FICLETS! Holiday: Day Twenty-Seven
For nolivingman
Luna
Luna watches Ollivander as they sit in the darkened dungeon. Occasionally the man with the silver hand comes down and makes sure they have food, as he doesn’t seem to trust the house elf. The food is too rich for her, leftovers from the Malfoy table, even though their own fortunes seem to be turning, but she eats small bites and is careful to feed the older man, to make sure he swallows.
After a few weeks of their capture, she asks the man with the silver hand for a piece of wood. He stares at her for a long time and then at Ollivander before he turns and leaves the room. She stares after him, and she knows it makes him nervous, but she’s found that if she’s terribly straightforward about what she wants, then people seem to have a tendency to see things her way, or to give in to keep her from staring at them any longer. Either way, it seems to work out quite well for her.
He comes back with a piece of gnarled wood and Luna feels it with her hands. It’s old and the needle like leaves still cling to the bark. She lets her fingers run over it carefully, stroking it as if it were still part of the tree, still a living thing. It feels right and so she carries it over to Ollivander and sits beside him, reaching for his hand and opening it, placing the wood against his palm.
He breathes sharply, a sudden ragged breath that seems stolen from his lungs. Tears fill his eyes and his hand tightens and he nods. Luna watches for a moment and then rises to her feet, leaving him alone. She smiles to herself as she goes to look at the dish that contains their dinner, something that smells like roast vegetables and gravy thick with meat. She will leave him with the wood for a while longer, let him craft a wand in his mind.
Let it become a symbol of hope to them both.
For jjtaylor
House/Cuddy
There are five stages of grief. Lisa Cuddy is well acquainted with all five, a few on a very intimate level. Everyone likes to imply that it’s her own fault for hiring House, that he, all by himself, is enough grief for anyone to handle, but she knows that at least half of their vitriol comes from pure jealousy that they don’t have House and that she’s got more balls than all of them put together because she was willing to take the risk.
She’s careful to stay away from depression, and really House keeps her from that. He keeps her on her toes, challenging him all the time, even if she eventually loses. And bargaining only ends with her agreeing to his demands. Denial and anger and acceptance are much more familiar, much more common. She’s not sure that plausible deniability works for the theoretical model, but it works for her, and for him. He doesn’t tell her things because he likes to pretend it will all fall back on him.
He’s wrong, but it’s sweet nonetheless. Sometimes. Other times it’s barbed comments about who runs her hospital. Never mind the work that everyone else does. House is the only topic of conversation everyone feels like discussing.
House walks into her office like he owns it, and given the amount of time he spends in there, he probably should have communal property rights. He angles himself on her desk, his leg brushing hers as he swings it. She looks up at him, knowing eyes to meet his knowing smile. She reaches out and brushes her hand over his leg, feeling the tenseness in him, the lack of reaction. She knows how hard to press before it hurts, knows where the point is when he feels a burst of pleasure before the pain.
“What do I have to pretend I don’t know today?”
He shakes his head and catches her chin with his hand, raising it and smiling at her. Still knowing. He knows too goddamn much. “Nothing.”
She shakes her head, not slipping free of his light touch. “Liar.”
For lokei
Lancelot
He charges into the battle for many reasons. He is already fighting one that is not his own, a war for Britain and for Arthur and for the Woads he was sent here to kill. He’s fighting for all the wrong people for all the wrong reasons when all he wants is his freedom.
He fights this battle because this girl will be Arthur’s savior in the aftermath, making him cling to whatever false hope it is she provides. He dives off his horse and into the fray because Arthur needs something to believe in and he believes in this girl and the lies she tells him. If Arthur lives - and perhaps Lancelot needs lies as well, for he needs to believe that Arthur will live - he will need more than Lancelot can provide. He has learned that lesson well over the past few days and nights, in the lonely northern snow and the walls of the fort, far colder than the nights spent with his back against a tree watching the lies begin.
He also wants to see her face. See her when she realizes it is him that has stolen this battle from her. He wants her to see that it will be him that dies - he does not needs lies that much, he has no need to lie about this - for her cause, for her freedom. He wants her to see what he is giving her as clearly as if he had presented it to her wrapped in furs or shining silver. He wants her to know what he sacrifices in her name. Arthur tells them their names will go down in legend. Lancelot only cares that it is her that remembers.
He charges into this battle because it is his to fight and his to win. It is his victory in the final moments. And it is his freedom, because he now knows that the only true freedom he’ll ever find will be in death.
