Author's Note: The title of the fic has been changed. After much thinking, I've come to a conclusion that the previous one ('Of Dolphins and Mermaids') was somewhat off.
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PART 3: Trial by Lavender
He was ready to gulp. Yet fear prevented him even from doing that. What if she would somehow—anyhow—hear it? He would be exposed! As if he was not already…
He wondered how he was still managing to refrain from shaking, a habit that always woke up in panic-striking situations. Instead he found himself brushing the palm of his right hand with his fingers, hoping it would help him calm down.
"Hey, Daph! Like you're awake," he said, trying to keep control of his voice.
Every second began to pass with a much lower speed.
Busted! The inner voice he heard before once again made its presence known. And the worst part was that he could not contradict it.
"What pulled me by the tongue?" Shaggy thought.
He turned around to face her. Daphne was now seated, her attention dedicated to her companion. Yet unfortunately to himself, the young man could not read her thoughts by her facial expression.
He had to accept the fact—panic always got him running around its stadium, and under the influence of that internal voice and its whispers, its hounds of pursuit were already unleashed. The race was on. He was in no condition to admit his words.
It seemed pathetic to him. He dated girls before. Yet now he was even unable to confess his love. He could blame that voice, that incarnation of doubt, as much as he wanted, but ways out of this sticky situation lay elsewhere.
He really wanted to get out of this room, but running away was definitely not an option.
He wondered if he could say something like 'hi, I just came in, sorry I'm late, what did you just ask me'; to try and mess with her head, to make himself look clueless, thus making her believe that what she heard was merely a dream…But Daphne was not gullible, so the most likely result of this scenario would be the notebook which at the moment lay next to her flying at him.
"Sorry didn't get you there. What did you just say, Daph?" he asked. The question was artificial but at least it would obtain him some extra time.
There was the second option: the shortened version of the previous one. He could just say he was silent all that time. He wondered how she had managed to hear his words. The most probable answer immediately came to his mind; she likely woke up when she stroke him with her heel. If that was truly the case, then this plan also backfired.
"I asked whether you meant what you had said," she replied. He found no note in her voice that gave her thoughts away or whether she was on to him.
He had only one option left…
"Yes, of course I love you…" he was actually quite surprised how calmly he managed to say that part.
Guilty! The inner voice proclaimed again, this time backed by its own numerous echoes that gave an impression of a decision made by a jury in conclusion of a trial.
"…you are my friend. Just as Velma, Fred, and Scooby are," he continued, "Naturally I love all of you."
He waited for a moment. The choir he expected did not sound. So he 'explained' the context of that statement; how he did not wish to wake her up and how he thought the redhead was revisiting one of the earlier cases in her dream. The narrative was of course accompanied by a broad friendly smile for a more natural look.
"Ok, that makes sense," Daphne sounded convinced.
"Sure does," came Shaggy's specific slightly trembling laugh, "What did you think?" he cursed himself that very second for saying the last part.
"Never mind," the young woman replied, a bit uncomfortably, "Anyway, the feeling is mutual. I'm sure the rest of the gang feels the same."
The last few statements were like a stab with a dagger straight in the heart. But he did not blame her; she might have been the fabulously incrusted hilt of the weapon, but ultimately it was his hand that guided the blade to its target.
"So I never had a chance to check that article of yours. Is it complete?" he turned his attention to the notebook.
"Unfortunately not. I only planned to rest for a couple of minutes, but seems like I zapped out before finishing it," she gave a pleasant smile as she picked it up, "sorry Shaggy, you'll have to see it some other day."
He found a way out of the mess he himself had gotten into, yet his exit did not resemble following a weak beam of light in an underground catacomb. He returned to his number, a room almost no different from the one he had just been to. He slumped onto a stool and stretched his legs.
His mind kept returning to the recent conversation.
Weakling. Liar. Coward. Klutz. The internal, or maybe even infernal, voice again took up its accuser's position.
These messages coming from the back of his mind were crushing him, as if a ghostly hand materialized out of thin air, and grabbing him by the throat, began to press in a ghoulish grip.
In melancholy, the young man put a hand to his forehead. His next gesture was nodding his head in sign of negativity. His situation was truly pathetic—he silently admitted it. No matter whatever he did, a part of him always challenged the correctness of his decision. He would feel himself wrong for carrying the ultimate feeling of affection, love, for his teammate. At the same time, trying to deny it in words, not thoughts, presented him a sinner in front of himself. It was now obvious; that inner voice did not back panic as he earlier believe—it was a manifestation of his fear and doubt.
You lied to her. The voice, his thought, whispered again. The manner of condemnation it chose was not that of a member of a jury; it was an Inquisition.
