Dancing in the moonlight and rain
So, this is the one of the first actual things I wrote for Jacob/Claire. Heh, darlings I say. I want a Claire.
So, this says they're like...19 according to the timeline? But in my head, it's more like...22-25 range of things. Something like that. I'll go back and fix it later.
He had read once that the root of all evil is boredom.
He didn’t believe it, honestly. Boredom was only responsible for half the ills. The other half could be attributed to women. At the heart of every conflict, there was likely a woman involved.
A pretty face could make a man do anything.
Precisely why he is here, outside the park after hours in the dark and cold, picking futilely at the lock.
The things that one would do in the name of love.
The pin slips out of his hand abruptly. “Damn it. Stupid thing.”
He gropes about in the dark before he finds it and resumes his assault on the lock. He’d never understand why they insisted on having a gate and lock around a public park- there never was a fence when he was younger. It just seemed rather contradictory and silly and irritating.
He reins in his frustration and focuses on exploring the interior. It has been a long time since he had picked a lock. At the least, it is not raining. He turns the tumblers carefully, finding the sheer lines. There- the lock slips off easily and he smiles.
Hopefully, no one would see them.
“Time to get going.” He hangs the lock loosely, so no curious guard will wonder where the lock had gone. If there were any guards for that matter; it never hurt to be cautious. He tosses the pin aside and remembers to deliver his errand; it would do no good to leave it here. He bends down to lift it up and grunts with effort- it is heavier than he expected. He glances about and finds himself alone, and gauges the distance to the bridge. He begins to drag his burden along with him in an awkward shuffle- the cloth makes a rasping noise against the stones. He stops periodically and checks carefully to ensure that there is nothing to indicate its passage. It would do him no good if someone found it this early.
He comes to the bridge, and looks at the river beneath him. The surface is placid and black. It is dark enough so that one shouldn’t see the bottom, but he is still uneasy. At best, it would stay hidden for several days before the gas buildup would cause it to surface. The other option would be to leave it here to be immediately found. .
So much for a choice.
He lifts it up and edges it roughly onto the balcony; the cloth catches and snags several times in the process. Carefully, he tucks loose stones into the cloth and then unceremoniously pushes it over. There is a splash and he leans over to watch.
The body is facedown, and there is a cloud of gold around the head. The blood had congealed and cooled already, but there would be traces of it. With any luck, no one would bother to look under the bridge till the body floated up. Slowly and inexorably, she sinks past the surface.
Her name was Amber- she was a lively girl whose laugh hurt his ears and liked her drink too much. She was returning alone from a party and he had stumbled by her, by purest accident and misfortune. There hadn’t been an insistent need to kill her, but he wasn’t willing to take a risk, though. Not tonight, even if it was unlikely that anything would happen. It never did, near her; he never would understand why.
His task complete, he sets down the road, a jaunt in his step. The sodium yellow of the street lamps light the street and he begins to number them off.
It is a good night to be alive.
He counts the fourth lamppost and turns left on the street to the house. He clambers up to the porch and hopes he isn’t too late He checks under the doormat for the key, and finds it is not there. “Why can’t you leave it in one place?”
The door swings open suddenly and a warm glow floods out. “It’d be too easy then, and you need to do something to exercise that brain of yours.”
“As if I don’t have enough already.” He climbs to his feet and dusts himself off. “You cruel, cruel person.”
“Really now? I think I’m allowed to be,” She tilts her head and regards him. “You’re two days late.”
“I am that. Sorry, by the by.” He grimaces and hopes the preparations wouldn’t backfire. “I was held up by some things and business.”
“I can see that. You’ve been gone for a while now.” The statement is flat and level.
“It was only a week days.” He studies her face carefully- it is impassive and calm. The welcome was less warm than he was expecting. “Did you eat already?”
“Yes.” She does not move from the doorway.
“You managed to actually cook something by yourself?” Something is wrong. Fear twinges, and he wonders if she had found out the truth. “I wasn’t aware you could without killing something.”
“Well,” She shrugs and gives him a blank stare. “I’ve got to practice being independent.”
I didn’t know if you were coming back.
