Some Halloween fun for Blondie_54
Title: Rocking Your Cares Away
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1421
Picture Prompt:
blondie_54, I hope you enjoy your bit of Halloween merriment! Thanks for participating and, as always, my thanks to nursesparky for her beta
It was dressed in a white moonbeam, the only piece of furniture in the room, the only piece of furniture in the entire house. For some reason, that filled him with dread. Why a rocking chair? Why here? Then, it slowly started rocking.
Napoleon sat straight up in bed and stared unseeing into the dark. There was a soft rustling of bedclothes beside him and a softly asked, “Trouble?”
“No, just a bad dream.” Napoleon wouldn’t have admitted that under torture to anyone but his partner. They’d always had each other’s back.
“I’ve had a few of those now and again.” There was the sound of movement. “It’s still early. You should try to get back to sleep.” There was a pause, as if Illya was expecting something that didn’t come.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He had hoped that having his partner beside him would have afforded him a respite from the nightmare, but it didn’t. The minute he shut his eyes, there was that damned rocking chair, moving slowly as if with a mind of its own.
Illya greeted him with, “You look like death warmed over” the next morning.
To anyone else, he’d spin a tale, but with Illya, he knew better. Napoleon eased himself down into the standard-issue hotel room chair and nodded. “Death would be welcomed as an old friend at this point.”
Illya poured coffee and pushed a cup towards him. He left Napoleon with his own thoughts until that cup and its brother were a memory.
“Is it the mission?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t see how it could be.”
“Can you tell me?”
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“Napoleon, I might shout, yell, curse, or cry, but I will never laugh at you.”
“It’s a rocking chair. I keep dreaming about this rocking chair.”
“Symbolizing?”
“That’s just it.” Napoleon paused to butter some toast. “I checked and it says that to dream of a rocking chair means that you are either content with your life or that you are lacking it, but it will happen eventually find it because of the people around you.”
“I’m flattered.” Illya smirked. “But contented doesn’t usually make you thrash or scream in your sleep.”
“Sorry. I tried for two rooms, but you know how Waverly is.”
Illya reached out to pat his arm. “Napoleon, the last thing you need to do to me is apologize. We know each other’s demons.” At the word, Napoleon looked away. “What is it? Tell me.”
“It’s… it’s rather silly.”
“It’s starting to affect your ability to do your job.” The look that Napoleon shot Illya made him smile encouragingly. “You know what they say about a problem shared is a problem halved.”
“It’s about my…” Napoleon mumbled the last word.
“Your what?”
Napoleon looked away into the distance. “My grandmother.”
“I’ve never heard you speak of yours.”
“There’s a reason. As loving and kind as your grandmother was, mine wasn’t. She’d had to get married, you see. She resented it and men until the day she died.”
“It was a different time back then. Women didn’t have the options that they do now.”
“Her marriage with my grandfather was a stormy one. Being Catholic, they couldn’t divorce without bringing shame and The Church down on them. It was a miracle that my father turned out as well as they did, considering the vitriol she aimed at him.”
Illya shook his head. “Now I know why your father worshipped your mother.”
“He was a good man, the best of the lot. By the time Dad was five, Grandpa was wise to her and got someone from the village to ‘help’ around the house. He pretty much locked his wife in a room with a bible and a rocking chair in the end.”
“A rocking chair?”
“It was the only thing she brought into the marriage. Her father cut down a tree and made it for her.” Napoleon returned his gaze to his partner. “More coffee?”
“That was very kind of him.” Illya moved his cup closer.
“I think he was just happy to have pawned her off. He had four other daughters and Grandmother had her sights set on the richest man in town. She literally got my grandpa drunk and had sex with him, then accused Clarence of the deed. Sadly, for her, he was off getting married at the time and was away on his honeymoon. Grandpa stepped forward and it went from there, but she made it clear she didn’t want him, only Clarence. It was so bad, Clarence had to move away just to protect his wife and children.”
“That’s a miserable story, Napoleon.”
“The miserable part is yet to come. Imagine what it was like to be a little boy and have your grandmother hate you. Whenever she got close enough, she would pinch me and say hateful things while she doted upon my sister. Even just being in the room with her was horrible. She would tell me that I was a worthless bag of rotting flesh and was better off dead. That she wished she’d drowned my father at birth and me with mine. Then, it got even worse.”
“Worse?”
“It got to the point of where I wouldn’t come out of my room when she was around. I didn’t know she would climb the stairs, but once she caught me having a ‘moment’ with one of Dad’s magazines in my room. She grabbed and twisted me so hard that I ended up having to have surgery.”
Illya crossed his legs protectively. “What did your parents do?”
