Wake Up (Princess Tutu, Fakir/Ahiru, #3)
Title: Wake Up
Author: elektra3
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Theme: #3, Jolt!
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu belongs to other, more talented people.
There are feathers everywhere.
She’s lying stunned in the middle of the bed, feeling (with hands? Why do I have hands?) the downy itch of feathers on a body that’s suddenly too long, too wide, too…
Human. She’s human. Did Fakir do that? Time’s been so fuzzy ever since she was turned back into a duck, she’s not sure if she just imagined him saying that he would. Did she imagine it? Maybe this is all a dream and she’s still asleep and dreaming that she’s human except why would she dream about being all confused and -
Maybe I should sit up.
She wobbles upright. It’s not that she’s forgotten how to move in this body, not really, but… the ground is so far away now. She’d almost forgotten - had forgotten - how it felt to see things from above, what it felt like when everything was all vertical and jointy. That’s how she feels now: Hinged and wobbly. Her feathers are gone, and her skin is on too tight.
But the view from above is kind of nice. She’d missed that.
And now that she’s up…
Fakir!
He’s slumped forward onto his desk, face down in what looks like a rapidly spreading pool of ink. Can you drown in ink? What no he can’t drown!
Is there - no, no broken glass on the floor. Just a quill that dropped from his hand, and crumpled up pages littering the corners of the room. Nothing hazardous to bare feet. So she’s across the floor, quick as a something that doesn’t waddle, and shaking him… not awake yet. Why isn’t he waking up? “Fakir. Fakir!”
“Unnnhhhh…”
His head’s moving. That’s good, right? It doesn’t mean that he’ll suddenly get up and sprout branches like he did that other time, right? Because he’s already done that and she doesn’t think you can do things like accidentally turn into a tree twice and anyway there isn’t enough dirt here for an oak tree to grow in so that’s probably not going to happen but what if -
“ ’S going - ”
But he stops mid-sentence as his head tilts toward her and his eyes open - wider, as he realizes what’s happened.
“Ahiru.”
It’s barely more than a breath, an exhalation of wonder. He’s staring at her with an expression she’s never seen him wear before - somewhere between shock and hope and disbelief.
“You - ” he begins, and stops.
“Um.” She almost feels like she should wave. Except that’s silly, right? ’Cause she’s standing right in front of him, and…
…not wearing any clothes.
“Um I mean just a second!” Back across the floor and wrapped in a blanket, it takes her a few minutes to realize that she no longer feels like she’s too far off the ground.
“How - how long have you been like this?” His voice sounds funny, like there’s something caught in his throat.
“I don’t know. A few minutes?” Now that he’s awake and she’s not panicking about the fact that he’s not awake, she can take a better look at him. He’s still wearing that stunned expression; there’s ink on his face, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“I see.” Less strangled now. “Are you - I mean - ”
“I’m okay.” And surprisingly, she is. This body will never fit her all the way, but she’s remembering how to slow down. “Did you write a story for me?”
“It wasn’t - ” He grimaces. “It wasn’t a story, exactly.”
“Eh? What was it?”
“It was - never mind. Let me get you some clothes.” Which is Fakir for, “Please don’t ask, because it’ll make me turn bright red and hide in a corner,” so she doesn’t. Instead she watches as he rummages through his clothing chest and pulls out a shirt. “Here. This should be long enough.”
The shirt actually covers less than the blanket did, but she supposes that that’s not really the point. “Thanks.”
“It’s not a problem.” Now that the shock has worn off, his face is closing down again. She’s always hated it when he does this, furrowing his brows and pulling his mouth downward as if smiling would make the raven come back. “I’ll see if I can find you a dress tomorrow.”
“Fakir?” she asks with some trepidation, because she doesn’t want to make him look like he wants to hide when she’s only been able to talk for five minutes. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” That I ever want to talk about, his face says.
“Well, it’d have to be something to make you notice that it’s nothing, right?” Which makes him look at her as if he’s never seen anything quite so odd, but at least he’s not frowning inward anymore.
“It’d have to be… never mind. It’s not important.”
“Fakiiiiir.”
“It’s nothing. I…”
“You…?” He’s speaking in sentence fragments, and that’s never ever good. “Are you mad about turning me back?”
“What? No!”
“Then what?”
Silence.
“Fakir?”
