Princess Tutu fic, gen, Bad Blood
Title: Bad Blood
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Warnings: Zilch.
Characters: Fakir,Rue
It's nearly midnight, or, he thinks it should be; the clock on the kitchen wall has long been broken. It feels like midnight, certainly. The fire is burning low in the hearth, and Fakir knows he should have added more wood, but he keeps on telling himself there's no point, he'll go to bed soon anyway. But for some reason, he can't bring himself to get up and go. It's stupid, really. He knows he's tired.
Everyone else is asleep, save for Rue, sitting on the couch opposite him, holding Mytho's head in her lap, one hand stroking his hair, the other holding a half-empty glass of wine. She's sitting as silently as he is, just looking down at Mytho, and, occasionally, at him. He wonders why she doesn't go to bed either. Her eyes flicker up to him for a moment, as if she's sensed he's watching her. He quickly looks away.
Ahiru is sleeping next to him, curled up in a ball near his hip, her tiny chest rising and falling gently. Occasionally, she shifts in her sleep, her feathers rustling a little. Aside from that, she looks utterly peaceful, so different from how energetic she usually is. Or maybe not, he thinks. For her, peace is a never-ending flurry of activity, of emotions changing at the drop of a hat. Maybe, he thinks, for her, that is peace.
He hears the clunk of glass on the table, and looks up. Rue is setting her wine down, looking straight at him. Her gaze is as hostile as it was in the past, a challenge, daring him to keep looking at her. It doesn't surprise him. As calm and gracious as she was earlier, he knows it was just for Mytho's sake. She hasn't stopped hating him any more than he's stopped hating her. Bad blood like theirs doesn't go away overnight.
It's a pointless feud by now, he knows. She's not really the Raven's daughter, she poses no threat to Mytho, and yet an old familiar fear still clings to him, and he can't help but feel his sword hand curl into a fist when she looks up at him with that smug face, and speaks.
"What are you staring at?" she asks, sounding haughty and dismissive as ever.
"Nothing. I was just looking in your direction. There's not much else to look at, you know."
She looks irritated, as if she expected something else, or she thinks his explanation is lacking. Fine, he thinks. It doesn't matter what she thinks.
There is a silence that hangs over the two a moment longer, making all the other tiny, insignificant sounds in the room echo almost loudly. It seems strange to him, this quietness, when he thinks of how it was earlier. The way Ahiru jumped around when Mytho and Rue arrived, covered in snow and surely tired, but beaming nonetheless. The way Mytho had smiled gently when he'd gotten his gift from her, princely and gracious as ever, as if he'd forgotten the absurdity of spending Christmas with a duck. Even Rue had been unusually polite and happy; her typical barbed comments and snide remarks were, thankfully, absent.
Now that Mytho isn't awake to tell her to be nice, however, those remarks are on the tip of her tongue once more. She carefully crosses her legs, staring him down, waiting for him to speak. When he doesn't (no use rising to the bait, his old self thinks), she gives a long and exaggerated sigh.
"What?" Fakir finally says.
"Why don't you speak?" she says. "And why do you keep staring at me?"
"I told you, there's nothing--"
"You're staring. If you want to say something, just say it."
"I have nothing to say to you," he says.
She sighs again, this time with more chagrin than anything. They lapse into silence once more, but she won't let it stay like that. Neither of them can. It was fine earlier, when it was perfect and unbroken, peaceful. Now it seems stifling, hanging in the air like something old and rotten. Bad blood, he thinks.
"Ahiru says you've been lonely," Rue says suddenly. He looks up. She's staring into her glass of wine, holding it on one hand and carefully resting it on her knee. He expression is unreadable.
"Ahiru assumes things. And jumps to conclusions. You know that." He tries to sound dismissive, but he knows, somehow, it won't do any good.
"She senses people's feelings very well, though." Rue says, without looking up. "And you know that."
"So what if I've been lonely? What on earth does that have to do with you?"
She is silent for a moment.
"Fakir," she says seriously. "Do you think you've changed?"
"Since what?" he says. "Since the end of the story?"
"Yes."
He doesn't know. A part of him feels as though nothing's changed, as though he's still that same foolish child, desperately clinging to whatever role that will give him some measure of usefulness. He knows he's not content with the quietness of life now, even though he knows he should be, even though he wants to be. He knows there's a part of him still itching for an enemy to fight. He knows that's why a part of him is glad that Rue's here.
"I've changed enough," he tries to say. "I'm certainly different now."
"But not different enough?" she asked, honestly, without a trace of sarcasm in her tone.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Just a little."
"I thought, when we left the story, everything would change. I thought that I would become a princess, that, along with everything, I would become perfect."
"But you're not."
She glared at him a little.
"No, I'm not. I'm the same person I always was. Just as selfish, just as haughty. You noticed, didn't you?"
"Of course. But why does it bother you?"
"What do you mean, why does it bother me?" she said, a little angrily. "Doesn't it bother you, the way you're still the same when everything else has changed so much for the better?"
"I don't expect things to happen overnight, and neither should you. If you want to change, then change."
"You and I both know it's not that easy."
"So? It's not impossible. Just start now, instead of sitting around moping about it."
She fell silent, glaring up at him. Then, she carefully slid herself out from under Mytho, and headed for the door of the guest bedroom. Looking back at his confused expression, she answered:
"I'm going to bed."
"Without Mytho?"
"He'll wake up soon. He always knows when I'm gone."
She went in, closing the door without another thought.
"Goodnight, Fakir."
"Goodnight."
