West Bank Story fic: Possible (G) (David/Fatima)
Title: Possible
Fandom: West Bank Story
Characters: David/Fatima
Rating: G
Notes: Unbeta'd scribble. I adored West Bank Story and David and Fatima were beyond cute. I know that it's so stupid and dorky of me but I couldn't help writing a fic for them. :P It's possible that this is the only West Bank Story fic in the world! :D
As Fatima stands at Ahmed's side in the marketplace, the glance from the young Israeli soldier at the checkpoint causes a heat to grow within her that rivals the blaze of the harsh sun that scorches the land. When she risks another glimpse, she sees that he is still looking back at her and his tiny smile matches the shy smile that curves her own mouth.
*
The angry, panicked shout of the hot-headed soldier at the checkpoint is interrupted and Fatima sees that the other young soldier has come to her assistance. Painfully aware of the ridiculousness of her uniform, she is startled to see that his gaze has no mockery or contempt - only warmth and unexpected tenderness.
Though he wears the uniform of the enemy, she has been dreaming of him. As he tells her his name, she wonders if he has been thinking of her, too.
*
An uneasy alliance has been formed between their families but this can never be and they can have no future together.
"Zeh Lo Meshane", he tells her, but it matters. They both know it matters.
Still, David takes her to the Dead Sea. In Arabic, it is called al-Bahr al-Mayyit. In Hebrew, it is Yam ha-Melakh the "sea of salt," or Yam ha-Mavet - the "sea of death." As she dips her toes into the warm water, the different names do not matter. She closes her eyes and listens as he recounts tales of Masada, King Herod and the Prophet Lut. Sometimes he will speak to her in Arabic and she is intrigued by the way his accent colours the syllables of her native tongue.
His lips are cool and tender as they trail down her throat.
"Hakol Beseder?" she asks him softly even though she already knows the answer.
"Perfect," he replies and it's true.
*
He teases her. "Hummus. Will you still give it to me whenever I want?" he asks her wickedly.
"Of course," she told him, her fingertips touching his cheek. He smiles. "How is Ruvik coping with this?" she asks him.
"With what?"
"Us. He was awfully grumpy about us. Didn't seem to like me."
"Ruvik doesn't like anyone."
*
She walks by his side through Katzrin, staring in fascination at the ancient Talmudic village of Kisrin. They share stories, history and songs, blending common understanding and language.
Both are aware of the disbelief and disgust in the eyes of those around them as they are seen walking side by side. Israeli soldier, Palestinian girl. This love is doomed, they both know this to be true.
They speak of everything. History, politics and the bloodshed that rips their homeland apart. There are no solutions, no words of comfort that can assure them that everything will be all right.
"Yihyeh Beseder," David murmurs. Everything will work out in the end .....
"You can't know that."
"Ta'amin Li!" he reassures her and his voice is more intimate than a kiss. "Neshomeleh", he whispers as they walk through narrow, ancient walk ways and she stares at him, the worry and uncertainty draining away if only for the moment.
*
Fatima waits patiently at the checkpoint, her papers in her hand. She does not meet David's frustrated gaze. He can make her passage through the checkpoint swifter, but she cannot bear the accusatory stares from the others. Traitor. Collaborator. Whore. She gives him no choice and so he waits for her on the other side, tall and straight with the deep red beret shadowing his eyes.
She answers mechanically as impersonal voices interrogate her and she stands motionless as rough hands move over her to ascertain whether she is using her own body as a weapon.
There is fault and horror on both sides. They have held one another close as they have wept over the bodies of friends lost in the same explosion. Death is blind to religion or politics and the bodies who lie twisted and mangled on the road are stripped of dignity equally. It is for this reason that Fatima remains quiet and orderly in the checkpoint queue. It is for this reason that David resists the desire to rush forward to assist her.
Fatima knows it troubles David to see her jostled like cattle in the line but they do not speak of it. Words are useless - regardless of the language, but when she knows no one is watching, Fatima allows him to take her hand in his. The touch of his skin warms her and the caress says more than can be expressed in either of their ancient tongues.
*
Jerusalem is holy for them both and walking through the streets together, they speak with a hushed reverence. Although the Old City can be dangerous and troubled, as Fatima walks by David's side, their footsteps echoing in the stony pathways, she feels an old peace surrounding her and filling her with irrational comfort.
David draws her aside, into the darkness of an alleyway hidden from sight. In this moment, the world does not exist. The anger of his family, friends and fellow soldiers. The contempt, disapproval and condemnation of her family.
"You love me," he whispers softly against her mouth, his strong, slender hand cupping her face. It is not a question.
"Ken," she answers him honestly, her eyes confirming her response. "But this .......lo yitachen," she tells him sadly, her thick lashes lowered as her voice trembles. This is not possible .... David shakes his head.
He would take her away from all this if she would agree to leave. They could go to a country where the hatred and centuries of bitterness could be overcome if never forgotten, but she will not leave. She cannot leave this ancient land in which she was born. She was born here and she will die here.
"Yitachen," he tells her. The hard stone presses into her back as he kisses her, pushing her against the wall. Her hand slides beneath the scratchy fabric of his uniform.
Pupils dilate, breathing becomes ragged and she looks up into his smiling eyes. Fatima feels a flicker of ridiculous hope welling up inside her at David's words.
