Middle Ground
Chapter 9
A/N This one is short, as is the next one so I will post the next one later today and the one after that tomorrow. I hope that helps.
He didn't cook. He brought take-out instead.
She couldn't help the smile she felt at seeing that.
She was starting to look better. She was starting to feel better too. Healthier and stronger.
She knew that they were fooling themselves, but since nothing was happening between them, she could tell herself it wasn't really so wrong at all.
They were just friends. And he helped her out. The one evening a week she had with him, and she did limit it to one night a week, that was conspicuous enough, was the one night she could rest. Really rest. And smile. And laugh.
And talk.
And be looked at as if she was more than nothing. As if she was someone. Someone worthy. Someone wanted. Someone loved.
Of course, she knew it couldn't last. She'd have to stop at some point.
It was increasingly difficult to sit across from him, to sit next to him, and not move closer. To not want to touch him, to not want kiss him.
She wanted him. She had wanted him years ago and she wanted him now. It had never changed and she doubted it ever would.
And it seemed sometimes that he wanted her too. It could never happen, it would never happen, and it was probably all in her head, but she couldn't help wanting it.
She took a seat on the sofa, where cartons filled with numerous things that made her stomach growl stood on the coffee table. She shook her head at the amount of food he'd brought. He was starting to make a habit of it. Maybe because he suspected that when it wasn't their night (and she dismissed the fact that what what she referred to it now and what that said and how stupid and naive that was), she didn't pay much attention to herself, to how she ate, and when and what. She'd never cared for how she looked, it had never made a difference to anyone, and she'd long ago learned to care about her brain more than her body. But he worried about it, and it humbled her to know he cared for her health. He worried about her, she was aware of that. He was afraid for her, he didn't want her cold or wet or hungry. He was maybe, apart from Glinda so long ago, the first to truly worry about her well-being.
"You really do think I'm too skinny."
He smiled and took a seat on the same sofa, his back against the armrest and his feet touching her legs.
"I do. Not that it makes you any less gorgeous."
She frowned both at the lie and at the line he crossed in saying that.
"Fiyero."
"What?" He handed her a carton and a fork.
"It's the truth."
She took it without question and pulled her legs up on the sofa as well, shifting her body a little to face him.
"It's not."
"It is."
He took a bite without looking at her.
"And you know that I am not lying, that I really think so. So stop protesting, and eat your food."
She smiled and took a bite.
"You're insane. This is insane."
He nodded but looked surprisingly serious.
"Perhaps."
He raised his eyes to hers then.
"But it's the first thing that has felt real in a really long time."
She didn't protest that because she knew exactly what he meant.
Bear with me? And please do review..