I have simply fallen in love with these two. I mean, I have loved Mary and Charles for quite some time, but this AU is sweeping me away now, demanding more of me than I originally intended, taking me places I hadn't thought to go. I hope you will continue the journey with me and these two knuckleheads who can't see past their own noses at this point in the ballgame. They are so much fun to write!
As always, my love and thanks to my sisters and partners in all things Bacon Blake, Cls2011 and miscreant rose. I don't know what I would do without you two, and I can't say that enough. To my dear, dear friend KP who encourages and bolsters me on a regular basis...I honestly cannot thank you enough, girl! To every reader out there, no matter what fics of mine you read, I send hugs and gratitude! The fact that you are here puts a big, cheesy smile on my face. :D See! I appreciate you more than you know.
Own nothing. Love it all. I do hope you enjoy!
The sun hits her, moving through an unfortunate crack in the curtains she meant to see to days ago. She buries her face in her pillow, protesting morning's arrival with a grunt of denial. She is not ready for today.
Coffee, she thinks, shaking her head at this change in established thought patterns. She always craves tea in her waking moments, its scent and mellow tang a balm to sluggish senses. How has coffee invaded her realm of safety, shoving aside her beverage of choice with an insistence she finds somewhat annoying?
She knows how. It has been happening for the past six mornings, ever since her first encounter with a certain brown-eyed stranger who got under her skin and irritated the hell out of her. One whose bed she found too comfortable and whose company she both craves and avoids.
Damn that Charles Blake.
He is somewhat annoying, more than somewhat, actually, yet her mind continues to circle back to him, to dimples flashed in her direction, to barbs and challenges she can't just ignore. Rebellious thoughts swim around her reluctant rescuer with the persistence of a shark sensing first blood, not understanding what it is about the man that won't let her go. God, she doesn't need this, not now. Not ever.
Damn it all again.
His texts arrive each morning, making her wake up faster than she would like, setting both her teeth and senses on edge. Her replies have been short, curt, biting, even, yet messages keep arriving, leading her down a trail of bread crumbs she follows with an willingness she finds more than a little disturbing.
Her phone vibrates, and she sighs, knowing it's from him, well aware of the fact that she will rise to his bait. Why had she given him her number in the first place? What in God's name had possessed her to do such a stupid, stupid thing?
Up and about yet, my lady?
Wouldn't you like to know, Lord Ogre.
Her lips slide up in anticipation, knowing he will reply within seconds, wondering why she doesn't tell him just to get lost.
Not really. But I thought I should alert you to the fact that it is supposed to be a lovely, sunny day today. I felt it was my sworn duty as an ogre in her Majesty's service to warn the Ice Queen of dangers lurking outside.
Cheeky bastard.
Don't you have anything better to do than annoy me?
Of course. But annoying you is my new favorite pastime.
Feet hit the floor, and she shakes out her hair, biting her lip as she sends her response.
Then find another hobby, asshole.
As you wish, my lady.
She smirks in spite of herself, enjoying the rush of adrenaline that pulls her from her bedroom. He always has to have the last word, never willing to let a statement go unchallenged, sometimes sending her a retort just before she falls into bed when she is too tired to think, wits too dull to reply. She always awakes the next morning ready to spar, contesting his claimed victory from the night before with a spark he feeds upon with gusto. This contest of wills needs to stop, and she will put an end to it she insists to herself yet again. But what a mind-numbing distraction it has become, tugging her relentlessly out of the mire of self-pity into a sparring arena too addictive for her own good.
Soon, she promises herself. She will end this ridiculous association soon.
Feet lead her to the kitchen, and she wishes she had stopped to pull on socks as the shock of uncarpeted flooring prompts her to rest one foot on top of the other. She is still perfecting the art of coffee, pulling her press pot out of hiding after he returned her to her flat that fateful morning, using it faithfully with a begrudging gratitude she will never confess to him. That morning when her defenses hung at her knees, her face too transparent for comfort, her reason too frayed to process.
The morning she awoke in his bed. The morning after the wedding. Her mug trembles in her hands as thoughts of another man show up uninvited.
"Go away," she verbalizes into empty space, tempted to call Charles for reinforcements, forbidding herself to do that very thing.
