Fireflies - Jane Eyre
Title: Fireflies
Ships: Jane Eyre/Edward Rochester
Rating: G
Disclaimer: As if Jane Eyre could be owned, she says it herself, she's a free person who will go and do as she pleases. That and Charlotte Bronte wrote her... not me!
Summary: Jane convinces Rochester to enjoy the night air with her. Oneshot. Fluffy. Read and enjoy! My first Jane Eyre piece.
Authors Notes: I adore Jane Eyre however, I have never tried to write anything. I hope this is not too fluffy for the angsty Mr. Rochester and the no-nonsense Jane, but it was quite fun to write! Do leave comments... I live for feedback!
Outside, I could see that spring was soon leaving us to be replaced by summer. I had always enjoyed the changing of the seasons, for it had many philosophical and symbolic meaning, coupled with my own joy in watching time pass peacefully. The March and April rains had brought about flowers I did not know I had the talent to grow - however, I must admit that it was with much advice from Mrs. Fairfax that my little garden was a success.
The day was drawing to a close. My husband, my Edward, remained seated where he had began the afternoon while I wrote letters as he dictated them confidently. His face, clearly lost in reveries as I stood from the piano which I had been playing for his evening amusement. His hand rested at his side, occasionally groping to see if Pilot was still at his side, loyal as always, to pet his head.
Finally realizing the music had stopped, he turned in the direction he presumed I had remained. Had he seen me, he would have noticed a change in my complexion, and a look of concern and anxiety on my face.
“Jane, join me here.”
I started to move towards him, each footstep sounding awkward and unnatural to me suddenly, but I turned back to the window visible from my piano seat. Busying myself with the sheet music I had in my haste scattered on the floor, I clumsily retrieved them and with care but no proof of it, placed them inside the bench.
“Edward, it is a fine evening, Edward.” I frowned at my own mistake, and tried to ignore Edward’s trace of amusement at my blunder. I went on, “Why do we not go sit outside? In the gardens? It’s so nice outside, it’s a fi- lovely evening.”
“Yes, Mrs. Rochester, so you’ve stated. Twice.”
Despite his continued pleasure from my sudden awkwardness, he was clearly surprised by my suggestion, as usually it was walks I requested in the day light, never sitting in the evening.
Without his vision, he had come to relay on his other senses that had sharpened. He turned his face sharply, in tune with my sudden pacing and shuffling in the hall to retrieve a thin shawl.
“Jane,” he began, confusion not to be missed in his voice, “why do we not just retire early?” I did not miss a slight, devilish curl of his lip into a smile at his own suggestion.
Without acknowledging his proposition, I walked to his side in more of a hurry then was appropriate to simply sit and enjoy the night air. “Come,” I insisted, taking hold of his shoulder, “join me.” With a curious hesitation, he stood. Shaking my arm off in a streak of independence, he mumbled under his breath the number of steps to the hall, then the number to the door. Secretly smiling, I followed primly behind him, trying to ignore my uneasiness.
Once outside, however, the chairs and the small table were always subject to be rearranged, and he no longer trusted. his own direction. Ignoring his pride, he stopped a few steps out and waited to be led. With a loving sense of familiarity, I took the crook of his arm as if we were a young couple strolling, not at all resembling the image of a nurse and an old blind man, we walked in unison to the chairs, and both sat quietly.
It was cooler than I had predicted it would be, drawing my shawl around my shoulders more tightly, yet not regretting my decision to go. I guessed my shakiness was not from the weather.
Edward and I talked softly of trivial things for a while. The weather, the house, Adele and her homecoming. Our conversation eventually faded and we sat in comfortable silence. While trees blocked a large range of my view of the world outside of ours, it was a pleasure to hear the soft noises of the early evening.
After an undeterminable amount of time, Edward spoke.
“Would you be so good as to let me see you, Jane?”
To an outsider, that would have been viewed as a strange comment for a husband to his wife, or even more puzzling to a stranger, a blind man to a woman. Yet I smiled at the question that was now common for me to hear, he knew I would agree to, as I always had and knew I would continue to do for the rest of my days.
Rising from my chair, I knelt next to his chair, folding my arms and resting them on his knees. With his hand, he traced the outline of my eyebrows, down to my cheek bones, to my lips which no longer obeyed by remaining close. I could not help but smile and look down, he laughed at the lack of my resistance. He gingerly touched my teeth, I soon pushed his hand away gently and pulled myself into his lap, leaning my head upon his shoulder.
“This,” he said quietly in my ear, “this is a life I could never have dreamed for myself in a thousand years.”
