Date: Saturday, April 28, 2001
Time: Night
Location: Number 8 Ambrose Terrace, York
Characters Involved: Peregrin Derrick, Pansy Parkinson, invitation only
Rating: PG-13 (for the most part)
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'It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.' ~Rita Rudner )
Talking about her father was still difficult. Here they were discussing getting married, but if they did so, there’d be no family in the pews. What a strange idea that was for someone like Pansy; her family name tattooed into her skin but no family to speak of.
Tattooed…
Her free hand rolled up the sleeve on her left arm and she looked at the blue-black ink there. Crap. Well, perhaps it would be ok - just because she was marrying a Derrick, didn’t mean she should forget that she’d once been a Parkinson. But did she still count as a Parkinson if none of the Parkinsons would acknowledge her? Could she really be a family on her own?
Maybe it was a good thing that she would be changing her name then. A new name, a new beginning. Still, she frowned momentarily and said, “I don’t know about cooler, but it would have been nice if you’d had a name I could easily change this into.” Pansy tilted her arm one way and then the other, examining it. “I think I’ll have to go and talk to Steff. See what he thinks.”
Her attention shifted however, when Perry’s second hand enclosed her own. Her free arm dropped again to her side as she kind of snorted a little laugh. “I didn’t- shit, can you imagine yourself down on one knee, ‘cos I can’t! I just-” She paused, loathe to re-enter the arena of How Perry Should’ve Proposed, since they’d so recently battled their way out. “I dunno. I was just… being difficult, I suppose.” She shrugged and then hit out, shoving him in the shoulder. “But I was not ‘freaking out’!”
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His eyes drifted down to the crude tattoo as Pansy lifted her sleeve. This was one of those-admittedly frequent-moments when sympathy would have been appropriate, but Perry couldn't really relate. Family, and the family name were so important to Pansy; "Parkinson" was her very identity. It was a pureblood value really, one that the Derricks held as well, but not nearly to the same extent as most other families. More important than one's ancestry was their identity as an individual. Self-preservation, resourcefulness, and independence-those were the Derrick characteristics. Perry had certainly felt close to his family, but he couldn't be too surprised when they left him. It was typical Derrick behavior.
Funny that such a person would want to start a family of his own. But then... Perry had no legacy he felt it necessary to live up to. He lifted one hand and traced the fading characters with his fingers. He would be all too happy to forget the Derricks; but he supposed he could understand that Pansy wasn't so apathetic.
"Why worry about it? It's just your signature that's changing." She was still a Parkinson... however much he'd like to forget that, too.
And no, he really couldn't imagine himself down on one knee. Though he could imagine the look on Pansy's face if he did it (and no, she wasn't laughing). It wasn't such a bad picture....
He said nothing in the sudden transition of their conversation... not right away, at least. Hah, she admitted it! But, "being difficult," was that ever the understatement of the century. He was just about to tell her what he thought of her "difficult" behavior when she shoved him-and really, this never did much as Perry was much bigger, but he was polite enough to pretend.
"Of course you weren't." Cue none-too-convincing grin. "In fact we've never had such a quiet, completely mellow conversation!"
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That correction was probably all that would save Perry from a heart-attack but hey, it was something else that needed to be discussed, right?
His fingers tracing over the letters on her arm made her shiver and she took his hand with her free one, so they were sat there, close but not touching, hands held between them and marriage on their lips. It seemed so incongruous, but at the same time it would somehow be worse to touch further now that she’d had that thought- almost as though it were necessary rather than wanted.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just- probably, I don’t even count as a Parkinson anymore. And if we got married, I wouldn’t even be called Parkinson…” She cracked a grin. “Plus it is pretty fucking ugly. And it’s served its purpose.”
Had they ever had a completely mellow conversation? Even the first time they had met, the talk had been in many ways difficult and full of complex innuendo. Really, whenever they spoke there were levels of meaning to be deconstructed - their relationship was successful in that they were just getting better and better at seeing through the surface levels. And at allowing those surfaces to be transparent.
“Well, we’re both of us from good stock. Maybe we’ll be like good quality whiskey and mellow with age?”
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They'd talk about it later, perhaps. Right now he placed his hand on the mattress behind her and leaned closer, grinning. "Well sure, blow off my endearing attempt to make you feel better."
So was that why they were able to go from so violently opposed to quiet and close and perfectly at peace, just like this? This was the sort of interaction he'd never stuck around for as a teenager. He'd never cared to get past those surface levels; girls were good for sex and a few laughs. He didn't care to understand their quirks and emotions and inner psyche-he didn't even care to argue with them (and it sounded strange that a person should care to argue with anyone). The first sign of anything remotely annoying or uncomfortable, and Perry was ready to move on.
