<drugged up and suffering the influences of both Vergil and Marx, not to mention too little sleep, Emily wanders out into the open> Guys, you are going to wanna shoot me for this fic, but I swear to the gods above and below that it's not my fault. It's all Bob, and I ask that you please lodge your complaints with him. If it weren't for his proddings, I would *so* not be writing this. <shoots a glare o' doom at her sicko muse> My apologies in advance for AU, OOC, sap, and other things that I never ever thought I'd write, much less post.
NEway, don't hurt me too much when you're done...
Valentine's Day: Fic the Fourth
For the single most hated day of the year, it started off rather nicely.
It helped some that I left orders last night that I was taking the day off, and anyone who woke me before noon would find him or herself on the next shuttle to the most remote colony posting I could locate. Sometimes the headaches my job entails are worth it, when I take advantage of the perks that I can sometimes finagle...
I didn't wake until at least ten a.m., and as for actually getting around to getting up, bathed, and dressed... Well, let's just say that instead of breakfast, I had lunch.
It was rather nice to ignore my duties as a dignitary, not having to worry about minor crises that require my personal attention just to keep overly-fragile egos from exploding. I ignored the news reports and dispatches--if it's truly urgent, the right people know to contact me--and put them aside to deal with tomorrow. I figured that a single, lonely female--even if she's one of the most politically prominent women in the system--deserves to take Valentine's Day off if she wants to.
All I had planned for the day was rest and relaxation--I had an appointment with my stylist to get my hair done, I was scheduled for a facial, manicure, pedicure, and massage session, and I had a couple of sappy romance novels that I planned on reading sometime during the day. It was going to be a day of decadence, something that almost never happens for me.
As the plan went, I made it all the way through my first cup of tea before something knocked my plottings askew.
A servant walked in, bearing a large white box, which he told me had just arrived for me. Rather confused, I opened it.
Roses. A dozen long-stemmed, absolutely perfect crimson roses.
Someone had sent me roses on Valentine's Day.
My tea grew very cold in the time that I sat staring at the flowers, perplexed. I couldn't figure out who would send me flowers... I hadn't seen anyone in the longest time, once I figured out that no one could ever match up to the ideal locked in my heart... and that ideal man was definitely *not* interested in me.
He'd made that abundantly clear.
Eventually I gave up being puzzled and just accepted the fact that somebody was being nice to me--anonymously, since there was no card attached to the flowers.
About three o'clock, as my masseuse pummeled the muscles in my back into jelly, another servant brought in another package. This one--also unmarked--was the largest box of fine chocolates I've ever had the privilege to lay my eyes on.
My masseuse cooed over these and proceeded to grill me about their origin. As if I had a clue.
I knew who I wanted the sender to be, however... Not that I dared voice the hope, even in the silence of my mind. Some things are just impossible, and I know it.
Any tranquillity my day might have possessed (along with the meager solace my self-indulgences offered me from this cruelest of holidays) dissipated, as I turned the matter over in my mind endlessly. Who would send me roses and chocolates? I couldn't decide if he (or she) was just being nice or sadistic...
Five o'clock. My butler walked in, bearing a bottle of vintage champagne and--I nearly danced for joy--a card.
"Expect me at seven for dinner."
Or maybe not so much joy. It was handwritten--but not in any handwriting I recognized. And there was no signature.
Absolutely maddening. How dare this anonymous sadist toy with my emotions so? I hovered between anger and amusement. Whoever this was, he was terribly sure of himself.
So now I'm waiting for my mysterious--admirer? prankster? to arrive for dinner. I couldn't keep myself from dressing to kill. Having no idea how serious this matter is, I don't want to underestimate the meaning of these gifts.
There's a stupid little voice in the back of my mind that I just can't silence, hoping against all hope that it will be *him* that walks through the door in just a few minutes.
Like *that's* ever going to happen...
My guest has arrived, the servant tells me. Oh, God, I don't know if I can do this. Why should my heart be pounding so hard? This isn't serious, it's just a game someone's playing with me... a very cruel game, but just a game...
I turn to the door, pasting a pleasant smile on my face, prepared to flirt harmlessly with whomever has been taunting me all day long with reminders of my lack of a love life.
And *he* walks in.
The world has gone mad. It's full of lights and sounds and colors and music that I never noticed before... The man I love just walked back into my life.
He's smiling. Have I ever seen him smile like that before this very moment?
He's speaking. Has he ever said my name with any amount of tenderness before now?
He's taking my hand... his fingers, warm and calloused, reassuringly real and firm... This is no dream.
You sent me the roses... and the chocolates... and the champagne? Demo... I thought you loved--someone else...
Your eyes hold such a wealth of emotion... fondness, regret, a little bit of hurt that I long to soothe away... and you tell me that you and he split up a few years ago... that you've done a lot of thinking since then... that maybe you were wrong to allow me to let you go free... that *he* of all people had suggested the day of mysterious gifts...
Is my face as flushed as it feels? Am I really floating above the ground? Is my heart open to read like a book? Can you not see how much I love you? I was willing to let you go to another man, if that was what it took to make you happy... and now you stand before me, making all my dreams come true...
I squeeze your hand still in mine, and place a kiss on your cheek.
Let's discuss this over dinner, Heero...
<eeps and cowers in fear> Bob, damn you, why did you make me write that?!!
<miserably> If you want to throw things, feel free...