(no subject)
Cotton Candy #13. Compromise with Sprinkles
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1257
Word Count : 407
“This is ridiculous,” said Dalton, as if saying it again would make any difference. Ilya fussed with the horse, making adjustments to packs strapped to its back while he lingered behind, the last sack of her belongings dangling from numb fingers.
The tiny blonde turned and offered him a look of much labored patience before bending to snatch the bag from his hand. “It will work,” she said, hefting it into place with the rest.
“For how long?” he said, still not moving. “Someone is bound to want to see you for themselves.”
“Then you will have to stop them,” came the response from over her shoulder.
Dalton eyed the delicate ringlets of near white that swayed over her back as Ilya worked to secure the packs and tucked his lip between his teeth. “I want you to stay,” he said, after a moment.
Ilya stiffened. “You told me to go.”
“I never meant-”
She turned again, her frame still tense though the dark eyes that caught his were soft. “Dalton,” she started, and he folded his arms tightly across himself and cast his gaze to his own shoes. “You know I love you.”
“Ilya, don’t.” He forced the words through a tightening throat.
She put out a hand, but he shuffled back a pace rather than let her touch him. “This is not about us,” she said. “This is bigger than either of us. They need me. Ski is waiting-”
“Just go.” He hoped it sounded as bitter as it felt.
“I will come back.” He shrugged off another attempt to touch him.
“I said go.” He blinked, moisture suddenly clouding his vision.
She closed her eyes and sighed, the hand still poised in the air. “Dalton…”
He ground his fingers into his arms, eyes still on the ground, fighting the urge to pull her to him and kiss her. She didn‘t deserve it. “Stay safe,” was all he could manage as his voice started to break.
This time her hand did meet his arm for a moment, and he winced at the soft brush of gentle fingers, before he pulled, once more, out of reach. Dalton turned away from his wife, with her horse and her sword and her precious mission, and stalked back towards the house, with its silent rooms and its cold, empty bed.
“I love you,” she called after him.
“I love you, too,” he answered, though he doubted she heard him.
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1257
Word Count : 407
“This is ridiculous,” said Dalton, as if saying it again would make any difference. Ilya fussed with the horse, making adjustments to packs strapped to its back while he lingered behind, the last sack of her belongings dangling from numb fingers.
The tiny blonde turned and offered him a look of much labored patience before bending to snatch the bag from his hand. “It will work,” she said, hefting it into place with the rest.
“For how long?” he said, still not moving. “Someone is bound to want to see you for themselves.”
“Then you will have to stop them,” came the response from over her shoulder.
Dalton eyed the delicate ringlets of near white that swayed over her back as Ilya worked to secure the packs and tucked his lip between his teeth. “I want you to stay,” he said, after a moment.
Ilya stiffened. “You told me to go.”
“I never meant-”
She turned again, her frame still tense though the dark eyes that caught his were soft. “Dalton,” she started, and he folded his arms tightly across himself and cast his gaze to his own shoes. “You know I love you.”
“Ilya, don’t.” He forced the words through a tightening throat.
She put out a hand, but he shuffled back a pace rather than let her touch him. “This is not about us,” she said. “This is bigger than either of us. They need me. Ski is waiting-”
“Just go.” He hoped it sounded as bitter as it felt.
“I will come back.” He shrugged off another attempt to touch him.
“I said go.” He blinked, moisture suddenly clouding his vision.
She closed her eyes and sighed, the hand still poised in the air. “Dalton…”
He ground his fingers into his arms, eyes still on the ground, fighting the urge to pull her to him and kiss her. She didn‘t deserve it. “Stay safe,” was all he could manage as his voice started to break.
This time her hand did meet his arm for a moment, and he winced at the soft brush of gentle fingers, before he pulled, once more, out of reach. Dalton turned away from his wife, with her horse and her sword and her precious mission, and stalked back towards the house, with its silent rooms and its cold, empty bed.
“I love you,” she called after him.
“I love you, too,” he answered, though he doubted she heard him.