And the young man could not deny the latest accusation.
"I have lied," he thought, "I have lied…to her."
The notion was an additional cut.
During their mysteries he, usually along with Scooby Doo, had tried to back out of the unwanted adventures numerous times. That included making up bogus excuses and faking illnesses. But it was not the same as the present case. His ideas never actually worked; the gang was always on to him, and in some way he was aware that his plans would result in failure. The stunts he tried to pull were a contrast to the latest addition. They could bring a smile to his and his friends' faces. Those were mere jokes, but this time it was a lie. And he got away with it.
It was the closest thing to betrayal he could think of. It felt like betrayal. By lying to her he virtually betrayed the gang, the time they shared, even himself…
He betrayed Daphne.
The last part made thunder rumble in his ears. The conflicting thought about love and lie were a paradox. It did somewhat seem that a circle was made complete when one thing led to another which itself eventually returned to the starting point. He loved her but felt like he betrayed the gang; he lied to her and the feel was still the same. Why? Because in both cases a fact remained a fact—Daphne was his teammate, and though the gang never had any set rules in case of such scenarios, it still felt somewhat extraordinary. At least to him.
He turned towards the window; the shades of crimson outside coloring the rural scenery indicated that dusk would soon follow. Then night would come, and eventually the morning, a sign to resume the journey back.
Even though the sentiments he was full of that evening contained not even the tiniest speck of pleasance, he slept calmly right up to the morning.
He did not guess initially what it was, and in ignorant reaction cuddled into the pillow. Yet the continuation of those sounds made him dedicate his attention to their source. Somebody was knocking on the door.
Lazily he got out of bed, dissatisfied to leave the warm comfort of the sheets.
"Like who is it?" he asked when he was beside the door.
"It's me," he heard the gentle voice that he believed he could recognize awake, in a dream, and maybe in a coma, "It's time we get going."
"Sure, like give me a couple of minutes."
"Ok, I'll wait."
He got dressed and stepped out of the room. The familiar purple-green clad figure of the redhead was the first shape his eyes beheld in the hall. She looked as fresh and gorgeous as ever.
"Took you long enough," she said in her cheerful manner, smiling.
"Well, what can I say, I'm a tight sleeper," he chuckled in reply.
It took just moments until they reached the front desk. All that time and while Daphne was checking out for them he was by her side. He did not glance at her, only basked in the warmth she radiated. With the check-out complete, the duo exited the motel. The Mystery Machine, which served as Scooby's and Scrappy's refuge for the night since the motel had a strict no-pets policy, was parked nearby.
"Hopefully, today we won't come across any mysteries that would throw us off schedule," Daphne said.
Shaggy's lip twitched. The word 'mystery' immediately led to associations and just as quickly he began swimming the familiar waters of guilt; he felt his limbs failing, dooming him to the sea-cold deeps…
The redhead opened her purse to search for the car keys.
"Daphne, I'm sorry," his thoughts slipped out again.
"For what?" the young woman asked, not looking at him, busy with her purse. She finally pulled them out.
"For lying to you," he specified. It was strange, but upon saying this he felt as if a heavy rock was taken off his shoulders.
"What do you mean?" he noticed her raise an eyebrow, her attention now with him.
"What I said yesterday," he directed his gaze away from her pretty features and glittering orbs. Saying it was hard, but living with it was much harsher.
With a corner of his eye he noticed Daphne move her shoulders uncomfortably; she probably got the point.
"You possibly understood it from the beginning," he said, reflecting on her statement.
He made a swift pause thinking over the correct formula for the next several statements. He still tried to avoid her eyes, probably not wishing to guess her reaction at this stage.
"Well…yes...I do love you as a friend," he found the introduction the hardest part to devise, "but it's more than that…" he had to make an equally short break; the almost poetic confession was quite complex.
"I love the woman you are, Daphne," he finally managed to finish the sentence; at the moment it seemed like a novel that took many years to complete.
Shaggy never considered himself the mushy type, and though his eyes did not water, he nevertheless sensed something bitter grip his insides.
His eyes met hers. But now it was her turn—she lowered her head slightly to avoid his gaze.
"Apology accepted," her tone was not as cheerful as before, but at the same time did not appear spoiled with negative emotions, "so you finally decided to say it openly?"
He did not reply, wondering whether there was any use in commenting.
"I won't say that I'm surprised by your confession," she looked at him, but no matter how hard Shaggy tried her expression did not give her away, "I understood it back last evening that you weren't telling me the whole story."
"You did?" he only asked because he thought he was expected to by some protocol.