Ah. It was ironic that he was so late in getting back because he was trying to plan out this night for her sake. And he was late today, of all days. He could only guess that she was furious. That would never do.
“I’m sorry I write to tell you sooner.” He chooses his words carefully. “It’s just that. I got caught up in planning something for today and it didn’t go through and so I tried to go and find something else but…I’m here, standing on your doorstep, with nothing to present other than a long apology and my heart to you. Again.”
He shrugs helplessly and hopes desperately. Maybe it isn’t such a good night to be alive.
She gives a small smile and pulls him into a hug. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know.” He holds her close and runs his hands through her hair. She smells of honey mixed with lavender. “I really am so sorry for not getting to you in time.”
“I really meant it when I called you an idiot. I’m still angry with you.”
“And I meant every word I said just a moment ago. You’re wearing your hair down, I noticed.”
“Of course I am.” She tilts her head and studies his face. “You always keep on saying how you like it better down.”
“You just look much too severe with your hair up.” He kisses her forehead and wonders if his plans will make it up to her. She was hard to judge, at times. “Too business-like and formal.”
“It doesn’t get in the way then when I’m working.”
“You’re not working now, are you?”
“It gets messy and in the way when it’s down.” She shakes her head and ruffles his hair. “You try growing your hair out and seeing how easy it is.”
“You’d make me cut it just as fast, though, wouldn’t you?”
“Possibly,” She pulls out of his arms. “You don’t look good with long hair.”
“That’s a good point too.” He twines his hand into hers and gives her a gentle squeeze. “Do you trust me?”
She does not answer for a time. “I trust you enough, mostly.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a strip of dark cloth. “Enough to let me blindfold you?”
“What’s this all about?” She asks cautiously.
“It’s a surprise.” He gives her a quick grin. He did need her to put it on. “And you can’t see it before it starts, because that’d ruin the surprise.”
She turns around without a word. He winces and hopes that the surprise will make it up to her. He deftly wraps the cloth around her eyes and secures it. He remembers another time he has done this, with another girl.
She hands him a ribbon over her back. “Do you mind also tying my hair up?”
He does as asked. “Ready?”
“Well, if you don’t mind, you might want to lock up before we go.” She turns around and raises her hand blindly in front of her. “I’d rather not come back to find everything gone.”
“It’d do me some good to know where you moved the key, though.” He takes her outstretched hand and glances about the porch. “Or do I get to guess as to where it is?”
“You’re a smart person.” She smiles slightly and does not move. “You’ve known me for how long?”
“Ten years now? No, wait,” He quickly counts up the years and pauses. “Fourteen years...”
“You make it sound like such a bad thing when you say it like that.”
“It’s just that it’s such a long time, you know.”
“Long enough that you should remember where I like to hide things. Go on, now. Use that brain of yours.” She gives him a shove and shakes her head.
“Makes me wonder how I put up with all of your antics for that long,” He walks across the wooden planks, and searches his memory. When they were younger, she would steal his things and hide them away, always tucked away in the same place: the flowerpot. He bends down and lifts it up; there was the key. He should’ve known.
“It’s because you love me.” She walks up hesitantly behind him and brushes his back. “Though, you’re one to talk.”
“True, true.” He locks the door and returns it to its hiding place beneath the pot. “Did you want to turn the lights off?”
“No, it’s fine.” She looks in his direction and cocks her head to the side. “How do you warrant I get down the stairs without breaking my neck?”
“That’s a good question.” He hadn’t considered this problem. “I’ll carry you down, I guess. You’re not wearing a dress this time.”
“M’kay.” He walks to her side, and she places her arms around his neck. He bends down and lifts her off the ground and makes his way down the stairs. His footsteps echo dully against the wood, and in the distance, there is the sound of thunder.
He reaches the last step and puts her down. “There we go.”
“So how far away is this surprise?” She links her arm through his and looks about unseeing. “It’s hard to see much of anything under here.”
“That’s the idea,” He leads her slowly out onto the street, and they begin to walk down the empty road. There is no one to be seen, and the only noise is their footsteps. “So I can lure you out of your house, and then murder you in a dark alley somewhere and dump your body in the river.”
