of this book. This one's for you, babe. You're my shining star.

Your brother, Jaime

Beneath this message, which was slightly faded and written in the untidy scribble of a definitively male hand, a second, newer transcript had been, the text done in a flowing feminine longhand that Oliver identified as Darcy's. He read and reread her message until the words were seared into his mind, a running mantra that played continually in his thoughts as he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

To the Keeper of my heart,

Every good Quidditch player should have at least one copy of this book. This one has served me well, and I can think of no more deserving a recipient than you. You're my diamond, Ollie.

Yours, Darcy

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And there it is. What do you think? No promises, but now that my muse is back, I should have Twenty-Three out relatively soon, as my schedule allows. We're getting very close to the big blow-out that'll change poor little Darcy's life… her love life, that is. ;)

Oh yeah. As further penance for my extended hiatus, I've also published the first chapter of the Draco fic I've been working on, entitled 'To Break A Snake.' I'd absolutely love ya forever if you could go check that out and tell me what you think. Even if you're not a Draco fan, I think you'll like it, as my new character Reilynn insults Draco and kicks his butt for about ¾ of the fic. But, yeah, I'd really appreciate the input of you wonderful readers on that story, if you would be so kind. :)

My love and respect to you all, as always ~ Adele