Yitachen.
End
Fandom: West Bank Story
Characters: David/Fatima
Rating: G
Notes: Unbeta'd scribble. I adored West Bank Story and David and Fatima were beyond cute. I know that it's so stupid and dorky of me but I couldn't help writing a fic for them. :P It's possible that this is the only West Bank Story fic in the world! :D
As Fatima stands at Ahmed's side in the marketplace, the glance from the young Israeli soldier at the checkpoint causes a heat to grow within her that rivals the blaze of the harsh sun that scorches the land. When she risks another glimpse, she sees that he is still looking back at her and his tiny smile matches the shy smile that curves her own mouth.
*
The angry, panicked shout of the hot-headed soldier at the checkpoint is interrupted and Fatima sees that the other young soldier has come to her assistance. Painfully aware of the ridiculousness of her uniform, she is startled to see that his gaze has no mockery or contempt - only warmth and unexpected tenderness.
Though he wears the uniform of the enemy, she has been dreaming of him. As he tells her his name, she wonders if he has been thinking of her, too.
*
An uneasy alliance has been formed between their families but this can never be and they can have no future together.
"Zeh Lo Meshane", he tells her, but it matters. They both know it matters.
Still, David takes her to the Dead Sea. In Arabic, it is called al-Bahr al-Mayyit. In Hebrew, it is Yam ha-Melakh the "sea of salt," or Yam ha-Mavet - the "sea of death." As she dips her toes into the warm water, the different names do not matter. She closes her eyes and listens as he recounts tales of Masada, King Herod and the Prophet Lut. Sometimes he will speak to her in Arabic and she is intrigued by the way his accent colours the syllables of her native tongue.
His lips are cool and tender as they trail down her throat.
"Hakol Beseder?" she asks him softly even though she already knows the answer.
"Perfect," he replies and it's true.
*
He teases her. "Hummus. Will you still give it to me whenever I want?" he asks her wickedly.
"Of course," she told him, her fingertips touching his cheek. He smiles. "How is Ruvik coping with this?" she asks him.
"With what?"
"Us. He was awfully grumpy about us. Didn't seem to like me."
"Ruvik doesn't like anyone."
*
She walks by his side through Katzrin, staring in fascination at the ancient Talmudic village of Kisrin. They share stories, history and songs, blending common understanding and language.
Both are aware of the disbelief and disgust in the eyes of those around them as they are seen walking side by side. Israeli soldier, Palestinian girl. This love is doomed, they both know this to be true.
They speak of everything. History, politics and the bloodshed that rips their homeland apart. There are no solutions, no words of comfort that can assure them that everything will be all right.
"Yihyeh Beseder," David murmurs. Everything will work out in the end .....
"You can't know that."
"Ta'amin Li!" he reassures her and his voice is more intimate than a kiss. "Neshomeleh", he whispers as they walk through narrow, ancient walk ways and she stares at him, the worry and uncertainty draining away if only for the moment.
*
Fatima waits patiently at the checkpoint, her papers in her hand. She does not meet David's frustrated gaze. He can make her passage through the checkpoint swifter, but she cannot bear the accusatory stares from the others. Traitor. Collaborator. Whore. She gives him no choice and so he waits for her on the other side, tall and straight with the deep red beret shadowing his eyes.
She answers mechanically as impersonal voices interrogate her and she stands motionless as rough hands move over her to ascertain whether she is using her own body as a weapon.
There is fault and horror on both sides. They have held one another close as they have wept over the bodies of friends lost in the same explosion. Death is blind to religion or politics and the bodies who lie twisted and mangled on the road are stripped of dignity equally. It is for this reason that Fatima remains quiet and orderly in the checkpoint queue. It is for this reason that David resists the desire to rush forward to assist her.
Fatima knows it troubles David to see her jostled like cattle in the line but they do not speak of it. Words are useless - regardless of the language, but when she knows no one is watching, Fatima allows him to take her hand in his. The touch of his skin warms her and the caress says more than can be expressed in either of their ancient tongues.
*
Jerusalem is holy for them both and walking through the streets together, they speak with a hushed reverence. Although the Old City can be dangerous and troubled, as Fatima walks by David's side, their footsteps echoing in the stony pathways, she feels an old peace surrounding her and filling her with irrational comfort.
David draws her aside, into the darkness of an alleyway hidden from sight. In this moment, the world does not exist. The anger of his family, friends and fellow soldiers. The contempt, disapproval and condemnation of her family.
"You love me," he whispers softly against her mouth, his strong, slender hand cupping her face. It is not a question.
"Ken," she answers him honestly, her eyes confirming her response. "But this .......lo yitachen," she tells him sadly, her thick lashes lowered as her voice trembles. This is not possible .... David shakes his head.
He would take her away from all this if she would agree to leave. They could go to a country where the hatred and centuries of bitterness could be overcome if never forgotten, but she will not leave. She cannot leave this ancient land in which she was born. She was born here and she will die here.
"Yitachen," he tells her. The hard stone presses into her back as he kisses her, pushing her against the wall. Her hand slides beneath the scratchy fabric of his uniform.
Pupils dilate, breathing becomes ragged and she looks up into his smiling eyes. Fatima feels a flicker of ridiculous hope welling up inside her at David's words.
Yitachen.
End