“Well, you’re an awfully bad murderer and seducer, for that matter.” She smiles at him and nudges him slightly. She does not know the truth of his statement. “I feel like I should know where we’re going.”
:”Of course you shouldn’t.” They pass the fourth lamp and turn left to approach the park. He wonders how well she can see under the cloth. They come to the gate and pause in front of it. “Hold on for a moment.”
“Leaving me again, blinded this time?”
He shakes his head and kisses her cheek. “Of course not. Just need to open something.”
She releases his arm and he glances around to make sure that there is no one to see them. He walks up to the entry and slips the lock off, tucking it away in his pocket. He will have to remember to put it back when they are done. He returns to her and takes her hand, “Are your eyes closed?”
“I can’t see anything from under here, so don’t worry.” She follows slowly and carefully, as to watch her step. He pushes the gates, and they swing open silently- he had oiled the hinges yesterday.
Overhead in the mackerel sky, moonlight filters through and dapples the park in sequins of silver and white.
The path is dark and unlit, but he remembers its twists and turns. At the center of the park is their destination. Why there was such an elaborate fountain built as a dedication, in a city that never saw the sun, he could not guess. He could only hope that they were still early and hadn’t missed it.
“Where on earth are we?” She looks around in confusion, but does not remove the blindfold. Somewhere close, a bird warbles. “Can I take off this blindfold yet?”
“No,” He can see the tip of the statue against the sky, and knows they are near. “We’re almost there. You’ll know when to take off your blindfold, though.”
“M’kay.”
Beneath their feet is cold marble, and in front of them is a circular depression and at its center, a dark sculpture. This place and fountain was built by the city as a dedication to some figure in the distant past. He never learned the name of whoever the monument was dedicated to, but he was thankful for its existence.
“There are a couple of steps ahead, mind you.” In the distance, he hears the clock tower chime- they’re right on time. He remembers this statue, and this place. Here, he had spent many days of his childhood- this place was the advent of many things.
“Well,” She pauses and turns toward him. “I can’t take off this blindfold, can I?”
“I suppose not.” He smiles ruefully and bends down to lift her up. “I’m sure getting my exercise.”
“I’m shocked,” She cranes her neck to turn her face towards him. “Are you suggesting that I’m fat?”
“Of course not,” He makes his way past the stairs and sets her down on the marble. Set in the ground in a haphazard manner are metal circles, save for around the statue. “I’m just weak and useless.”
“Why on earth did I choose such a weakling like you?” She shakes her head
“Because of my dreamy and rugged good looks.”
She laughs and leans into him and touches the blindfold. “Honestly, how much longer do I have to leave it on?”
“Just a little longer now,” His voice is soft and he holds her close. “A little longer.”
They stand silent and tense in the moonlight.
Then, softly, there is a bubbling noise. It is barely perceptible, but soon there is a distinct surging.
The water abruptly shoots out of the ground in curtains.
She shrieks in surprise, and he laughs, and she yells his name and he slips the blindfold off her face and kisses her, full and passionate on the lips. He holds her close, amid the water and moonlight. They are drenched in the spray and he can feel his and her clothes plastered against them like a second skin.
The curtains fall back to the ground and they break contact. She breaks into a smile and pushes him gently away. “So, was this your big surprise for the evening? Getting drenched?’
“Not just that.” He shakes his head and his hair clings to his face. “This is where we first met, as children. We were six and you were a brat and made me chase you around…”
“Me?” She leans in close and gives him a shove. “You were the one who was always looking so down all the time.”
“Liar.” He takes her hands in his and spins her around. Another sheet of water shoots up and for a moment, they are suspended against a curtain of liquid silver. Then the curtain falls and they are left wet and sodden.
“So,” Her gaze is serious as she studies his face. “Was this why you were late in getting back?”
“It took me a while to figure everything out.” He brushes the loose strands of hair out of her face. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for being late?”
“Maybe.” She falls silent.
He abruptly leans in close to the nape of her neck and whispers, “Happy anniversary.”
She stiffens in his arms. She asks in a quiet voice, “You remembered?”
“I’ll always remember.”
