A Birthday Story for Mrua7
Sep. 30th, 2016 07:45 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuHappy Birthday! Hope you enjoy this little interlude with our favorite gypsy rover.
The cell was dark now, too dark for him to continue his futile search for a means of escape. Heedless of his jacket, Illya slid down the wall and sat with a soft thud, weary and frustrated.
“Illya?”
His eyes followed the voice, straining to make out the huddled form in the gloom. Marian had remained quiet and watchful during his search, unoffended by his lack of attention or conversation. He had not forgotten her, however. Though not as distractible as his partner, Illya had found it required extra effort to stay focused on the mission since this innocent had stumbled into their Affair.
“I am sorry, Marian. There is nothing I can do. We must rely on Napoleon to get us out.” He had no doubt his partner would rescue them. Napoleon was not one to leave a damsel in distress. The thought galled him more than usual.
His tone had been harsher than he intended, and Marian did not answer immediately. When she spoke again, it was with forced cheerfulness. “What an unusual place to spend a birthday.”
Illya felt pangs of remorse. “Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Here.” He shrugged out of his coat and crawled across the cell. “Take this.”
She took the coat from his hands. “Thank you.”
Illya sat down next to her, maintaining a discreet distance. His hand, resting on the floor beside him, could feel the warmth radiating from her. He searched for the right words, something clever and amusing to take her mind off of their predicament; but his senses were consumed by her nearness, and his tongue was thoroughly tied.
The silence stretched out for many minutes, until he was certain she must have dozed off. Then to his surprise Marian began to whistle, a sweet, trilling melody, like a bird in a cage. “You are very good at that,” he said as the last notes die away.
“Thanks. It's a pretty tune. I wish I knew the words.”
Illya at last felt he had something to offer her. “I know them.”
“Would you sing it for me, Illya?” she asked hesitantly.
“Of course. Whistle again, and I'll come in after.”
She complied, and then Illya sang,
“The gypsy rover came over the hill
Down through the valley so shady,
He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang,
And he won the heart of a lady.”
By the second verse, Illya’s arm had found its way around Marian’s shoulders. Wherever plans Napoleon had to rescue them, Illya hoped he would take his time.
The cell was dark now, too dark for him to continue his futile search for a means of escape. Heedless of his jacket, Illya slid down the wall and sat with a soft thud, weary and frustrated.
“Illya?”
His eyes followed the voice, straining to make out the huddled form in the gloom. Marian had remained quiet and watchful during his search, unoffended by his lack of attention or conversation. He had not forgotten her, however. Though not as distractible as his partner, Illya had found it required extra effort to stay focused on the mission since this innocent had stumbled into their Affair.
“I am sorry, Marian. There is nothing I can do. We must rely on Napoleon to get us out.” He had no doubt his partner would rescue them. Napoleon was not one to leave a damsel in distress. The thought galled him more than usual.
His tone had been harsher than he intended, and Marian did not answer immediately. When she spoke again, it was with forced cheerfulness. “What an unusual place to spend a birthday.”
Illya felt pangs of remorse. “Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Here.” He shrugged out of his coat and crawled across the cell. “Take this.”
She took the coat from his hands. “Thank you.”
Illya sat down next to her, maintaining a discreet distance. His hand, resting on the floor beside him, could feel the warmth radiating from her. He searched for the right words, something clever and amusing to take her mind off of their predicament; but his senses were consumed by her nearness, and his tongue was thoroughly tied.
The silence stretched out for many minutes, until he was certain she must have dozed off. Then to his surprise Marian began to whistle, a sweet, trilling melody, like a bird in a cage. “You are very good at that,” he said as the last notes die away.
“Thanks. It's a pretty tune. I wish I knew the words.”
Illya at last felt he had something to offer her. “I know them.”
“Would you sing it for me, Illya?” she asked hesitantly.
“Of course. Whistle again, and I'll come in after.”
She complied, and then Illya sang,
“The gypsy rover came over the hill
Down through the valley so shady,
He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang,
And he won the heart of a lady.”
By the second verse, Illya’s arm had found its way around Marian’s shoulders. Wherever plans Napoleon had to rescue them, Illya hoped he would take his time.
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Date: 2016-10-01 12:26 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2016-10-01 12:42 am (UTC)