"The moon is up. It's sitting above the water."
     The words could fit in a fairy princess's dream. But Fiona is giving no indication of fairy attitude tonight; she is dressed in red and black, a pair of scarlet jeans paired with a black mock-turtleneck and a pair of boots. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail - nothing fancy, tonight, unless you count the glass of wine. She peers out the window, pressing up against the glass. "It looks like something's going on, to me. Maybe it's just my own nerves. I can't stand it, sometimes."
     She pushes away from the glass with a hint of a scowl, swallowing wine and then turning with a melodramatic sweep of one hand. "I could say it looks like a diadem in the sky and presages great fortune or disaster or some shit like that, but let's face it, I'd be pulling it out of my arse."
     The London punk is showing, even if she isn't dressed for it. She bristles, then forces herself to relax, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. "The world will go on. No matter what."

     "Worlds always do," Rhodri's voice quietly issues, each word taking its time as if thought out before spoken, "... it is their nature to revolve."
     He has cut his hair, the fiery gold-red strands just curly and thick enough to stand like flames away from his forehead. Layered throughout, the short even almost shaggy style lends itself well to conflagration. He could be a Norse fire-spirit, looking like that.
     Though spring is encroaching here, it is cool enough yet for a long sleeve shirt (tonight, it is a simple white pull-over, no BJD designs). Fitting closely too him, it has the appearance of thermal fabric -- what it lacks in screen printing it makes up for in texture. With it, a pair of jeans (faded and well worn-in to that 'just right' stage) and Doc Martens. Something that is comfortable for home but could easily translation to just about any club in town should the mood strike like lightning.
     His hand lands on your shoulder as he comes to stand behind you. Your shoulder and then your head. Rhodri pulls you in, his arms surrounding you as he looks past your joined reflection to the busy city street below. "Men and women have looked to the stars for meaning since they first opened their eyes. But it's hard to find an omen these days, with so many satellites."
     Closing his eyes, he places a kiss upon the top of your head. You have been stressed, fidgety, your hackles raised. The only security he can offer you is the warmth and strength of his arms.

     She sighs, leaning against you with her own eyes closed, her arms wrapping over and around yours. "I know," she murmurs. "I do know, Rhodri. I'm glad you're here. You are such a rock, in some ways - your spirit never seems to sink. It must be hard for you, having to be the foundation for the rest of us."
     She turns in your arms, her own sliding around your waist as she pressing in against you, nuzzling. "...Things will change soon. Everything is going to change again. I'm ready for it to change, this time; they have to. I'm tired of this routine and I want another."
     She tugs at your t-shirt, hands sliding up under along your back so she can hug you the more closely; then, begins to pull away. "Are you hungry? I could do with something to eat. Oh, and Davydd knows about Gwi, now. I thought you might want to know. What do you think of this Prospero? I like him, I think, though I think I shocked him a little. But Gwi loves him, and that's what's important. Not like some people he might have brought home."

     "I do not know why that is," he smiles a little, his arms anchoring around you. Within them, a safe harbor for you to remain. "Perhaps it is ...merely because I hate to be a joiner. Stubbornly, I must be defiant. And in this family? That means rather than my father, I become zen." He chuckles a little, rocking you as you hug him, and then as you go to pull away, his own arms loosen their hold. You can escape if you wish to.
     "Prospero seems very intelligent. He seems fairly steady, thoughtful. I think it is good for balance. And that is something Gwi needed and needs in his life. Balance. We've talked about it a great deal," he murmurs. "I wish I had the power to conjure meals," he smirks, "...but the kitchens are open and would be more than happy to fix you whatever you'd like, love. I'm feeling the urge for wine." His eyes narrow, peering at the thought and at the craving, as if to measure it.
     Everything is changing...
     "I am concerned," he notes for the record, "... about Davydd, not Gwilym. But ... I trust in his judgment, however faulty it may seem at times. I trust him that he will know when it is time, Fiona. And he will handle it well. He is an amazing man. I'm not sure I know a braver man. Try not to worry."
     As you tend to the issue of food, he tends to the matter of drinks. He goes to his cabinet, removing a bottle of wine... several bottles... inspecting the labels and years before finally making his selection.
     "Gwilym... just had to stop and listen for a moment. He was in a tizzy. He seems to have calmed considerably. Balance will do that."