“Good Lord, sir,” I said, finding comfort in the old familiar term. I closed my eyes and nestled further into his shoulder. “I did not imagine you to be so old!”
He laughed heartily at my small jest, the commotion bringing me to sit up and face him. My stomach fluttered with nerves as they had not since this afternoon after the doctor had left. How to tell him? However, before I had a moment to begin any sort of speech, Edward wrapped his hands around my waist.
“You are so small, Janet. Would I have both my hands,” he paused, struggling to keep a bitter tone at bay, “I could easily span your waist,” he murmured. I looked down to see that indeed they could.
“My own little fairy,” he whispered, kissing me hard on the mouth.
When he finally pulled away, I realized I must be blushing at the sentiments, and looked down at her hands in her own lap, starting to toy with the diamond around my finger.
“And what would you say, sir, if my waist began to thicken?”
“Well,” he laughed, missing my intended connotation and thinking it only banter, “I would have to remind you to watch your sweets and remain-“ he stopped, cocking his head to the side in contemplation. Speaking thoughtfully, he began to speak again, clearly processing my meaning. “And when, Janet, do you think your waist will begin to thicken?”
“Very soon, Edward. Within a month or two. Truly, I think it has already started.” I pulled his hand to rest on my stomacher where beneath it all, our child resided. Despite myself, I began to laugh outloud, and push tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand.
Jumping from his chair unthinkingly, I quickly had to regain her composure after being thrown off from his lap. No words were spoken as he grabbed my shoulders with a near-bruising force and pressed me in to an embrace. I let myself relax in his arms, my hands pressed to his great chest, going over the breast pocket of his jacket with my fingers. Slowly, his hand made their way to my neck, and then to my head where my bun from the day was beginning to fall, and strands were doing their best to escape their bonds. Stroking my head and neck, we stood in silence as if speaking would make it all disappear.
Finally, I drew away, standing on the tip of my toes to meet his great height, I kissed his cheek, shocked by his expression of wide surprise.
“Are you,” I began hesitantly, monitoring the level of my voice, “are you pleased?”
His arms sinking to loop around my lower back, he angled his face to best hear my rapid breathing. “ ‘Are you pleased?’” he repeated, “Am I pleased?” he smiled so broadly, I felt my nerves fly away. “I can’t think of another moment where I have been so happy. When, darling?”
“Christmas,” I answered, my voice cracking.
“Christmas,” he repeated, letting the thought linger in the air.
Slowly, he sat back down, drawing me once more to the security of his lap.
We sat so for a great while, quietly, but with racing minds.
“The grass is long,” I commented, seeing nothing to say besides describing what he could not see for himself. “It’s greener then I have seen it in a long time. My morning glories are closed for now, but in a few hours, they’ll be open to the early sun, purple with a yellow tint. They’re really, beautiful, darling.” He nodded, smiling, stroking my neck, and twisting the loose hair between his fingers. “The sky is clear, with only a few clouds to the north. You can see the stars, they’re faint but visible.”
“Jane,” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat quickly and finished, “I love you.”
Biting my lip, unable to respond, I simply tilted my head into his hand still at my neck, and pressed my forehead into his palm. Lifting my head, I took his hand and brought it in front of me, holding it palm side up in my own hand.
“If the fence is here,” I explained, drawing a straight line with my index finger’s nail in his lower hand, “and the morning glories around the fence here,” continuing my invisible drawing into his palm, “the trees do not start until back here.” I lifted my finger to where his palm ended and his fingers began.
“Here, however,” I continued, drawing small circles in the space between his fence line and the beginning of the trees, “wild flowers grow. They’re yellow, mainly. Some blue, frail little pink ones also. However, the air is dotted with small fireflies. I can see up to fifteen simply sitting here,” I turned my head just to take a peek at his face, which had a small smile of ease. Not wanting to spoil it, I turned back quickly and continued.
“They’re flying about, quite content. They’re simply happy to be in each other’s company. Some flash, and then stop. Some, however, remain lit as they flit about. Dear things, fireflies have no idea how much they please those watching.”
“They’re not fireflies, Jane,” Edward stated calmly.
With a fake gasp at his insult to my intelligence I questioned, “Is that right, Mr. Rochester?”
“Yes, Janet,” he said, pulling his hand away to push stray hairs behind my ear, then using his finger tip to turn my chin. “That is quite right,” he murmured, as he placed his hand at the nape of my neck, forcing me to swing my legs over to face him more comfortably. He guided my face closer to his own, drawing in to kiss me. “They’re fairies.”
