Hello readers!
Sorry if I took too long to update. The Black Plauge of swine flu had captured me and it is NOT easy to write when you're feeling that gross.
Anyway, reviewers and readers, I absolutely adore all the feedback and would love it if you continued enjoying! Thanks!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The church of Santa Anastasia* may have been far from the hospital. However long she had lived in Verona did not matter. She did not realize how far she went as she ran. She wanted to thrust open the doors and charge in. She couldn't. She was mesmerized.
The streets of Verona were dark, as though it was still night, yet the sun rose over the river and guided her like a torch in a dark tunnel, as did the chorus that sounded from Santa Anastasia.
She crept inside the dimly-lit church, astounded as always by the beauty she was so familiar with. She was unnoticed, and crawled behind the pews and hid under the shadows like a phantom. She knew this church well from all the years she had attended it. She never saw it the way she did now. What felt like years ago, but was really only days ago, she had been the young Allegra Capulet, standing and praying in between her brothers, enduring endless lectures from her father, who had always been ashamed she was a sickly girl rather than a strong and powerful boy, as were her brothers and Tybalt. Her mother would attempt to object to her father's remarks, but he had as much respect for her as he did for Allegra.
Allegra felt a tear wet her cheek, which she had not expected, as she thought of them. It had always saddened her, but never as it did now. She had always been a ridiculous child in the eyes of her father. For such a long time, he had her convinced she was as bad as he told her she was, and now, she would never speak to him again. Ricardo would never tease her again. She would never giggle with Juliet again.
Yet it was for the best. She was no longer Allegra Capulet. She was Allegra, and that was just as well. She was no longer the little girl that had been scorned every day by her father. It slipped away from her, and she stood unsurprised and unmoving. The sun, having just risen, shone through the windows, and Allegra was not aware whether anyone saw her now or not. A familiar touch grasped her shoulder. A jolt rushed through her body, warm and familiar as it was.
"Come," Mercutio whispered.
He kept her under the shadows as they made their way through the cathedral, and as far as they knew, they were still unseen. Allegra could not gather her own feelings. She did not know what she was going to say to him when they reached wherever he was taking her. But she was not afraid, not of him. His skin shone like she had never seen it before under the rose window. He did not face her. He led her further than she thought she was capable of going. Finally, after twenty minutes of hidden walking, they came upon a house that Allegra recognized as that of Lord Montague. Hiding her as hard as he could now, Mercutio took her through the gardens in the back of the enormous building and stopped when they were safely under a tree.
"I am sorry I ran," Allegra said as soon as they had stopped.
He waved his hand. "Oh, hush. Be not sorry. Alas, had I been thee, I'd have run as well." He thought about that for a moment. Shrugging and nodding in agreement with himself, he leaned against a tree. "I am sure, had it been myself with child, I would not wish to hear arguing."
Allegra had half-leaned next to him, half- kept standing. However she stood, it did not feel right. She kept her gaze at her feet.
"Allegra," Mercutio sighed, out of the blue.
Allegra looked at him. She was used to seeing his smile. She did not see it now, and yet she did not need it. There was something else there that told her of his happiness. She saw he breathed heavier than usual; his hands looked different when he went to scratch his head, his hair looked softer and smoother. His lips were so very thin and pink. His face was almost heart-shaped. It was as though she had known all of this, and then had forgotten it. Now, she felt was just beginning to remember, and was thankful.
"We should not have argued in front of thee," he had been saying.
She shook herself out of it.
"Nay, thou had to argue," she replied. "Thou must not leave me out of anything, I pray thee. If thou dost, I shall feel very insulted."
He nodded as she spoke, which she adored. He was trying to understand, and she had not even been prepared to say it.
"Marry, henceforth, thou wilt know everything I do." He raised a finger, as to make this an official oath. Then, he sniffed. "Benvolio's an ass."
Allegra raised an eyebrow. This, of all things, had not been what she had expected. "I did not know this, and will not believe it. He speaketh his heart. He is afraid to leave."
Mercutio had nodded again. He crossed the path near the tree slowly. Allegra knew he was not running from the conversation. He needed to move to function. If he did not move, he would go insane. She followed, as she always did, and was not surprised to see him begin to rip out pieces of a bush.
"I know he is afraid," he said. "Though he told me for years he wished to leave. 'Twas I alone who did not mind the feud. I said 'twas ridiculous, thou knowest that. I laughed at it. He thought of leaving."
"I can speak with him of it," Allegra suggested.
Mercutio winced and shook his head. "Ah, Allegra, no. Thou must not -
"Pray, let me finish. Benvolio calleth thee friend, and he calleth me so too. He is not a stubborn man, I think not. He will admit he is afraid."
Mercutio raised his voice now. "Ay, perhaps, but will he will conquer his fears? Nay. I think not. 'Zounds! What sort of man is he? He hath less man in his entire slight stick for a body than thou hast in thy form, and that's a maiden's!"