     She pulls from you, offering you a small smile as she heads to the kitchen. "I want to cook. I need to get my hands dirty. To do something tangible, instead of all this mucking about with souls and emotions."
     Opening the fridge, she peers inside as if to find meaningful answers written on the cauliflower. Or on the Guinness. "I'm not at ease about Davydd either," Fiona tells the Guinness, "but ... things are drawing to a close, Rhodri. One way or another - they are going to end. They are going to change. Right now, it makes me feel restless, rootless, as if I belong more in this world than that. Most times it's the other way around. Maybe," she shrugs, straightening and turning to look at you, "I need to drink less caffeine."
     With her hip, she bumps the fridge shut, moving instead to the sink and leaning forward against it, blowing air out to puff her lips out for a moment. "I'm not sure if I'm worrying or if I am just impatient. The process of change is hard; waiting for it when you see it coming. It's like watching a gun being fired in slow motion and not knowing where the bullet's going to end up. The entire range of possibility is there, and no real way of predicting the trajectory of events. They will happen. They will hurtle through the plate glass window, crashing onto the pavement, and god knows where from there."
     Hopping up onto the counter, Fiona folds her hands in her lap, then raises one, beckoning to you with a finger. Come here. "I feel like I've changed, Rhodri, and not necessarily for the better. I don't know. Tell me what you think of me? Please? I need to hear some truth which isn't coming out of my mouth, for a change."

     "I do not think of it as changing," he says, looking up from the pouring of two glasses. He didn't ask you if you wanted one, but he likes to be prepared. "You are still you, Fiona. At times you seem centered, but you and our son both share a restless energy. You have to be in the process of creating something, or you begin to twitch. But you are more purposeful now than you used to be."
     Emerald eyes look to you brightly and with adoration. "You are beautiful, and when you are lost, or lost in your thoughts, wondering what you should do next, that is when you are at your most beautiful." He moves to the kitchen counter, offering you the wine.
     "And ... whatever happens with Davydd, know that he loves you. And know that I love you, if possible, even more." He moves to stand between your legs. He sips at the wine and then sets his glass aside. "You are stronger now," he murmurs between you. "But you will always wonder if you are strong enough, surrounded by husbands and sons, no strong women to compare yourself to." Rhodri plucks a kiss from your lips. It is a tender touch, his mouth to yours, and he pulls away to look at you -- you are eye level with him when you sit on the counter.
     "Less caffeine might help," Rhodri smiles smoothly, suddenly. "I think it is both worry and impatience. You want to start the life he promised you, but you worry about the process, the sacrifice that will require. I have my own worries, believe it or not. Less to do with Davydd," his voice finishes in a hush. "But I have faith in the love you've shown me. I'm going to put my belief in that, Fiona."

     "I know he loves me. I know you love me. That... I seem finally to have gotten through my thick skull." She blows you a kiss, taking the wine and taking a sip, setting her glass aside again. "I think some of it," she says after a moment's pause, "is the oddity of it. I have sons older than I am in so many ways, yet I still am their mother. I still have to find wisdom for them, for myself, for my family in general. And part of me sometimes wants to rebel against that - to just be this girl, you know? With the multicolored hair and the changing outfits and the piercings and the guitar. The more mature I have to be, the more I want to run away."
     You come in close, and she leans in, returning your kiss as she halfway follows you. You're fun to be with. Moreso now that I'm a little less crazy myself. But I miss being crazy, sometimes.
     She whispers it in your mind, blue eyes chimerical as she stares at you. "He's promised me a lot of things," Fiona murmurs. "So have you. Sometimes I almost wish we could reset the clock. It was easier when I didn't think about those promises. I don't regret things - but I'm stressing out a bit, yes."
     Her hand comes up to touch your cheek, then drops again to her wine; with a little shake of her head, she sighs, wriggling back on the counter until she can sit cross-legged, like some sort of genie. "I feel very human right now, which is strange. I don't usually, you know."