“My dad sent her to a facility up in Burlington. They could barely afford it, but it was for the best.” He sighed. “Then one day there was a call that she’d suffered a stroke and was dying. Dad gathered us up and off we went.”
“Don’t tell me she give some sort of deathbed confession or apology.”
“No, she passed away long before we got there. We ended up cleaning out her room and somehow, that old rocking chair ended up at our place. Every time I looked at it, I felt her glaring at me. Once I made the mistake of sitting it in, and I ended up with a dozen bruises. When I told my father I thought the chair was haunted, I expected him to laugh, but instead he boxed it up and stored it away. I have no idea what happened to it.”
“I wonder what has caused these feeling to suddenly surface.”
“You, I think… or, rather, us.” Almost shyly, Napoleon placed his hand on Illya’s. “I now have someone who would do anything for me and who loves me warts and all. Someone she said I would never have.” He sighed and smiled contentedly. “You know what? You were right. I do feel better now.”
“Listen, we have a couple of hours before our flight. Why don’t you grab a nap now?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
It was dressed in a white moonbeam, the only piece of furniture in the room, the only piece of furniture in the entire house. For some reason, that filled him with dread. Why a rocking chair? Why here? Then, it slowly started rocking.
This time, though, Napoleon stood his ground. He was an adult, strong and able to defend himself. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be,” his grandmother whispered in his ear. “Worthless meat sack.”
“You should mind your own business.” Illya stepped from the shadows.
“What’s this? Another shameful secret?”
“No, a proud reality.”
The chair rocked, short and hard. “He’s mine.”
“Wrong, he’s mine.” Illya grabbed her and pushed her away. “Napoleon, sit in the chair.”
“What?”
“Claim it! Make it yours! She can’t hurt you. I won’t let her.” Illya struggled with the old woman in a way that only happen in dreams. “Sit in the chair, Napoleon.”
Without hesitation, Napoleon did just that. A sense of calm and serenity descended and he smiled at his grandmother. “You have no power over me. Not now, not ever.”
With that reality, he felt himself bathed in a warm embrace of light. He opened his eyes and looked up at Illya.
“You’re smiling. Better dream?”
Napoleon nodded sleepily as he sat up. “The best.” He shot a glance at the clock. “Guess it’s time.”
“It’s always time.” Illya started to climb from the bed, but paused at Napoleon’s gasp.
“Illya, what did you get into at that satrap?”
“Pardon?”
“You’re covered with bruises.”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1421
Picture Prompt:
blondie_54, I hope you enjoy your bit of Halloween merriment! Thanks for participating and, as always, my thanks to nursesparky for her beta
It was dressed in a white moonbeam, the only piece of furniture in the room, the only piece of furniture in the entire house. For some reason, that filled him with dread. Why a rocking chair? Why here? Then, it slowly started rocking.
Napoleon sat straight up in bed and stared unseeing into the dark. There was a soft rustling of bedclothes beside him and a softly asked, “Trouble?”
“No, just a bad dream.” Napoleon wouldn’t have admitted that under torture to anyone but his partner. They’d always had each other’s back.
“I’ve had a few of those now and again.” There was the sound of movement. “It’s still early. You should try to get back to sleep.” There was a pause, as if Illya was expecting something that didn’t come.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He had hoped that having his partner beside him would have afforded him a respite from the nightmare, but it didn’t. The minute he shut his eyes, there was that damned rocking chair, moving slowly as if with a mind of its own.
Illya greeted him with, “You look like death warmed over” the next morning.
To anyone else, he’d spin a tale, but with Illya, he knew better. Napoleon eased himself down into the standard-issue hotel room chair and nodded. “Death would be welcomed as an old friend at this point.”
Illya poured coffee and pushed a cup towards him. He left Napoleon with his own thoughts until that cup and its brother were a memory.
“Is it the mission?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t see how it could be.”
“Can you tell me?”
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“Napoleon, I might shout, yell, curse, or cry, but I will never laugh at you.”
“It’s a rocking chair. I keep dreaming about this rocking chair.”
“Symbolizing?”
“That’s just it.” Napoleon paused to butter some toast. “I checked and it says that to dream of a rocking chair means that you are either content with your life or that you are lacking it, but it will happen eventually find it because of the people around you.”
“I’m flattered.” Illya smirked. “But contented doesn’t usually make you thrash or scream in your sleep.”
“Sorry. I tried for two rooms, but you know how Waverly is.”
Illya reached out to pat his arm. “Napoleon, the last thing you need to do to me is apologize. We know each other’s demons.” At the word, Napoleon looked away. “What is it? Tell me.”
“It’s… it’s rather silly.”
“It’s starting to affect your ability to do your job.” The look that Napoleon shot Illya made him smile encouragingly. “You know what they say about a problem shared is a problem halved.”