Ships: Jane Eyre/Edward Rochester
Rating: G
Disclaimer: As if Jane Eyre could be owned, she says it herself, she's a free person who will go and do as she pleases. That and Charlotte Bronte wrote her... not me!
Summary: Jane convinces Rochester to enjoy the night air with her. Oneshot. Fluffy. Read and enjoy! My first Jane Eyre piece.
Authors Notes: I adore Jane Eyre however, I have never tried to write anything. I hope this is not too fluffy for the angsty Mr. Rochester and the no-nonsense Jane, but it was quite fun to write! Do leave comments... I live for feedback!
Outside, I could see that spring was soon leaving us to be replaced by summer. I had always enjoyed the changing of the seasons, for it had many philosophical and symbolic meaning, coupled with my own joy in watching time pass peacefully. The March and April rains had brought about flowers I did not know I had the talent to grow - however, I must admit that it was with much advice from Mrs. Fairfax that my little garden was a success.
The day was drawing to a close. My husband, my Edward, remained seated where he had began the afternoon while I wrote letters as he dictated them confidently. His face, clearly lost in reveries as I stood from the piano which I had been playing for his evening amusement. His hand rested at his side, occasionally groping to see if Pilot was still at his side, loyal as always, to pet his head.
Finally realizing the music had stopped, he turned in the direction he presumed I had remained. Had he seen me, he would have noticed a change in my complexion, and a look of concern and anxiety on my face.
“Jane, join me here.”
I started to move towards him, each footstep sounding awkward and unnatural to me suddenly, but I turned back to the window visible from my piano seat. Busying myself with the sheet music I had in my haste scattered on the floor, I clumsily retrieved them and with care but no proof of it, placed them inside the bench.
“Edward, it is a fine evening, Edward.” I frowned at my own mistake, and tried to ignore Edward’s trace of amusement at my blunder. I went on, “Why do we not go sit outside? In the gardens? It’s so nice outside, it’s a fi- lovely evening.”
“Yes, Mrs. Rochester, so you’ve stated. Twice.”
Despite his continued pleasure from my sudden awkwardness, he was clearly surprised by my suggestion, as usually it was walks I requested in the day light, never sitting in the evening.
Without his vision, he had come to relay on his other senses that had sharpened. He turned his face sharply, in tune with my sudden pacing and shuffling in the hall to retrieve a thin shawl.
“Jane,” he began, confusion not to be missed in his voice, “why do we not just retire early?” I did not miss a slight, devilish curl of his lip into a smile at his own suggestion.
Without acknowledging his proposition, I walked to his side in more of a hurry then was appropriate to simply sit and enjoy the night air. “Come,” I insisted, taking hold of his shoulder, “join me.” With a curious hesitation, he stood. Shaking my arm off in a streak of independence, he mumbled under his breath the number of steps to the hall, then the number to the door. Secretly smiling, I followed primly behind him, trying to ignore my uneasiness.
Once outside, however, the chairs and the small table were always subject to be rearranged, and he no longer trusted. his own direction. Ignoring his pride, he stopped a few steps out and waited to be led. With a loving sense of familiarity, I took the crook of his arm as if we were a young couple strolling, not at all resembling the image of a nurse and an old blind man, we walked in unison to the chairs, and both sat quietly.
It was cooler than I had predicted it would be, drawing my shawl around my shoulders more tightly, yet not regretting my decision to go. I guessed my shakiness was not from the weather.
Edward and I talked softly of trivial things for a while. The weather, the house, Adele and her homecoming. Our conversation eventually faded and we sat in comfortable silence. While trees blocked a large range of my view of the world outside of ours, it was a pleasure to hear the soft noises of the early evening.
After an undeterminable amount of time, Edward spoke.
“Would you be so good as to let me see you, Jane?”
To an outsider, that would have been viewed as a strange comment for a husband to his wife, or even more puzzling to a stranger, a blind man to a woman. Yet I smiled at the question that was now common for me to hear, he knew I would agree to, as I always had and knew I would continue to do for the rest of my days.
Rising from my chair, I knelt next to his chair, folding my arms and resting them on his knees. With his hand, he traced the outline of my eyebrows, down to my cheek bones, to my lips which no longer obeyed by remaining close. I could not help but smile and look down, he laughed at the lack of my resistance. He gingerly touched my teeth, I soon pushed his hand away gently and pulled myself into his lap, leaning my head upon his shoulder.
“This,” he said quietly in my ear, “this is a life I could never have dreamed for myself in a thousand years.”