Her face is wet and warm, and he cannot tell if what is running down her face are tears or just the water.
“You’re an idiot.”
So, this says they're like...19 according to the timeline? But in my head, it's more like...22-25 range of things. Something like that. I'll go back and fix it later.
He had read once that the root of all evil is boredom.
He didn’t believe it, honestly. Boredom was only responsible for half the ills. The other half could be attributed to women. At the heart of every conflict, there was likely a woman involved.
A pretty face could make a man do anything.
Precisely why he is here, outside the park after hours in the dark and cold, picking futilely at the lock.
The things that one would do in the name of love.
The pin slips out of his hand abruptly. “Damn it. Stupid thing.”
He gropes about in the dark before he finds it and resumes his assault on the lock. He’d never understand why they insisted on having a gate and lock around a public park- there never was a fence when he was younger. It just seemed rather contradictory and silly and irritating.
He reins in his frustration and focuses on exploring the interior. It has been a long time since he had picked a lock. At the least, it is not raining. He turns the tumblers carefully, finding the sheer lines. There- the lock slips off easily and he smiles.
Hopefully, no one would see them.
“Time to get going.” He hangs the lock loosely, so no curious guard will wonder where the lock had gone. If there were any guards for that matter; it never hurt to be cautious. He tosses the pin aside and remembers to deliver his errand; it would do no good to leave it here. He bends down to lift it up and grunts with effort- it is heavier than he expected. He glances about and finds himself alone, and gauges the distance to the bridge. He begins to drag his burden along with him in an awkward shuffle- the cloth makes a rasping noise against the stones. He stops periodically and checks carefully to ensure that there is nothing to indicate its passage. It would do him no good if someone found it this early.
He comes to the bridge, and looks at the river beneath him. The surface is placid and black. It is dark enough so that one shouldn’t see the bottom, but he is still uneasy. At best, it would stay hidden for several days before the gas buildup would cause it to surface. The other option would be to leave it here to be immediately found. .
So much for a choice.
He lifts it up and edges it roughly onto the balcony; the cloth catches and snags several times in the process. Carefully, he tucks loose stones into the cloth and then unceremoniously pushes it over. There is a splash and he leans over to watch.
The body is facedown, and there is a cloud of gold around the head. The blood had congealed and cooled already, but there would be traces of it. With any luck, no one would bother to look under the bridge till the body floated up. Slowly and inexorably, she sinks past the surface.
Her name was Amber- she was a lively girl whose laugh hurt his ears and liked her drink too much. She was returning alone from a party and he had stumbled by her, by purest accident and misfortune. There hadn’t been an insistent need to kill her, but he wasn’t willing to take a risk, though. Not tonight, even if it was unlikely that anything would happen. It never did, near her; he never would understand why.
His task complete, he sets down the road, a jaunt in his step. The sodium yellow of the street lamps light the street and he begins to number them off.
It is a good night to be alive.
He counts the fourth lamppost and turns left on the street to the house. He clambers up to the porch and hopes he isn’t too late He checks under the doormat for the key, and finds it is not there. “Why can’t you leave it in one place?”
The door swings open suddenly and a warm glow floods out. “It’d be too easy then, and you need to do something to exercise that brain of yours.”
“As if I don’t have enough already.” He climbs to his feet and dusts himself off. “You cruel, cruel person.”
“Really now? I think I’m allowed to be,” She tilts her head and regards him. “You’re two days late.”
“I am that. Sorry, by the by.” He grimaces and hopes the preparations wouldn’t backfire. “I was held up by some things and business.”
“I can see that. You’ve been gone for a while now.” The statement is flat and level.
“It was only a week days.” He studies her face carefully- it is impassive and calm. The welcome was less warm than he was expecting. “Did you eat already?”
“Yes.” She does not move from the doorway.
“You managed to actually cook something by yourself?” Something is wrong. Fear twinges, and he wonders if she had found out the truth. “I wasn’t aware you could without killing something.”
“Well,” She shrugs and gives him a blank stare. “I’ve got to practice being independent.”
I didn’t know if you were coming back.
Ah. It was ironic that he was so late in getting back because he was trying to plan out this night for her sake. And he was late today, of all days. He could only guess that she was furious. That would never do.