“It’s about my…” Napoleon mumbled the last word.
“Your what?”
Napoleon looked away into the distance. “My grandmother.”
“I’ve never heard you speak of yours.”
“There’s a reason. As loving and kind as your grandmother was, mine wasn’t. She’d had to get married, you see. She resented it and men until the day she died.”
“It was a different time back then. Women didn’t have the options that they do now.”
“Her marriage with my grandfather was a stormy one. Being Catholic, they couldn’t divorce without bringing shame and The Church down on them. It was a miracle that my father turned out as well as they did, considering the vitriol she aimed at him.”
Illya shook his head. “Now I know why your father worshipped your mother.”
“He was a good man, the best of the lot. By the time Dad was five, Grandpa was wise to her and got someone from the village to ‘help’ around the house. He pretty much locked his wife in a room with a bible and a rocking chair in the end.”
“A rocking chair?”
“It was the only thing she brought into the marriage. Her father cut down a tree and made it for her.” Napoleon returned his gaze to his partner. “More coffee?”
“That was very kind of him.” Illya moved his cup closer.
“I think he was just happy to have pawned her off. He had four other daughters and Grandmother had her sights set on the richest man in town. She literally got my grandpa drunk and had sex with him, then accused Clarence of the deed. Sadly, for her, he was off getting married at the time and was away on his honeymoon. Grandpa stepped forward and it went from there, but she made it clear she didn’t want him, only Clarence. It was so bad, Clarence had to move away just to protect his wife and children.”
“That’s a miserable story, Napoleon.”
“The miserable part is yet to come. Imagine what it was like to be a little boy and have your grandmother hate you. Whenever she got close enough, she would pinch me and say hateful things while she doted upon my sister. Even just being in the room with her was horrible. She would tell me that I was a worthless bag of rotting flesh and was better off dead. That she wished she’d drowned my father at birth and me with mine. Then, it got even worse.”
“Worse?”
“It got to the point of where I wouldn’t come out of my room when she was around. I didn’t know she would climb the stairs, but once she caught me having a ‘moment’ with one of Dad’s magazines in my room. She grabbed and twisted me so hard that I ended up having to have surgery.”
Illya crossed his legs protectively. “What did your parents do?”
“My dad sent her to a facility up in Burlington. They could barely afford it, but it was for the best.” He sighed. “Then one day there was a call that she’d suffered a stroke and was dying. Dad gathered us up and off we went.”
“Don’t tell me she give some sort of deathbed confession or apology.”
“No, she passed away long before we got there. We ended up cleaning out her room and somehow, that old rocking chair ended up at our place. Every time I looked at it, I felt her glaring at me. Once I made the mistake of sitting it in, and I ended up with a dozen bruises. When I told my father I thought the chair was haunted, I expected him to laugh, but instead he boxed it up and stored it away. I have no idea what happened to it.”
“I wonder what has caused these feeling to suddenly surface.”
“You, I think… or, rather, us.” Almost shyly, Napoleon placed his hand on Illya’s. “I now have someone who would do anything for me and who loves me warts and all. Someone she said I would never have.” He sighed and smiled contentedly. “You know what? You were right. I do feel better now.”
“Listen, we have a couple of hours before our flight. Why don’t you grab a nap now?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
It was dressed in a white moonbeam, the only piece of furniture in the room, the only piece of furniture in the entire house. For some reason, that filled him with dread. Why a rocking chair? Why here? Then, it slowly started rocking.
This time, though, Napoleon stood his ground. He was an adult, strong and able to defend himself. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be,” his grandmother whispered in his ear. “Worthless meat sack.”
“You should mind your own business.” Illya stepped from the shadows.
“What’s this? Another shameful secret?”
“No, a proud reality.”
The chair rocked, short and hard. “He’s mine.”
“Wrong, he’s mine.” Illya grabbed her and pushed her away. “Napoleon, sit in the chair.”
“What?”
“Claim it! Make it yours! She can’t hurt you. I won’t let her.” Illya struggled with the old woman in a way that only happen in dreams. “Sit in the chair, Napoleon.”
Without hesitation, Napoleon did just that. A sense of calm and serenity descended and he smiled at his grandmother. “You have no power over me. Not now, not ever.”
With that reality, he felt himself bathed in a warm embrace of light. He opened his eyes and looked up at Illya.
“You’re smiling. Better dream?”
Napoleon nodded sleepily as he sat up. “The best.” He shot a glance at the clock. “Guess it’s time.”
“It’s always time.” Illya started to climb from the bed, but paused at Napoleon’s gasp.
“Illya, what did you get into at that satrap?”
“Pardon?”
“You’re covered with bruises.”