Here's my number. Feel free to call or text if you need anything. Truly. I've been there. I know.
How gentle the caress of dark eyes on her face, how real their connection had felt after he had driven her home. A moment of sincerity had exploited her weakness, and she couldn't stop the words that spilled from her lips.
Thank you. Would you like mine, as well?
"Idiot," she whispers to herself, rummaging her scalp in the frustrated need to touch something.
Idiot, she texts, feeling a wicked satisfaction speed down her legs as she touches the "Send" button.
You must be feeling particularly generous today. You've already bestowed three titles upon me this morning, and I haven't even had breakfast yet.
She rolls her eyes both at him and herself, dangling her phone haphazardly, feeling the words under her fingers she has texted to him every day.
Eggs and toast again, Lord Ogre?
For some odd reason, it is something she has to know.
I'm actually feeling more like an English Muffin and a Bloody Mary at the moment. Care to join me?
God, he has some nerve.
Idiot. I haven't even showered yet.
We ogres don't mind a bit of scent lingering about. Besides, I have a shower you can use. In fact, I'm fairly certain you used it once before. Yes…you even left behind evidence.
Her red panties. Damn. She will never hear the end of this.
An odd tingling encircles her chest, toying with areas she refuses to associate with him, blocking out thoughts that could drive her to distraction.
Once was more than enough, thank you. I much prefer my own.
"Let's just see what he does with that one, Andromeda," she speaks aloud, drawing the attention of her feline companion lounging by the window.
Of course you do. It probably has an "Arctic" setting.
He has obviously had more than one cup of coffee already. Damn that bloody wit of his.
Sub-arctic, actually. Lethal to ogres. I'd stay away if I were you.
You forget we ogres have thick hides. Speaking of which, I'd better keep mine in shape. Time for my run.
She chuckles to herself.
I knew you'd run scared eventually. All men do after associating with the Ice Queen.
She feels an instant pang that hurts too much, wishing she could take back that text, slamming her phone down on the counter. Why could she never leave well enough alone? Of course he will run away eventually. It is inevitable. She is destined to be alone.
Breakfast and coffee are consumed with a haste that leaves her flat, and she stares at the calendar, swallowing down a sickness that makes her tremble. She can get through this day. She will get through this day. Perhaps Charles has the right idea. A run sounds quite cleansing.
She is out the door within minutes, still shivering through layers applied to fend off the wind's bite. The park is three blocks over, and she jogs lightly, seeking distraction with a gnawing hunger. She breathes in the signs of green awakening, relieved to see it is still too cold out to draw a crowd. Facing anyone is the last thing she wants right now.
Thank God the place is nearly deserted.
Music is queued, and she loses herself in its rhythm, pounding hurt into the pavement, leaving regret two steps behind. Wind whips though hair that has escaped her hat, chilling her neck, prompting her to run faster, prodding her forward, ever forward.
Eyes close on a straight stretch as she tries to blot out his face, blue eyes that have always penetrated too far, lips that left her starving for more then walked away. But he belongs to another now, he has for some time. And she owns her part in his decision, knowing she hesitated too long, despising her reluctance to commit that cost her everything.
Ice Queen, indeed.
Even her own thoughts condemn her, giving her no room to escape.
Don't look back, she instructs herself repeatedly. It is over. She has survived. That is what matters. That's all that can matter.
A noise grabs her attention, and her eyes fly open in shock, seeing a horse rear up just in front of her. The world spins out of focus, her mouth dry, her limbs frozen. Then she is hit, not by the horse, but by someone, knocked to the grass with a force that just hurts.
"Ow!" she manages as the air is shoved from her lungs, wondering if she actually heard something pop.
"Is she alright?"
It's the rider, she determines, asking about her. She inhales, summoning the energy to answer when—
"She's fine. Just startled and perhaps shaken up a bit. But I'll see to her. No worries."
That voice…it can't be…it's…
Oh, God.
The horse and rider move on, and she is left with just him poised on top of her, pinning her to the grass.
"You are alright, aren't you?"
There is actual concern this time, making her heart swell in tenderness even as it pisses her off.
"And if I'm not?"