“I’m sorry I write to tell you sooner.” He chooses his words carefully. “It’s just that. I got caught up in planning something for today and it didn’t go through and so I tried to go and find something else but…I’m here, standing on your doorstep, with nothing to present other than a long apology and my heart to you. Again.”
He shrugs helplessly and hopes desperately. Maybe it isn’t such a good night to be alive.
She gives a small smile and pulls him into a hug. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know.” He holds her close and runs his hands through her hair. She smells of honey mixed with lavender. “I really am so sorry for not getting to you in time.”
“I really meant it when I called you an idiot. I’m still angry with you.”
“And I meant every word I said just a moment ago. You’re wearing your hair down, I noticed.”
“Of course I am.” She tilts her head and studies his face. “You always keep on saying how you like it better down.”
“You just look much too severe with your hair up.” He kisses her forehead and wonders if his plans will make it up to her. She was hard to judge, at times. “Too business-like and formal.”
“It doesn’t get in the way then when I’m working.”
“You’re not working now, are you?”
“It gets messy and in the way when it’s down.” She shakes her head and ruffles his hair. “You try growing your hair out and seeing how easy it is.”
“You’d make me cut it just as fast, though, wouldn’t you?”
“Possibly,” She pulls out of his arms. “You don’t look good with long hair.”
“That’s a good point too.” He twines his hand into hers and gives her a gentle squeeze. “Do you trust me?”
She does not answer for a time. “I trust you enough, mostly.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a strip of dark cloth. “Enough to let me blindfold you?”
“What’s this all about?” She asks cautiously.
“It’s a surprise.” He gives her a quick grin. He did need her to put it on. “And you can’t see it before it starts, because that’d ruin the surprise.”
She turns around without a word. He winces and hopes that the surprise will make it up to her. He deftly wraps the cloth around her eyes and secures it. He remembers another time he has done this, with another girl.
She hands him a ribbon over her back. “Do you mind also tying my hair up?”
He does as asked. “Ready?”
“Well, if you don’t mind, you might want to lock up before we go.” She turns around and raises her hand blindly in front of her. “I’d rather not come back to find everything gone.”
“It’d do me some good to know where you moved the key, though.” He takes her outstretched hand and glances about the porch. “Or do I get to guess as to where it is?”
“You’re a smart person.” She smiles slightly and does not move. “You’ve known me for how long?”
“Ten years now? No, wait,” He quickly counts up the years and pauses. “Fourteen years...”
“You make it sound like such a bad thing when you say it like that.”
“It’s just that it’s such a long time, you know.”
“Long enough that you should remember where I like to hide things. Go on, now. Use that brain of yours.” She gives him a shove and shakes her head.
“Makes me wonder how I put up with all of your antics for that long,” He walks across the wooden planks, and searches his memory. When they were younger, she would steal his things and hide them away, always tucked away in the same place: the flowerpot. He bends down and lifts it up; there was the key. He should’ve known.
“It’s because you love me.” She walks up hesitantly behind him and brushes his back. “Though, you’re one to talk.”
“True, true.” He locks the door and returns it to its hiding place beneath the pot. “Did you want to turn the lights off?”
“No, it’s fine.” She looks in his direction and cocks her head to the side. “How do you warrant I get down the stairs without breaking my neck?”
“That’s a good question.” He hadn’t considered this problem. “I’ll carry you down, I guess. You’re not wearing a dress this time.”
“M’kay.” He walks to her side, and she places her arms around his neck. He bends down and lifts her off the ground and makes his way down the stairs. His footsteps echo dully against the wood, and in the distance, there is the sound of thunder.
He reaches the last step and puts her down. “There we go.”
“So how far away is this surprise?” She links her arm through his and looks about unseeing. “It’s hard to see much of anything under here.”
“That’s the idea,” He leads her slowly out onto the street, and they begin to walk down the empty road. There is no one to be seen, and the only noise is their footsteps. “So I can lure you out of your house, and then murder you in a dark alley somewhere and dump your body in the river.”