"Yes, I did," Shaggy's eyes went wider as he saw her produce a smile, "it was not just the way you said it, it's the way you phrased your statement—if you had spoken of friendship it would have been different…."
"I am a reporter, after all," the way she knew how to conclude her statement was unquestionably superior to his attempts.
"You sure are…"
They stood in silence for the next several moments, schedules and everything else downgraded in importance.
"Now what?" he asked in an attempt to get out of this awkward trance.
"Time to get going," she said so flippantly and just as easily turned to the parked vehicle.
He could have thought she had forgotten that the whole conversation took place. Though much was on his mind, he was about to follow her and her instruction.
But before she made the first step in the day's journey, he saw her turn her head to him.
"We will speak about this…little issue…some other time," and with that she proceeded to close the distance between them and the van.
He followed.
The drive continued, and it was as usual as always. The two dogs in the back chattered about their stuff, Daphne was behind the steering wheel while he was by her side like a faithful servant. A hitchhiker—if one had traveled with them—would not have found any irregularities. Shaggy could not know about his flaming-haired companion, but his spirit was not on ease.
"This little issue," he both grinned and frowned as he replayed those words in his mind.
He had spilled his soul out in front of her, and that was her reply? Was his love such a trivial item in her view? Such a thought really hurt.
They returned to their hometown closer to the evening. They did not see each other the next day. On the day after Daphne submitted her work to the editor's office, and only in the evening did they finally meet up again at a café. They chatted about petty things. Shaggy hoped she would bring up that 'little issue', but that was not destined to happen.
"Perhaps we could go for a short walk," he suggested when they exited the café, implying the park across the road.
"Sure, why not," Daphne responded, even though evenings were not the best time for that.
Several minutes later they were at the destination, having left the Mystery Machine where it stood parked.
The atmosphere of the park was tranquil; one could think he was outside the town boundaries. The light wind playfully shook the leafy heads of the trees above their heads. A lone bird, the young man could not tell the breed, performed its song, the stage hidden by shadows and the green of a tree. The area was almost devoid of humans; they came across only one couple going in the direction opposite to theirs. Shaggy shot them a quick look; they seemed just a couple of years younger, but a blazing contrast—the guy's hand was over his girlfriend's shoulders as he listened to her blabbing, not tearing his eyes off her. If that guy was lucky, he would not trip and go down as consequence of such reckless navigation.
As each minute passed, it became more obvious that Daphne, due to her silence, did not wish to start the conversation he expected. He wondered why. Maybe she did not want to hurt his feeling with the words she would say?
A silent pond now opened to their view, illuminated by the heavens.
"So, are we going to pretend that nothing I said two days ago happened?" he started in his unsure tone.
She stopped in her track, a decision he adopted, and looked at him. Her eyes almost shined in the shadows of the evening. The shades made her even more fabulous by playing with her colors.
"No, that won't help at all," she replied calmly, "what you said is a major thing that virtually divides our many-year interaction into before and after."
Shaggy wished she had avoided such complex metaphors. But at least she did not say 'little issues'…
"To think, during the cases we've gone through, I was not aware that you were drying from love while standing by my side. And I might not have found out…"
"I again apologize for trying to lie to you…" he interrupted.
"And I already said apology accepted," she confirmed.
"And sorry for the truth," he had to say this part, it seemed so right.
"Now you're acting awkward," Daphne raised an eyebrow, surprised, "why so?"
"Because I know I'm unworthy of you," he said, insecurely, delivering a message from his internal voice.
The last confession startled her; the look of surprise gave her away.
"Shaggy," she sighed in understanding criticism.
The redhead reached out to him, literally, as she placed her palm on his cheek. Her hand had a soothing feel on his skin.
"Promise me that no matter what the case is, you won't consider yourself unworthy before anybody…" she asked as he began getting lost in the deepness of her eyes.
"If you wish so," he took her hand into his, separating it from his cheek, and pressed it to his lips.
"Shaggy," his eyes were off her, but Daphne's voice implied she was touched.
"Do you really love me so much?" he looked back at her when he heard the last question.
He noticed the moisture that had appeared at the corners of her eyes. She looked so precious, so fragile that she exposed him to her tenderness. He wanted to wrap his hands around her, to press that brittle form to him and protect her from the elements that could shatter her like a porcelain figurine.
"I truly do," he answered.
Daphne made just one step, but it was enough to delete more that the physical distance between them. Her eyes now half-closed, the redhead said nothing. This left him motionless for a second, but then, as though obeying a magical call, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.
Throughout the years, in mind or dreams, he would relive that kiss, experience that feel yet again. But only with time would he notice one aspect; Daphne accepted that kiss, she replied to it, but somehow it felt less passionate than he wanted.