Luna
Luna watches Ollivander as they sit in the darkened dungeon. Occasionally the man with the silver hand comes down and makes sure they have food, as he doesn’t seem to trust the house elf. The food is too rich for her, leftovers from the Malfoy table, even though their own fortunes seem to be turning, but she eats small bites and is careful to feed the older man, to make sure he swallows.
After a few weeks of their capture, she asks the man with the silver hand for a piece of wood. He stares at her for a long time and then at Ollivander before he turns and leaves the room. She stares after him, and she knows it makes him nervous, but she’s found that if she’s terribly straightforward about what she wants, then people seem to have a tendency to see things her way, or to give in to keep her from staring at them any longer. Either way, it seems to work out quite well for her.
He comes back with a piece of gnarled wood and Luna feels it with her hands. It’s old and the needle like leaves still cling to the bark. She lets her fingers run over it carefully, stroking it as if it were still part of the tree, still a living thing. It feels right and so she carries it over to Ollivander and sits beside him, reaching for his hand and opening it, placing the wood against his palm.
He breathes sharply, a sudden ragged breath that seems stolen from his lungs. Tears fill his eyes and his hand tightens and he nods. Luna watches for a moment and then rises to her feet, leaving him alone. She smiles to herself as she goes to look at the dish that contains their dinner, something that smells like roast vegetables and gravy thick with meat. She will leave him with the wood for a while longer, let him craft a wand in his mind.
Let it become a symbol of hope to them both.
For jjtaylor
House/Cuddy
There are five stages of grief. Lisa Cuddy is well acquainted with all five, a few on a very intimate level. Everyone likes to imply that it’s her own fault for hiring House, that he, all by himself, is enough grief for anyone to handle, but she knows that at least half of their vitriol comes from pure jealousy that they don’t have House and that she’s got more balls than all of them put together because she was willing to take the risk.
She’s careful to stay away from depression, and really House keeps her from that. He keeps her on her toes, challenging him all the time, even if she eventually loses. And bargaining only ends with her agreeing to his demands. Denial and anger and acceptance are much more familiar, much more common. She’s not sure that plausible deniability works for the theoretical model, but it works for her, and for him. He doesn’t tell her things because he likes to pretend it will all fall back on him.
He’s wrong, but it’s sweet nonetheless. Sometimes. Other times it’s barbed comments about who runs her hospital. Never mind the work that everyone else does. House is the only topic of conversation everyone feels like discussing.
House walks into her office like he owns it, and given the amount of time he spends in there, he probably should have communal property rights. He angles himself on her desk, his leg brushing hers as he swings it. She looks up at him, knowing eyes to meet his knowing smile. She reaches out and brushes her hand over his leg, feeling the tenseness in him, the lack of reaction. She knows how hard to press before it hurts, knows where the point is when he feels a burst of pleasure before the pain.
“What do I have to pretend I don’t know today?”
He shakes his head and catches her chin with his hand, raising it and smiling at her. Still knowing. He knows too goddamn much. “Nothing.”
She shakes her head, not slipping free of his light touch. “Liar.”
For lokei
Lancelot
He charges into the battle for many reasons. He is already fighting one that is not his own, a war for Britain and for Arthur and for the Woads he was sent here to kill. He’s fighting for all the wrong people for all the wrong reasons when all he wants is his freedom.
He fights this battle because this girl will be Arthur’s savior in the aftermath, making him cling to whatever false hope it is she provides. He dives off his horse and into the fray because Arthur needs something to believe in and he believes in this girl and the lies she tells him. If Arthur lives - and perhaps Lancelot needs lies as well, for he needs to believe that Arthur will live - he will need more than Lancelot can provide. He has learned that lesson well over the past few days and nights, in the lonely northern snow and the walls of the fort, far colder than the nights spent with his back against a tree watching the lies begin.
He also wants to see her face. See her when she realizes it is him that has stolen this battle from her. He wants her to see that it will be him that dies - he does not needs lies that much, he has no need to lie about this - for her cause, for her freedom. He wants her to see what he is giving her as clearly as if he had presented it to her wrapped in furs or shining silver. He wants her to know what he sacrifices in her name. Arthur tells them their names will go down in legend. Lancelot only cares that it is her that remembers.
He charges into this battle because it is his to fight and his to win. It is his victory in the final moments. And it is his freedom, because he now knows that the only true freedom he’ll ever find will be in death.