     Rhodri remains where he is, retrieving his glass and taking another swallow of it as you scoot back. He gives the wine a swirl before finishing it. "You can always be that girl with the multi-colored hair and the bad attitude with me," he notes. "You don't have to be anyone else, take care of anything else. You can always find your freedom with Black Jack, sweetheart."
     He rests his hands on the counter, leaning in a little. He's within striking distance of a kiss but does not take one. "I can break a promise or two if it will make you feel better," Rhodri suddenly chuckles. His emerald eyes sparkle with a wink. His son didn't fall far from the tree.
     Suddenly, at your hips, he rests his hands. "Forget your cares and your responsibilities when you're with me," he murmurs. "Just... breathe...eat...drink...enjoy life. Feel what it is to be loved. It's that simple." His hands pull you to him, sliding you against the counter, pulling you to his mouth. "You can be crazy with me," he whispers. "You don't need to protect me, guide me. Run away with me when you are in my arms."
     The kiss is wild, biting, wide and covering, inspiring against your lips the ecstatic rush, the runner's high, of living the Free Life. It is open, bared, completely liberated. When it parts, it does so loudly, with the hum of his energy galloping across your lips, your skin.
     "You will always be free with me. You don't have to live in the past to find it. It can be yours now, in the present. It can be yours tomorrow, or whenever you want."

     She looks at you for a moment, watching you as if thinking about something. "I need you to be Black Jack sometimes," Fiona whispers to you. "Sometimes more than other times, but times like now, especially. I don't know why it is, Rhodri, and I wish I did because I want to know these things. But ... I can enjoy it without knowing. I've changed that much."
     She goes on watching you, and then she sticks out her tongue. "I don't need you to break promises. Not the real promises, anyway. You know I like you a little bit treacherous ... in certain ways..."
     Her voice trails off as your hands move to her hips, her hands moving to your chest as you pull at her. Her gasp is soft but audible, eyes wide and startled as they tend to do around you. And you kiss her...
     For a few moments, there is nothing else. There is her, lingering in your arms, her hands at your shoulders, her eyes to yours. Then, slowly, she sighs.
     "I am so bad at it," Fiona murmurs absently, her hand lifting and then patting at your shoulder. "I should have been more of a warrior queen, Rhodri. I find no peace in things unless I fight them to death first. But I am tired of arguing. I just want the fight without the argument. I suppose, in a way, I'm tired of the fights I've been having, and I want something new. What does my Black Jack think I should do that will be new and exciting?"

     Outbursts of lust come and go. What's left are moments of quiet, frank talk. He can be frank. The green hills and valleys of his eyes, the fields of Avalon stretching out in its vibrant vineyards and orchards, look at you, and in the reflection of your image there you walk barefoot on the soft grass of his attention. "Try all you might," he murmurs, "...fight until your knuckles bleed, you won't be able to prevent what's coming."
     Taking your hand, he leads your fingers to his mouth, and he brushes his lips against your knuckles. His thumb presses a gentle circle in the center of your palm. He knows you are worried. He knows you are sad. Resigned. "Our son is a lot like you," he smiles suddenly. "Don't fight your shadows too. I can only handle one of you doing that at a time."
     New and Exciting. He ruminates on your question. "I would suggest traveling. Facing the open road without a clear destination in mind. But that's the sort of adventure I like best -- the adventure of Not Knowing." But by his expression, he reveals his doubt that such will occur now. Not with the family matters at hand.
     "I would love to just... hit the road with you," he notes quietly. "Not with music or any notion of becoming any thing in particular. Just... seeing what life has in store. I could get a little papoose carrier for Peter," he chuckles quietly. Not that Peter would enjoy it but the boy needs to be broken out of his already organized life.
     These are dreams that I dream. We may get to do them someday. His words float within your inner ear. But now... we both know, I think, where you will be. His hands come to hold both of yours. He stands in quiet for a time. When he does leave this plane, you will want to spend time with him in the Otherworld. Perhaps we both should. Anything else is... purely academic. But I will be your escape when you need it. That's what Black Jacks do best.
     Rhodri puts on a smile after that, but his concern is evident. He gives that to you, the truth of that to you.