He leaned back against his seat. She was wrong, a little. She had changed.
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Warnings: Zilch.
Characters: Fakir,Rue
It's nearly midnight, or, he thinks it should be; the clock on the kitchen wall has long been broken. It feels like midnight, certainly. The fire is burning low in the hearth, and Fakir knows he should have added more wood, but he keeps on telling himself there's no point, he'll go to bed soon anyway. But for some reason, he can't bring himself to get up and go. It's stupid, really. He knows he's tired.
Everyone else is asleep, save for Rue, sitting on the couch opposite him, holding Mytho's head in her lap, one hand stroking his hair, the other holding a half-empty glass of wine. She's sitting as silently as he is, just looking down at Mytho, and, occasionally, at him. He wonders why she doesn't go to bed either. Her eyes flicker up to him for a moment, as if she's sensed he's watching her. He quickly looks away.
Ahiru is sleeping next to him, curled up in a ball near his hip, her tiny chest rising and falling gently. Occasionally, she shifts in her sleep, her feathers rustling a little. Aside from that, she looks utterly peaceful, so different from how energetic she usually is. Or maybe not, he thinks. For her, peace is a never-ending flurry of activity, of emotions changing at the drop of a hat. Maybe, he thinks, for her, that is peace.
He hears the clunk of glass on the table, and looks up. Rue is setting her wine down, looking straight at him. Her gaze is as hostile as it was in the past, a challenge, daring him to keep looking at her. It doesn't surprise him. As calm and gracious as she was earlier, he knows it was just for Mytho's sake. She hasn't stopped hating him any more than he's stopped hating her. Bad blood like theirs doesn't go away overnight.
It's a pointless feud by now, he knows. She's not really the Raven's daughter, she poses no threat to Mytho, and yet an old familiar fear still clings to him, and he can't help but feel his sword hand curl into a fist when she looks up at him with that smug face, and speaks.
"What are you staring at?" she asks, sounding haughty and dismissive as ever.
"Nothing. I was just looking in your direction. There's not much else to look at, you know."
She looks irritated, as if she expected something else, or she thinks his explanation is lacking. Fine, he thinks. It doesn't matter what she thinks.
There is a silence that hangs over the two a moment longer, making all the other tiny, insignificant sounds in the room echo almost loudly. It seems strange to him, this quietness, when he thinks of how it was earlier. The way Ahiru jumped around when Mytho and Rue arrived, covered in snow and surely tired, but beaming nonetheless. The way Mytho had smiled gently when he'd gotten his gift from her, princely and gracious as ever, as if he'd forgotten the absurdity of spending Christmas with a duck. Even Rue had been unusually polite and happy; her typical barbed comments and snide remarks were, thankfully, absent.
Now that Mytho isn't awake to tell her to be nice, however, those remarks are on the tip of her tongue once more. She carefully crosses her legs, staring him down, waiting for him to speak. When he doesn't (no use rising to the bait, his old self thinks), she gives a long and exaggerated sigh.
"What?" Fakir finally says.
"Why don't you speak?" she says. "And why do you keep staring at me?"
"I told you, there's nothing--"
"You're staring. If you want to say something, just say it."
"I have nothing to say to you," he says.
She sighs again, this time with more chagrin than anything. They lapse into silence once more, but she won't let it stay like that. Neither of them can. It was fine earlier, when it was perfect and unbroken, peaceful. Now it seems stifling, hanging in the air like something old and rotten. Bad blood, he thinks.
"Ahiru says you've been lonely," Rue says suddenly. He looks up. She's staring into her glass of wine, holding it on one hand and carefully resting it on her knee. He expression is unreadable.
"Ahiru assumes things. And jumps to conclusions. You know that." He tries to sound dismissive, but he knows, somehow, it won't do any good.
"She senses people's feelings very well, though." Rue says, without looking up. "And you know that."
"So what if I've been lonely? What on earth does that have to do with you?"
She is silent for a moment.
"Fakir," she says seriously. "Do you think you've changed?"
"Since what?" he says. "Since the end of the story?"
"Yes."
He doesn't know. A part of him feels as though nothing's changed, as though he's still that same foolish child, desperately clinging to whatever role that will give him some measure of usefulness. He knows he's not content with the quietness of life now, even though he knows he should be, even though he wants to be. He knows there's a part of him still itching for an enemy to fight. He knows that's why a part of him is glad that Rue's here.
"I've changed enough," he tries to say. "I'm certainly different now."
"But not different enough?" she asked, honestly, without a trace of sarcasm in her tone.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Just a little."
"I thought, when we left the story, everything would change. I thought that I would become a princess, that, along with everything, I would become perfect."
"But you're not."
She glared at him a little.
"No, I'm not. I'm the same person I always was. Just as selfish, just as haughty. You noticed, didn't you?"
"Of course. But why does it bother you?"
"What do you mean, why does it bother me?" she said, a little angrily. "Doesn't it bother you, the way you're still the same when everything else has changed so much for the better?"
"I don't expect things to happen overnight, and neither should you. If you want to change, then change."
"You and I both know it's not that easy."
"So? It's not impossible. Just start now, instead of sitting around moping about it."
She fell silent, glaring up at him. Then, she carefully slid herself out from under Mytho, and headed for the door of the guest bedroom. Looking back at his confused expression, she answered:
"I'm going to bed."
"Without Mytho?"
"He'll wake up soon. He always knows when I'm gone."
She went in, closing the door without another thought.
"Goodnight, Fakir."
"Goodnight."
He leaned back against his seat. She was wrong, a little. She had changed.