He was not really yelling at Allegra; he was almost yelling at himself. Allegra hushed him.
"The baby can hear thee," she said softly.
Mercutio's eyes widened, and then he cocked his head as he looked at her.
"O, damn me for ever saying such fool's words," he said as his smile broke out, "for now I shall never stop hearing them. I am sorry, pretty one."
It was so simple to him. Things moved so quickly. Even so, everything was resolved. This sort of quick change was uncommon anywhere else in Allegra's world - and having him use his sweet pet name on her stirred her throbbing heart further yet. It was as natural as the wind that flew past them that he would take her in his arms.
"I shall let thee speak to him, if thou absolutely must, and that is not because I have given in. I shall not give into -" He mimicked her voice dramatically - "'Mercutio, the baby can hear thee' every time thou throwest it to me."
Allegra was giggling. She knew he was proud when he heard it, and it always made his smile even larger and brighter. He stood tall as he heard her giggle, but weakened suddenly, again clutching his wound.
"Oh!" Allegra said.
Mercutio held up a finger again. "If thou truly dost wish I tell thee everything, this scar hurteth, in truth, more than I claimed."
Seeing him in pain seemed to tuck the sun halfway behind the clouds. "More than cheese?" she asked.
"More than the strongest of cheeses," he said. He reached out for her hand. He pulled her close. She strengthened him a bit, and was able to stand up straight. There was a bench at the end of the path. They walked there hand in hand and sat down in the position that was most comfortable for them both; Allegra rested her head on his shoulder, and he had his arm around her waist.
"That is awful," Allegra said. She rubbed Mercutio's belly, and he stroked her hair. "I am sorry it doth hurt thee."
"'Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!' Allegra, thou needest no longer say that." Mercutio laughed. Allegra jumped.
"Oh, did I frighten thee?" Mercutio asked. "Sorry." He smiled boyishly at her so that she might rub his stomach again. As she did, he asked contently, "How is our little one?"
"Which?" Allegra asked. Mercutio looked amused. "Oh, that little one? I know not, 'tis unborn."
"Doth it feel like something in thy body, though?" Mercutio asked. He narrowed his eyes, interested.
"Not at all. As 'tis thy child, though, it shall not want to stand still in there for very much longer."
Mercutio laughed. "I think 'tis beautiful."
Allegra raised her eyebrows. "But thou hast not yet seen it. Thou shalt not for months."
Mercutio hugged Allegra close for a moment. "Ay, I know."
It was only then that Allegra looked up at the gardens. She had never been here, as it had been Montague territory. She had not thought Verona, exquisite as it was, was capable of holding something as wonderful as these gardens. All the green, the color, and the light, only added to the unknown feeling she had as she looked at him. The sensation familiarized itself with her. Her inner self came to realize that she had never been more thankful to see him alive.
Mercutio jumped up.
"Sorry," he said. "Gah! - I mean - stay. Leave not."
He took off running down the path. A hole occupied an area of Allegra that was not filled until he returned. He held a red rose.
"Thou art sweet," Allegra said, beaming. "But why -"
"Wait, stand not." Mercutio sat her down again, and knelt in front of her. She cocked her head and struggled to follow his rapid voice.
"I have to ask thee something. Thou said thou wouldst go to Venice with me, and I love thee for that. We are leaving Verona forever. We shall never need to come back. That doth matter not. I ramble. Ehem. Thou shalt have a child and I would not ever like to leave thee alone with it. God forbid. Nay. I love thee, thou lovest me. We shall raise it together, in a good family. And that is not why I ask thee this, either. I love thee, God in heaven, 'zounds, mother of hell, I love thee so it feeleth like I might die. I die without thee. I exaggerate not. I am just asking thee. Even if thou dost not answer me how I wish thou wouldst, I pray thou givest me some answer. 'Twas thou who said thou wouldst love me 'til thou died, and also after, and I will love thee 'til the sky falleth down and after. I adore thee. Dost thou recall when the bastard attempted to harm thee? I wish not to remind thee of that, just how I fought for thee. I did. I fought for thee on the wall, and I would have fought harder. God, I would have been cut worse than I am now if it were to mean thou wert not harmed. I would rather be harmed myself, killed even. I shall always love thee, and I think I am safe to say thou shalt always love me, so I think that, if thou wishest, we should have a wedding in Venice. If 'tis the idea of being tied down thou worriest about, pray, think over it. I was worried as well. I thought it over. We are free enough now, and we are together. We shall only be married, not deprived of our own selves. Wilt thou marry me?"
He held the rose up to her, and waited for an answer.
Her face was pale and blank of expression. She bit her nails in thought. Mercutio felt as though someone was punching him.
Soon, as though she was just remembering he was there, she answered him, smiling.
"Yes."
She threw her arms around him before he could take in her answer.
And they left for Venice the next morning.
* Verona church. This isn't perfectly historically correct, because in reality this church existed in 1300, but they would not have been finished building it until 100 years later.