     Travel. That is an idea. Fiona nods slowly, looking as if she is thinking about it. "I'd like to do that. It won't be for a little while yet, though. But ... we can do that. Become gypsies. I won't have to dye my hair black and tan myself to leather for it, will I?"
     Her hands lift to cup your face between them, and she looks at you intently, curiously, as if searching for something there. Her head tips, first to one side, then the other - searching out the puzzle of you, the mirror of herself.
     He is going to need us. Me, yes, but not just me, my thief. I know. It is going to change things for all of us, isn't it? But ... I am not going to stop loving you. I am not going to stop needing you. Sometimes I need you to take care of me, because I seem very bad at taking care of myself. I hate relying on you for it. I feel as if I am using you.
     She has her own fears tied to and associated with all this. And you? You are in so many ways, her rock. "I would have been swept away by the current by now, without you," Fiona murmurs, finally out loud again. "I would have remained where I am, but not who I am, Rhodri. I do not appreciate you well enough. I do not show it well enough. ...Let's go shopping. I feel the need to spend ludicrous amounts of money making it up to you."

     He smiles as you hold his face. He needed that touch, and your assurance. He doesn't often show it. He takes the love he is given without question, without complaint. "I am your love, your husband. I'm supposed to take care of you. I like to take care of you," he speaks quietly between you. Leaning in, he kisses you gently.
     Diolch, Fiona, his thoughts, his feelings, his voice materialize within you. I ...needed to hear that. Unlike the wild kiss of earlier, his mouth covers yours with gentle warmth.
     "I love you. You are not using me. Or ...at least," Rhodri smiles, "...not in a way I dislike." Don't worry about that, his eyes say to you. That's what I'm here for.
     You mention shopping and that idea seems to amuse him. "Okay," he notes, "... I'm always up for spending money." His hand still holding yours, he offers to help you off the counter. "You don't need to make it up to me, love." Grinning, Rhodri winks. "But if you want to buy me something, I'm not going to complain..."

     You are my love. Even if you stole me unawares, Rhodri. I will never stop loving you; I never could. I've carried your children under my heart and in them, even when it's gotten too heavy for me to stand. I've had dreams and nightmares, fears and hopes for with you. Davydd isn't alone in there. You have made your place where he grew there, but the end result is the same, isn't it?
     She draws her hands slowly away from your face, then abruptly lifts them, ruffling them vigorously through your hair. "I love you, too," Fiona murmurs, smiling a little as she unfolds from the countertop. "Even when things scare me. Sometimes things are hard. I try not to take it out on you... too much."
     She climbs to her feet, moving with a sigh to wrap both arms around you. In a way, going back there will be good. When I was ... carrying Peter ... things scared me badly, Rhodri. I don't entirely know why I was so scared. Am so scared. I - want to have that protection for me, and here, there are just limits even to what medicine can do. But I don't know if I'm ready yet to clip my roots from here. I don't know. I guess I will have to find out...
     And she moves to release you, turning blue summer-gazed eyes upon you. "Let's go spend insane amounts of money," Fiona murmurs, "and stick your old man with the bill. It'll be like old times..."

Posted by rowan at March 16, 2007 12:00 AM