Fanfic: The Ring
Title: The Ring
Rating: PG
Ship: D/J
Summary: A tragedy leads Jacqueline to reassess her relationship with d'Artagnan.
---
“You lost your ring.”
D’Artagnan’s gave lingered on the third finger of her left hand. The finger that was now bare, that only hours ago had been adorned by a band of gold and diamonds that sparkled like the light in her eyes. It had been his mother’s ring; since he had no sister, it had passed to him when she died. It was one of the few memories he had of her. Jacqueline had protested at first, but when he told her where it came from, she accepted it with a kiss. She understood that his mother’s ring signified the commitment that he found so hard to put into words.
Jacqueline opened her fist. The ring lay on her palm, diamonds twinkling in the firelight, but a glance at her shadowed face revealed that the light had left her eyes.
“It’s not mine.”
When he didn’t reach out to take the ring, she tilted her hand and let it slip off her palm. It landed on the table, rolled off the edge to strike the bench next to her, and finally came to rest on the floor. He didn’t bend to retrieve it.
“Is this about yesterday?”
Yesterday. Only the time, not the event. As if not mentioning it would make it never have happened.
“It’s more than that.”
And maybe it was. Maybe this recent tragedy was only the culmination of a series of events intended to show them that their relationship wouldn’t work. But it had to work; they’d just have to work a little bit harder.
“Is it me?”
That was his worst fear: that he’d been pushing her too fast; that she didn’t feel for him what he felt for her. He had given her that verbal gift, but she had never returned it. Maybe she thought that would make it easier when this had to end.
“No.”
Her voice was choked with tears that hadn’t yet left her eyes. She still didn’t look at him. He didn’t blame her for wanting to make this less painful.
“Then why?”
He knew why. Because she took her job as a Musketeer too seriously to let herself be distracted. To let either of them be distracted.
“Siroc almost died yesterday.”
They hadn’t been paying attention; at least, not to their duties. It was a simple assignment: wait for the thief and arrest him when he came. Siroc had done his calculations to determine where the next robbery would occur, and he and Ramon were waiting at the other door. D’Artagnan and Jacqueline shouldn’t have needed the backup. They should have had the thief cornered before he even knew they were there. Instead, he had a chance to draw a weapon. Their distraction had forced a thief to become an attempted murder. He shouldn’t have had that opportunity.
“The doctor says he’s going to be all right.”
A miracle d’Artagnan thanked God for. He would never forgive himself if his love had cost his friend his life.
“But what about next time?”
He looked down at the ring on the floor, the ring that had graced the hand of his mother, the hand of his lover. Now abandoned, discarded, cast away; like his heart.
“There won’t be a next time.”
She nodded, but not because she knew they could work things out. There wouldn’t be a next time because they would never be in that situation again.
“I’m sorry.”
The tears escaped from her eyes now, left a glistening trail as they crawled down her cheek. He understood. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect the ones she loved, even at the expense of another who loved her back.
Silently she rose. He watched the shadow cast by the firelight, dissipating as she moved away until there was nothing, no vestige of her presence except the refraction of light from a single tiny spot on the floor. Slowly he bent down to pick it up, to hold that one last piece of her in his hand. Even if she never wore it again, it would always be hers.
Rating: PG
Ship: D/J
Summary: A tragedy leads Jacqueline to reassess her relationship with d'Artagnan.
---
“You lost your ring.”
D’Artagnan’s gave lingered on the third finger of her left hand. The finger that was now bare, that only hours ago had been adorned by a band of gold and diamonds that sparkled like the light in her eyes. It had been his mother’s ring; since he had no sister, it had passed to him when she died. It was one of the few memories he had of her. Jacqueline had protested at first, but when he told her where it came from, she accepted it with a kiss. She understood that his mother’s ring signified the commitment that he found so hard to put into words.
Jacqueline opened her fist. The ring lay on her palm, diamonds twinkling in the firelight, but a glance at her shadowed face revealed that the light had left her eyes.
“It’s not mine.”
When he didn’t reach out to take the ring, she tilted her hand and let it slip off her palm. It landed on the table, rolled off the edge to strike the bench next to her, and finally came to rest on the floor. He didn’t bend to retrieve it.
“Is this about yesterday?”
Yesterday. Only the time, not the event. As if not mentioning it would make it never have happened.
“It’s more than that.”
And maybe it was. Maybe this recent tragedy was only the culmination of a series of events intended to show them that their relationship wouldn’t work. But it had to work; they’d just have to work a little bit harder.
“Is it me?”
That was his worst fear: that he’d been pushing her too fast; that she didn’t feel for him what he felt for her. He had given her that verbal gift, but she had never returned it. Maybe she thought that would make it easier when this had to end.
“No.”
Her voice was choked with tears that hadn’t yet left her eyes. She still didn’t look at him. He didn’t blame her for wanting to make this less painful.
“Then why?”
He knew why. Because she took her job as a Musketeer too seriously to let herself be distracted. To let either of them be distracted.
“Siroc almost died yesterday.”
They hadn’t been paying attention; at least, not to their duties. It was a simple assignment: wait for the thief and arrest him when he came. Siroc had done his calculations to determine where the next robbery would occur, and he and Ramon were waiting at the other door. D’Artagnan and Jacqueline shouldn’t have needed the backup. They should have had the thief cornered before he even knew they were there. Instead, he had a chance to draw a weapon. Their distraction had forced a thief to become an attempted murder. He shouldn’t have had that opportunity.
“The doctor says he’s going to be all right.”
A miracle d’Artagnan thanked God for. He would never forgive himself if his love had cost his friend his life.
“But what about next time?”
He looked down at the ring on the floor, the ring that had graced the hand of his mother, the hand of his lover. Now abandoned, discarded, cast away; like his heart.
“There won’t be a next time.”
She nodded, but not because she knew they could work things out. There wouldn’t be a next time because they would never be in that situation again.
“I’m sorry.”
The tears escaped from her eyes now, left a glistening trail as they crawled down her cheek. He understood. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect the ones she loved, even at the expense of another who loved her back.
Silently she rose. He watched the shadow cast by the firelight, dissipating as she moved away until there was nothing, no vestige of her presence except the refraction of light from a single tiny spot on the floor. Slowly he bent down to pick it up, to hold that one last piece of her in his hand. Even if she never wore it again, it would always be hers.