Eyes flash each other a challenge, and that blasted smirk returns, battling for dominance with a touch so gentle it makes her ache.
"Then I suppose I would have to carry you home," Charles retorts, much too satisfied with himself for her comfort. "Ogre style."
"Dare I even ask?"
He pulls some leaves from her hair, the feathering of his breath across her cheekbones sending shivers to all the wrong places.
"Over my shoulder," he quips with a grin. "Bottoms up."
She shoves him off of her body—hard.
"In your dreams, ogre," she huffs, allowing him to help her up, wincing as something stabs her in the knee.
"Trust me. I can dream better than that."
Damn those chocolate kiss eyes with lashes practically dripping with sensuality.
"That's good as they'll have to keep you satisfied at night."
A hearty laugh startles her, and she sees him bending over, grinning deliciously from ear to ear.
"God, woman," he returns. "You're still throwing icicles even when you're having difficulty putting pressure on that ankle."
She bites down at his words, pain shooting up her leg as she attempts to prove him wrong.
"It may be ogre-style after all," he quips, his smile fading at her obvious distress. "I'm not certain you can walk very well."
"You wouldn't dare."
The vulnerability staring back at him nearly renders him speechless, but he has to toy with her. It is their means of communicating, a language spoken just by them. One he understands on a level that renders him unsteady.
"Do you really think you can stop me, my lady?"
Her chest rises and falls much too fast to fool anyone.
"Do you really want to try me?"
He can keep up this ruse no longer. Not when she looks like a cornered rabbit with a wounded foot.
"No," he returns softly. "Not under these circumstances. Can you walk at all?"
Her face shifts in surprise, her mind rushing to keep up with this man she can't out pace for the life of her.
"I think so," she returns, crying out as she applies pressure to an angry leg. "But it's my knee, not my ankle that's killing me."
"God, I'm sorry," he attests, moving to her side just under her shoulder. "I tackled you harder than I thought."
"Seeing as you saved me from getting mauled by a horse, I'd say the damage is minimal," she assures him, struck by this show of vulnerability.
"Still," he argues, shaking his head as he leads her forward. "The last thing I want is to cause you more difficulty. And an injured knee…"
Those eyes—God. They look like those of repentant boy afraid of being grounded. An odd tugging sensation hits her squarely in the chest, and she bites her tongue to hold back a barb meant to defend herself.
"Don't worry about it," she states. "Ogres aren't particularly known for their grace in battle."
That pulls a self-depreciating smile from him.
"I'm not particularly known for my grace in anything."
"That doesn't surprise me."
The dent in his cheek tempered by marked guilt in his eyes is far too potent. She must bolster her defenses—immediately.
They begin to hobble towards the park exit, his nearness both a balm and an irritant. His scent hits her again, the one from his bed, the one still attached to a blouse she has yet to wash. She won't tell him she holds it close when thoughts of one she lost attack in the lost hours of morning. She'll never admit that it excites parts of her still needy amidst emotions she desperately tries to rein in.
"My car is close," he assures her, taking on most of her weight as she hops more than walks. "Did you drive or walk here?"
"Jogged," she replies, hissing through her teeth as she bears too much weight.
"Then I'm driving you," he insists, hating the tight set of her jaw that reveals just how uncomfortable she is. "You're barely going to make it up your stairs as it is."
His car is the most welcome sight she has seen in days, and she allows him to assist her inside, exhaling in relief as she sinks into the seat.
"Don't think that this elevates you to Prince Charming level," she clarifies, hearing a deep chuckle just beside her as he revs up the ignition.
"I carry no such delusions of grandeur," he responds. "I'm just trying to reach toad status. Remember?"
"Ahhh," she voices, too late to hold back an audible wince that punches him in the gut.
"Perhaps I should take you to the hospital instead?"
"No," she fires back. "It's just a twisted knee."
"It acts more like a nasty sprain," he argues, casting her a sideways glance.
"And if it is, what will they do for me at the hospital?" she demands. "Wrap it up and demand I keep it elevated? I can do that quite well on my own, thank you."
The set of her brow is firmer than his mattress.
"We may need to ice it," he puts in, turning carefully onto her street.
