#209: What are you afraid of?
"What are you afraid of?"
"Commitment, what else?"
"Don't give me that." She's sharp in her anger, like Lynette. "You're so goddamned flip."
"You're so goddamned serious. What exactly do you think I'm holding out on you?"
"I don't know! I don't ever know." In another woman, the tears would begin; but not this one. This one stares at him with eyes hot and dry, her mouth gone thin and hard. "All I know is what you tell me. Which is fuck all."
"So ask."
"I shouldn't have to! You don't give me straight answers anyway."
"The hell."
"The hell you do. You turn it around or you laugh me off or change the subject--"
"Maybe you don't want to know."
"Maybe that's my fucking decision! What, are you secretly an ax murderer? --Don't laugh at me!"
He sinks onto the couch, his smile fading. In the language of his childhood, he says, "Lady, I would not dare to laugh at thee."
She's caught off guard. "--What?"
"You heard me."
"What the hell is that, Swedish?"
"Icelandic," he says. These days he's reduced to half-truths.
"Since when do you speak Icelandic?"
"See? You have to know what questions to ask."
"Dammit, you're doing it again. Stop it."
"As my lady bids me."
"And don't do that either. It's only cute when I'm not pissed off at you."
He does laugh at that. "God. You're wonderful, you know that?"
"I mean it. Knock it off."
"Okay." He looks up at her: arms folded across her ribs, scowling under floppy bangs, young, furious, honest. "Make you a deal. I'll answer one question, no tricks, word of honor. All right? Go."
"Bastard," she says, but less angrily.
"Well, yes."
She's quiet for a moment, thinking. A wise one, this, as well as clever. She knows to be careful with bargains she doesn't understand; not to waste a wish. Finally she says, "I already asked you."
"Yeah?"
"What are you afraid of?"
He doesn't flinch. "Telling you everything."
Her shoulders sag in exasperation. "Why?"
"That's two."
"Dammit--"
"But I'm feeling generous. --Because, whether you believed me or not, I'd lose you. And I'm not okay with that."
A long silence. "You're not okay with that."
"No."
"Jesus." She sits down beside him. "You are such a jerk."
"I've heard that."
"Shut up," she says. "Just shut up." And puts her arms around him, her head on his shoulder, and holds firmly. He leans back, pulling her with him. They sit like that without speaking, until she falls asleep and he has to get up and half-carry her to bed.
Mordred
Arthurian legend
434 words
"Commitment, what else?"
"Don't give me that." She's sharp in her anger, like Lynette. "You're so goddamned flip."
"You're so goddamned serious. What exactly do you think I'm holding out on you?"
"I don't know! I don't ever know." In another woman, the tears would begin; but not this one. This one stares at him with eyes hot and dry, her mouth gone thin and hard. "All I know is what you tell me. Which is fuck all."
"So ask."
"I shouldn't have to! You don't give me straight answers anyway."
"The hell."
"The hell you do. You turn it around or you laugh me off or change the subject--"
"Maybe you don't want to know."
"Maybe that's my fucking decision! What, are you secretly an ax murderer? --Don't laugh at me!"
He sinks onto the couch, his smile fading. In the language of his childhood, he says, "Lady, I would not dare to laugh at thee."
She's caught off guard. "--What?"
"You heard me."
"What the hell is that, Swedish?"
"Icelandic," he says. These days he's reduced to half-truths.
"Since when do you speak Icelandic?"
"See? You have to know what questions to ask."
"Dammit, you're doing it again. Stop it."
"As my lady bids me."
"And don't do that either. It's only cute when I'm not pissed off at you."
He does laugh at that. "God. You're wonderful, you know that?"
"I mean it. Knock it off."
"Okay." He looks up at her: arms folded across her ribs, scowling under floppy bangs, young, furious, honest. "Make you a deal. I'll answer one question, no tricks, word of honor. All right? Go."
"Bastard," she says, but less angrily.
"Well, yes."
She's quiet for a moment, thinking. A wise one, this, as well as clever. She knows to be careful with bargains she doesn't understand; not to waste a wish. Finally she says, "I already asked you."
"Yeah?"
"What are you afraid of?"
He doesn't flinch. "Telling you everything."
Her shoulders sag in exasperation. "Why?"
"That's two."
"Dammit--"
"But I'm feeling generous. --Because, whether you believed me or not, I'd lose you. And I'm not okay with that."
A long silence. "You're not okay with that."
"No."
"Jesus." She sits down beside him. "You are such a jerk."
"I've heard that."
"Shut up," she says. "Just shut up." And puts her arms around him, her head on his shoulder, and holds firmly. He leans back, pulling her with him. They sit like that without speaking, until she falls asleep and he has to get up and half-carry her to bed.
Mordred
Arthurian legend
434 words