“It wasn’t a story.” He says it so quietly she’s not sure at first if she even heard it at all. “I was writing about how I felt. About not being able to turn you back. About - you.”
“But it worked, right? So why - ”
“It didn’t!” His eyes shudder closed. “I wasn’t trying to write a story. I wasn’t trying to do anything at all.”
“But - ”
“I lost control.” As if he’s admitting the gravest sin he’s ever committed. “The story did this. Not me.”
“But it was your story. Why - ”
“I didn’t intend for this to happen. Don’t you understand?”
He’s not even talking to her anymore. And she does understand, just not what he meant her to. Fakir might know more than her about a lot of things, but there’s one thing she knows that he never did manage to learn: That not every unintended thing will make ravens kill your family.
So she’s across the floor for the third time, and wrapping her arms around him. He tenses, but doesn’t try to move away. After a moment she feels him relax, and put his arms around her. “It’s okay, Fakir. Nothing bad happened.”
“It could have.”
“It didn’t. You don’t have to be sad about things that didn’t happen.”
He hmphs into her hair. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“Because I’m right. Nothing bad happened, did it?”
His chest starts to shake a little; it takes her a minute to realize that he’s laughing. “And how would you know that when you haven’t even left the room, moron?”
“I just do,” she grumbles into his chest. Maybe she should feel embarrassed about standing like this, pressed up against him and wearing nothing but a oversized shirt, but for now all she can feel is relief that he’s no longer trying to feel guilty about made-up things. “You wrote down your feelings, right? So they wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want them to.”
“You’d be surprised.”
She looks up at him. He’s not quite smiling, but there’s something in his face that seems like he just might think about it. “Eh?”
“Never mind.” Then, more quietly, “Thank you.”
They stand like that for awhile, just holding each other. In all the months of riding on his shoulder or trotting along beside him, she’d forgotten what it was like to -
Not see eye-to-eye. She’s not tall enough for that. But even though he’s looking over the top of her head, and she’s looking past the hitch in his shoulder, he can look down and she can look up and they can meet in the middle without her having to get a crick in her neck.
He exhales - how long was he holding that breath? - and presses a kiss onto the top of her head. “I’m glad that you’re back.”
I’ve always been here, she almost says, but doesn’t. She knows what he means. “Yeah. Me too.”
Author: elektra3
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Theme: #3, Jolt!
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu belongs to other, more talented people.
There are feathers everywhere.
She’s lying stunned in the middle of the bed, feeling (with hands? Why do I have hands?) the downy itch of feathers on a body that’s suddenly too long, too wide, too…
Human. She’s human. Did Fakir do that? Time’s been so fuzzy ever since she was turned back into a duck, she’s not sure if she just imagined him saying that he would. Did she imagine it? Maybe this is all a dream and she’s still asleep and dreaming that she’s human except why would she dream about being all confused and -
Maybe I should sit up.
She wobbles upright. It’s not that she’s forgotten how to move in this body, not really, but… the ground is so far away now. She’d almost forgotten - had forgotten - how it felt to see things from above, what it felt like when everything was all vertical and jointy. That’s how she feels now: Hinged and wobbly. Her feathers are gone, and her skin is on too tight.
But the view from above is kind of nice. She’d missed that.
And now that she’s up…
Fakir!
He’s slumped forward onto his desk, face down in what looks like a rapidly spreading pool of ink. Can you drown in ink? What no he can’t drown!
Is there - no, no broken glass on the floor. Just a quill that dropped from his hand, and crumpled up pages littering the corners of the room. Nothing hazardous to bare feet. So she’s across the floor, quick as a something that doesn’t waddle, and shaking him… not awake yet. Why isn’t he waking up? “Fakir. Fakir!”
“Unnnhhhh…”
His head’s moving. That’s good, right? It doesn’t mean that he’ll suddenly get up and sprout branches like he did that other time, right? Because he’s already done that and she doesn’t think you can do things like accidentally turn into a tree twice and anyway there isn’t enough dirt here for an oak tree to grow in so that’s probably not going to happen but what if -
“ ’S going - ”
But he stops mid-sentence as his head tilts toward her and his eyes open - wider, as he realizes what’s happened.
“Ahiru.”
It’s barely more than a breath, an exhalation of wonder. He’s staring at her with an expression she’s never seen him wear before - somewhere between shock and hope and disbelief.
“You - ” he begins, and stops.