"Unnecessary," she quips, trying to lighten the mood unsuccessfully. "Don't forget who you're dealing with here."
He puts his vehicle into park, turning to face her with an intensity from which she cannot turn away.
"Trust me," he hums. "I never forget."
It just hurts, every step up, each hop towards her door. He extends his palm wordlessly, and she fiddles in her pocket until she locates her keys, handing them over with a reluctance that makes him shake his head. They make their way to her sofa, and she practically falls into it, scrunching her face at an aftershock of pain she had not anticipated.
"No sudden movements," he instructs, raising his brows into his hairline. He grabs pillows unceremoniously, stacking them until a veritable tower of comfort sits before her.
"I'm hardly Rapunzel, you know," she jokes, breathing in as his touch on her leg catches her off-guard.
"Sorry," he returns, misreading her reaction. She doesn't correct him, pushing back warmth that feels destined for her cheeks. Her shoe is gingerly removed, and he slowly rests her knee on the pillows, lines of worry etched across his face.
"I'd say it's most definitely sprained," he observes, rolling up her leggings with the care of a surgeon, exposing her knee's bloated state. "Perhaps worse. And yes—an ice pack is in order, your majesty. Might I inquire where your stash your supply?"
"In the freezer, like all good frozen monarchs," she retorts, biting her lower lip to stifle a groan.
"Stay," he orders, moving to her kitchen, nearly tripping over her cat.
"Don't worry," she hisses in discomfort. "I am by no means inclined to move."
"I see you've employed another body guard," he quips, kneeling to pet the orange and cream patched feline.
"Andromeda," she informs him, summoning the cat with her fingers until she snuggles in beside her on the sofa.
"Andromeda? Really?"
His stare is almost comical, the ice pack in his grip nearly forgotten.
"And what's wrong with that?" she questions, narrowing her gaze decidedly as she grits her teeth.
"There's nothing wrong with it, per say," he returns with a shrug. "But don't you think it's a bit grand for a cat?"
"You're obviously a dog person."
Her expression casts judgment, her eyes following him warily as he sits on her table across from her, covering her injury with a cold pack that chills her on contact.
"I actually prefer cats," he corrects, surprising her yet again. "But I think they should have practical names."
"Like Fluffy?" she muses sarcastically through teeth beginning to chatter.
"Like Cat," he retorts, locating a nearby blanket and wrapping it around her unceremoniously.
"That's what I like about you, Lord Ogre," she drones. "Your colorful imagination."
He flashes her a smile she can't quite interpret, distracting her by licking his lips.
"You might be surprised."
He stands and looks around the room, rubbing restless hands together.
"I really think you should have that checked by a doctor," he attempts. "It could be worse than a sprain, Mary, and you don't want to mess with an injured knee."
"If it's no better in the morning, I'll go," she relents, squeezing her eyes against painful throbbing.
"Do you have anyone who can stay with you today?"
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she argues.
"Please," he fires back. "You can barely adjust yourself on the couch without flinching. There is no way you can do this on your own."
She exhales through flared nostrils, unwilling to admit he is right, afraid of pushing back too hard.
"I'll manage."
"In other words, no one," he observes, making her shift uncomfortably. "Do you at least have any crutches about?"
"No," she admits, dropping her gaze, her life suddenly feeling very small.
"Well, I do," he replies. "I'll just run over to my flat and fetch them, as well as a bag and my laptop."
"Wait—your laptop?" she questions, stopping him a mere breath from her door. "And a bag?"
"Someone has to take care of you," he shrugs, causing her hands to fidget. "My laptop will allow me to get some work done, and I'll need some things from home if I'm to spend the night on your sofa. Oh, and I do believe I have some decent pain medication left over from when I had two wisdom teeth extracted a few weeks ago."
Her blood races too quickly to her head.
"I don't remember inviting you to spend the night," she huffs, glaring at him incredulously, the promise of pain medication more seductive than it should be.
"That's good," he tosses back with a grin that singes every nerve. "Because I don't remember asking."
There are two drabbles I posted this week on tumblr per request that are set in this verse and have to do with the underwear Mary accidentally left behind. Check them out on my blog if you like, and as always, feedback is always appreciated. :) Have a wonderful weekend, everyone!