He'd stuck with Pansy for so long that even her most annoying traits seemed justifiable, because they were hers, and that made them his as well. In a very twisted way that he didn't understand or care to understand.
"Heh...." His grin was slow and for once, amiable. "I like that analogy." Their clothing rustled together in a muted and satisfying way as he pressed closer and dropped his lips close to her skin... and stopped short.
"So if I were to ask you properly." His voice wasn't much above a whisper. "What sort of answer could I expect? ...Out of curiosity, of course."
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… God, but they’d have beautiful children.
Except Perry clearly didn’t want to talk about that right now. He had sidestepped the issue twice and with his body leaning into hers so that their clothes were nothing but several millimeters of annoyance, and the yelling receding into that old memory vault in the depths of Pansy’s mind, she told herself it didn’t matter. An argument for another day, to be warred over, torn apart, hidden away and forgotten. It didn’t matter now, when Perry was wearing a sweet grin of his own, and speaking softly inches away from her skin so that the air of his voice caressed its surface-
Pansy’s eyes drifted shut for a few seconds and stayed shut as she truly understood how much she loved this man. He was imperfect, flawed and scarred and closed off and impossible - and yet he was perfect and beautiful and open and right here and now, and after all the uncertainty and the fights for them just to continue along the same path. Here they were.
She opened her eyes and tilted her head, just looking at him even though he was so close he was completely out of focus. And then she smiled slowly and said, equally quiet, “I really don’t know. I suppose you’ll just have to ask me properly and find out.”
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Not so very different from what they'd been doing... and yet Perry would never ask a more important question than this.
His mouth suddenly curved into a faint grin, as if sharing a joke between them. He was never very good at hiding anxiety, not from Pansy, anyway. A part of him wanted to think that this was too soon, too much for the both of them. But looking into a face he knew so well, having stared into her eyes like this before and kissed every inch of skin, knowing every curve and angle of her body and a great deal of her mind, from her silliest pet peeves to even the best concealed weaknesses, he really didn't care to ever know a person as well as he did her.
"Will you marry me?"
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Things he’d leave her for?
Of course it was ridiculous. Of course he loved her, and he knew her better than anyone - but how well could one person know another? Pansy was reverting back to her old fears. At this pinnacle moment of the emotional express that was their relationship, everything was going too well and too perfectly for there not to be a catch. She loved him too much; she relied on him too much. This was all going to crack because that was how it always went, right? Love was always fucked up, in the end.
He asked her the question (The Question) and Pansy leant forward and hid her face against the side of his throat without responding. His pulse was drumming against her cheek, his heartbeat correcting hers like the deep base of a crowded nightclub against her chest. It seemed stupid but it was so steady and sure and certain. It was footsteps into the future; it was drum beats to a marching band. It was one small insignificant thing happening a billion times all over the world every minute and it was everything, as Perry was everything and he was here in her arms. And for all that Pansy had the reputation for being a spoilt Slytherin princess, still, how many times had she really been offered what she wanted?
And she did want this, and he was here and the thought- the it- it was in the air around them, dissipating. Fears were fears but this…?
Pansy smiled to herself, and then leant back again - not too far, just enough so that she could tilt her head and kiss him softly once… and then again. Her voice was very quiet as she said, “Yes, of course I will, Perry.”
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This girl, apparently. Perry still wanted to ask her every now and then why she wanted him, but he was fairly certain she'd just start yelling. He'd done everything he could to push her away and be satisfied with his "lone wolf" fate, because if anything, the last thing his life needed was an emotional attachment. A chance to be manipulated and dropped flat, left alone without a second thought.
But for a few seconds his heart stopped, because here she was saying yes, and they were promising to never do that to each other. And dammit, he could stand a few fights here and there if she could. He leaned back as well and stared. He almost wanted to ask, Are you sure? Maybe I should outline just what you're getting into.... and he couldn't believe her smile, but it was slowly igniting a matching grin of his own. He laughed silently with relief. "Well, you could've said that in the first place." He kissed her again, then her cheek and neck as the other arm joined the first.
"Good." All the fear was gone... and quickly being replaced by a whole new wave of scariness. But it was both overwhelming and exciting at the same time.
"A werewolf and an ex-convict. The papers are going to have a field day with us, you know." He was still holding her tightly and grinning into her hair. "I hope you're prepared."
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