“Um.” She almost feels like she should wave. Except that’s silly, right? ’Cause she’s standing right in front of him, and…
…not wearing any clothes.
“Um I mean just a second!” Back across the floor and wrapped in a blanket, it takes her a few minutes to realize that she no longer feels like she’s too far off the ground.
“How - how long have you been like this?” His voice sounds funny, like there’s something caught in his throat.
“I don’t know. A few minutes?” Now that he’s awake and she’s not panicking about the fact that he’s not awake, she can take a better look at him. He’s still wearing that stunned expression; there’s ink on his face, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“I see.” Less strangled now. “Are you - I mean - ”
“I’m okay.” And surprisingly, she is. This body will never fit her all the way, but she’s remembering how to slow down. “Did you write a story for me?”
“It wasn’t - ” He grimaces. “It wasn’t a story, exactly.”
“Eh? What was it?”
“It was - never mind. Let me get you some clothes.” Which is Fakir for, “Please don’t ask, because it’ll make me turn bright red and hide in a corner,” so she doesn’t. Instead she watches as he rummages through his clothing chest and pulls out a shirt. “Here. This should be long enough.”
The shirt actually covers less than the blanket did, but she supposes that that’s not really the point. “Thanks.”
“It’s not a problem.” Now that the shock has worn off, his face is closing down again. She’s always hated it when he does this, furrowing his brows and pulling his mouth downward as if smiling would make the raven come back. “I’ll see if I can find you a dress tomorrow.”
“Fakir?” she asks with some trepidation, because she doesn’t want to make him look like he wants to hide when she’s only been able to talk for five minutes. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” That I ever want to talk about, his face says.
“Well, it’d have to be something to make you notice that it’s nothing, right?” Which makes him look at her as if he’s never seen anything quite so odd, but at least he’s not frowning inward anymore.
“It’d have to be… never mind. It’s not important.”
“Fakiiiiir.”
“It’s nothing. I…”
“You…?” He’s speaking in sentence fragments, and that’s never ever good. “Are you mad about turning me back?”
“What? No!”
“Then what?”
Silence.
“Fakir?”
“It wasn’t a story.” He says it so quietly she’s not sure at first if she even heard it at all. “I was writing about how I felt. About not being able to turn you back. About - you.”
“But it worked, right? So why - ”
“It didn’t!” His eyes shudder closed. “I wasn’t trying to write a story. I wasn’t trying to do anything at all.”
“But - ”
“I lost control.” As if he’s admitting the gravest sin he’s ever committed. “The story did this. Not me.”
“But it was your story. Why - ”
“I didn’t intend for this to happen. Don’t you understand?”
He’s not even talking to her anymore. And she does understand, just not what he meant her to. Fakir might know more than her about a lot of things, but there’s one thing she knows that he never did manage to learn: That not every unintended thing will make ravens kill your family.
So she’s across the floor for the third time, and wrapping her arms around him. He tenses, but doesn’t try to move away. After a moment she feels him relax, and put his arms around her. “It’s okay, Fakir. Nothing bad happened.”
“It could have.”
“It didn’t. You don’t have to be sad about things that didn’t happen.”
He hmphs into her hair. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“Because I’m right. Nothing bad happened, did it?”
His chest starts to shake a little; it takes her a minute to realize that he’s laughing. “And how would you know that when you haven’t even left the room, moron?”
“I just do,” she grumbles into his chest. Maybe she should feel embarrassed about standing like this, pressed up against him and wearing nothing but a oversized shirt, but for now all she can feel is relief that he’s no longer trying to feel guilty about made-up things. “You wrote down your feelings, right? So they wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want them to.”
“You’d be surprised.”
She looks up at him. He’s not quite smiling, but there’s something in his face that seems like he just might think about it. “Eh?”
“Never mind.” Then, more quietly, “Thank you.”
They stand like that for awhile, just holding each other. In all the months of riding on his shoulder or trotting along beside him, she’d forgotten what it was like to -
Not see eye-to-eye. She’s not tall enough for that. But even though he’s looking over the top of her head, and she’s looking past the hitch in his shoulder, he can look down and she can look up and they can meet in the middle without her having to get a crick in her neck.
He exhales - how long was he holding that breath? - and presses a kiss onto the top of her head. “I’m glad that you’re back.”
I’ve always been here, she almost says, but doesn’t. She knows what he means. “Yeah. Me too.”