“Well, you’re an awfully bad murderer and seducer, for that matter.” She smiles at him and nudges him slightly. She does not know the truth of his statement. “I feel like I should know where we’re going.”
:”Of course you shouldn’t.” They pass the fourth lamp and turn left to approach the park. He wonders how well she can see under the cloth. They come to the gate and pause in front of it. “Hold on for a moment.”
“Leaving me again, blinded this time?”
He shakes his head and kisses her cheek. “Of course not. Just need to open something.”
She releases his arm and he glances around to make sure that there is no one to see them. He walks up to the entry and slips the lock off, tucking it away in his pocket. He will have to remember to put it back when they are done. He returns to her and takes her hand, “Are your eyes closed?”
“I can’t see anything from under here, so don’t worry.” She follows slowly and carefully, as to watch her step. He pushes the gates, and they swing open silently- he had oiled the hinges yesterday.
Overhead in the mackerel sky, moonlight filters through and dapples the park in sequins of silver and white.
The path is dark and unlit, but he remembers its twists and turns. At the center of the park is their destination. Why there was such an elaborate fountain built as a dedication, in a city that never saw the sun, he could not guess. He could only hope that they were still early and hadn’t missed it.
“Where on earth are we?” She looks around in confusion, but does not remove the blindfold. Somewhere close, a bird warbles. “Can I take off this blindfold yet?”
“No,” He can see the tip of the statue against the sky, and knows they are near. “We’re almost there. You’ll know when to take off your blindfold, though.”
“M’kay.”
Beneath their feet is cold marble, and in front of them is a circular depression and at its center, a dark sculpture. This place and fountain was built by the city as a dedication to some figure in the distant past. He never learned the name of whoever the monument was dedicated to, but he was thankful for its existence.
“There are a couple of steps ahead, mind you.” In the distance, he hears the clock tower chime- they’re right on time. He remembers this statue, and this place. Here, he had spent many days of his childhood- this place was the advent of many things.
“Well,” She pauses and turns toward him. “I can’t take off this blindfold, can I?”
“I suppose not.” He smiles ruefully and bends down to lift her up. “I’m sure getting my exercise.”
“I’m shocked,” She cranes her neck to turn her face towards him. “Are you suggesting that I’m fat?”
“Of course not,” He makes his way past the stairs and sets her down on the marble. Set in the ground in a haphazard manner are metal circles, save for around the statue. “I’m just weak and useless.”
“Why on earth did I choose such a weakling like you?” She shakes her head
“Because of my dreamy and rugged good looks.”
She laughs and leans into him and touches the blindfold. “Honestly, how much longer do I have to leave it on?”
“Just a little longer now,” His voice is soft and he holds her close. “A little longer.”
They stand silent and tense in the moonlight.
Then, softly, there is a bubbling noise. It is barely perceptible, but soon there is a distinct surging.
The water abruptly shoots out of the ground in curtains.
She shrieks in surprise, and he laughs, and she yells his name and he slips the blindfold off her face and kisses her, full and passionate on the lips. He holds her close, amid the water and moonlight. They are drenched in the spray and he can feel his and her clothes plastered against them like a second skin.
The curtains fall back to the ground and they break contact. She breaks into a smile and pushes him gently away. “So, was this your big surprise for the evening? Getting drenched?’
“Not just that.” He shakes his head and his hair clings to his face. “This is where we first met, as children. We were six and you were a brat and made me chase you around…”
“Me?” She leans in close and gives him a shove. “You were the one who was always looking so down all the time.”
“Liar.” He takes her hands in his and spins her around. Another sheet of water shoots up and for a moment, they are suspended against a curtain of liquid silver. Then the curtain falls and they are left wet and sodden.
“So,” Her gaze is serious as she studies his face. “Was this why you were late in getting back?”
“It took me a while to figure everything out.” He brushes the loose strands of hair out of her face. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for being late?”
“Maybe.” She falls silent.
He abruptly leans in close to the nape of her neck and whispers, “Happy anniversary.”
She stiffens in his arms. She asks in a quiet voice, “You remembered?”
“I’ll always remember.”
Her face is wet and warm, and he cannot tell if what is running down her face are tears or just the water.
“You’re an idiot.”