“Good Lord, sir,” I said, finding comfort in the old familiar term. I closed my eyes and nestled further into his shoulder. “I did not imagine you to be so old!”
He laughed heartily at my small jest, the commotion bringing me to sit up and face him. My stomach fluttered with nerves as they had not since this afternoon after the doctor had left. How to tell him? However, before I had a moment to begin any sort of speech, Edward wrapped his hands around my waist.
“You are so small, Janet. Would I have both my hands,” he paused, struggling to keep a bitter tone at bay, “I could easily span your waist,” he murmured. I looked down to see that indeed they could.
“My own little fairy,” he whispered, kissing me hard on the mouth.
When he finally pulled away, I realized I must be blushing at the sentiments, and looked down at her hands in her own lap, starting to toy with the diamond around my finger.
“And what would you say, sir, if my waist began to thicken?”
“Well,” he laughed, missing my intended connotation and thinking it only banter, “I would have to remind you to watch your sweets and remain-“ he stopped, cocking his head to the side in contemplation. Speaking thoughtfully, he began to speak again, clearly processing my meaning. “And when, Janet, do you think your waist will begin to thicken?”
“Very soon, Edward. Within a month or two. Truly, I think it has already started.” I pulled his hand to rest on my stomacher where beneath it all, our child resided. Despite myself, I began to laugh outloud, and push tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand.
Jumping from his chair unthinkingly, I quickly had to regain her composure after being thrown off from his lap. No words were spoken as he grabbed my shoulders with a near-bruising force and pressed me in to an embrace. I let myself relax in his arms, my hands pressed to his great chest, going over the breast pocket of his jacket with my fingers. Slowly, his hand made their way to my neck, and then to my head where my bun from the day was beginning to fall, and strands were doing their best to escape their bonds. Stroking my head and neck, we stood in silence as if speaking would make it all disappear.
Finally, I drew away, standing on the tip of my toes to meet his great height, I kissed his cheek, shocked by his expression of wide surprise.
“Are you,” I began hesitantly, monitoring the level of my voice, “are you pleased?”
His arms sinking to loop around my lower back, he angled his face to best hear my rapid breathing. “ ‘Are you pleased?’” he repeated, “Am I pleased?” he smiled so broadly, I felt my nerves fly away. “I can’t think of another moment where I have been so happy. When, darling?”
“Christmas,” I answered, my voice cracking.
“Christmas,” he repeated, letting the thought linger in the air.
Slowly, he sat back down, drawing me once more to the security of his lap.
We sat so for a great while, quietly, but with racing minds.
“The grass is long,” I commented, seeing nothing to say besides describing what he could not see for himself. “It’s greener then I have seen it in a long time. My morning glories are closed for now, but in a few hours, they’ll be open to the early sun, purple with a yellow tint. They’re really, beautiful, darling.” He nodded, smiling, stroking my neck, and twisting the loose hair between his fingers. “The sky is clear, with only a few clouds to the north. You can see the stars, they’re faint but visible.”
“Jane,” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat quickly and finished, “I love you.”
Biting my lip, unable to respond, I simply tilted my head into his hand still at my neck, and pressed my forehead into his palm. Lifting my head, I took his hand and brought it in front of me, holding it palm side up in my own hand.
“If the fence is here,” I explained, drawing a straight line with my index finger’s nail in his lower hand, “and the morning glories around the fence here,” continuing my invisible drawing into his palm, “the trees do not start until back here.” I lifted my finger to where his palm ended and his fingers began.
“Here, however,” I continued, drawing small circles in the space between his fence line and the beginning of the trees, “wild flowers grow. They’re yellow, mainly. Some blue, frail little pink ones also. However, the air is dotted with small fireflies. I can see up to fifteen simply sitting here,” I turned my head just to take a peek at his face, which had a small smile of ease. Not wanting to spoil it, I turned back quickly and continued.
“They’re flying about, quite content. They’re simply happy to be in each other’s company. Some flash, and then stop. Some, however, remain lit as they flit about. Dear things, fireflies have no idea how much they please those watching.”
“They’re not fireflies, Jane,” Edward stated calmly.
With a fake gasp at his insult to my intelligence I questioned, “Is that right, Mr. Rochester?”
“Yes, Janet,” he said, pulling his hand away to push stray hairs behind my ear, then using his finger tip to turn my chin. “That is quite right,” he murmured, as he placed his hand at the nape of my neck, forcing me to swing my legs over to face him more comfortably. He guided my face closer to his own, drawing in to kiss me. “They’re fairies.”