[Heroes] Drabble - "Any Word Could Be the Last" Samuel/Vanessa
Title: Any Word Could Be the Last
Song: “We Could Leave Right Now” - The Oysterband
Pairing/Characters: Samuel/Vanessa
Genre: Pre-Series, Gen, Drama
Summary: Drabbled spurred by the music meme, which basically says: write small, write fast. One look at the first rejection…
Word Count 543
Put down the music and talk
Your rumors and regrets
Fading silhouettes
All you need to do is walk away...
She is lying with her head on his lap, reading through a chapter in her Music in Western Civilization text and trying not to doze off as he runs his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the curls and fanning the length out across his thighs.
He’s always been fascinated by her hair and she has no problems with that-especially when it leads to the kind of attention she’s getting now, though it’s making her eyes heavy and she has a mid-term to study for.
And perhaps it’s the massage induced haze or the names of long dead composers scurrying around in her brain that keep her from immediately understanding the words that have left his mouth.
Her eyes fly open. “What?” And he’s staring at her with that little half-smile that’s become so familiar over the last month.
“Marry me.”
And she’s off his lap like she’s been burned, ignoring the sharp snap of pain on her scalp where a few strands of hair break. But she can’t ignore the way his smile fades or the dulling of his eyes and she thinks-knows-her reaction could have been much better.
“I-Samuel…”
He doesn’t let her finish. He’s up and in her space and his mouth is on hers and he tastes sweet-hint of strawberry ice cream still lingering on his tongue-and it’s hard to breathe and even harder to think, when he’s murmuring his plan against her lips.
“Your dreams…” he breathes, “Your fairy tale cottage, I can give you that. And more. Marry me. Come with me. We could do it today. Go down to Jersey....you once said you’d love to get married on a beach.”
“This is-Samuel-I can’t just go and marry you.”
“Why?”
“Why? I have obligations. To my family.” She gestures around the room. “To myself.”
“What about to us?”
“Samuel…” She closes her eyes.
She’s 19.
She’s not ready for this.
Not ready for this reality.
Not ready for this conversation.
They’d been having such a good time together.
She never imagined when he showed up in her room barely a month ago, that they would be here.
God, if anything she thought she’d be running after him, begging him for some kind of commitment. She’d fallen for a bad boy image…and a man who seemed to want nothing more than to settle down.
And where did that leave her?
She opens her eyes and finds he’s backed away from her, tall frame slightly stooped, retreating like an animal that’s been kicked. And she wants to reach for him but she thinks that may do more harm than good.
“Samuel,” she says again. His name is going to be branded on her tongue after this. “I have school to think about. My education. My future. My career. I can’t just run off and-“
“And be the wife of a carny.” The venom in his voice sears her.
“That’s not what I mean.” He turns away, gives her his back, but she sees the shudder run through him. “Samuel… Please,” she says and the word constricts in her throat.
When the door closes behind him, the latch clicks with such a note of finality that it makes her chest ache.
End.
Song: “We Could Leave Right Now” - The Oysterband
Pairing/Characters: Samuel/Vanessa
Genre: Pre-Series, Gen, Drama
Summary: Drabbled spurred by the music meme, which basically says: write small, write fast. One look at the first rejection…
Word Count 543
Put down the music and talk
Your rumors and regrets
Fading silhouettes
All you need to do is walk away...
She is lying with her head on his lap, reading through a chapter in her Music in Western Civilization text and trying not to doze off as he runs his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the curls and fanning the length out across his thighs.
He’s always been fascinated by her hair and she has no problems with that-especially when it leads to the kind of attention she’s getting now, though it’s making her eyes heavy and she has a mid-term to study for.
And perhaps it’s the massage induced haze or the names of long dead composers scurrying around in her brain that keep her from immediately understanding the words that have left his mouth.
Her eyes fly open. “What?” And he’s staring at her with that little half-smile that’s become so familiar over the last month.
“Marry me.”
And she’s off his lap like she’s been burned, ignoring the sharp snap of pain on her scalp where a few strands of hair break. But she can’t ignore the way his smile fades or the dulling of his eyes and she thinks-knows-her reaction could have been much better.
“I-Samuel…”
He doesn’t let her finish. He’s up and in her space and his mouth is on hers and he tastes sweet-hint of strawberry ice cream still lingering on his tongue-and it’s hard to breathe and even harder to think, when he’s murmuring his plan against her lips.
“Your dreams…” he breathes, “Your fairy tale cottage, I can give you that. And more. Marry me. Come with me. We could do it today. Go down to Jersey....you once said you’d love to get married on a beach.”
“This is-Samuel-I can’t just go and marry you.”
“Why?”
“Why? I have obligations. To my family.” She gestures around the room. “To myself.”
“What about to us?”
“Samuel…” She closes her eyes.
She’s 19.
She’s not ready for this.
Not ready for this reality.
Not ready for this conversation.
They’d been having such a good time together.
She never imagined when he showed up in her room barely a month ago, that they would be here.
God, if anything she thought she’d be running after him, begging him for some kind of commitment. She’d fallen for a bad boy image…and a man who seemed to want nothing more than to settle down.
And where did that leave her?
She opens her eyes and finds he’s backed away from her, tall frame slightly stooped, retreating like an animal that’s been kicked. And she wants to reach for him but she thinks that may do more harm than good.
“Samuel,” she says again. His name is going to be branded on her tongue after this. “I have school to think about. My education. My future. My career. I can’t just run off and-“
“And be the wife of a carny.” The venom in his voice sears her.
“That’s not what I mean.” He turns away, gives her his back, but she sees the shudder run through him. “Samuel… Please,” she says and the word constricts in her throat.
When the door closes behind him, the latch clicks with such a note of finality that it makes her chest ache.
End.