| | Welcome!
If you are looking for "It's Just Something He Knows", it not on this site and won't be for a while. I got so behind, I just gave up, but with what looks to be an 8-month hiatus I figure I have time to go back and revise, catch up on season 2, and do it right. But I'm not going to post any of them until I have a considerable amount done, so I don't get anyone's hopes up.
I've transferred all my fic over, so all that's left is the Index. But in the meantime, you can use the tags if you want.
Thanks,
spiceandnice
Note: Recently in the 2.11 episode entitled “Odor in the Court,” Betty and Henry said their first on screen ILYs. It was said so casually, that it seemed obvious to me that they have said them before off screen. And it disappointed me a little because I was hoping to catch the first big ILY onscreen. So, set sometime soon after “Something Wicked this Way Comes,” here’s my little imagination running wild. Try to catch it. And many thanks to CloakedHestia, who inspired me to come out of hiding temporarily.
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Tap ...tap
…tap.Henry groaned listlessly as a persistent rapping whispered in his ear, demanding he stir from his slumber. No. I’m perfectly happy right where I am, he stubbornly refused, clamping his eyes shut in haughty defiance. He could tell from the tepid heat kissing his eyelids that morning had arrived, beckoning him to join the other restless souls in the City that Never Slept. | |
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Henry was a man of reason. Chess, mathematics, statistics— all factual arts with decisive outcomes. There was a right and there was a wrong, a black and a white.
But Betty defied all logic. She was a rainbow of colors, who painted the canvas of Henry’s life scarlet—a hue bleeding danger.
Because he was going to leave her soon, and their hearts would never fully mend. The solution was clear—they should not be together. But the darkness of loss was continually outshined by the lightness of their love. And so they danced recklessly in a fog of gray. | |
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Sick masochistic junkie. Henry was in too deep—there was no turning back now. Sure, at best he’d be a shadow of his former self. At worst, he’d feel like death. But he was addicted, and the high was too good to stop. He knew that come April he’d be sent to Rehab. He’d have to abstain from his prized Drug of Choice—a thought that made him queasy. The withdrawal would be agony, the pain nearly unbearable. But what other choice did he have? He knew the answer. His Fix would be waiting for him, ready for his Relapse. | |
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He never meant to fall in love like this. Not so hard. Not so deep. Henry Grubstick had always been a one woman kind of man, Betty’s man…that was until he laid on eyes on HER. | |
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He wished he had waited longer. He always assumed he’d be the utmost gentleman and wait until after the first date to make a move. As it turned out, it was the result of rash impulse, an overtaking of the body by determined spirit and lustful soul. | |
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The light, lilac-scented air ushered him in, its breeze sweeping soft kisses across his cheeks. Around him the sun danced happily, frolicking off petals, illuminating their vibrancy upon the whitewashed walls of the tiny florist boutique. The ambience entranced and awed, and Daniel stood there mesmerized. | |
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Tick.
The flavors of creamy indulgence exploding in her mouth.
Tock.
The salty tears dampening the vibrant shreds of torn paper.
Tick.
The eerie stillness of a lonely home.
Tock.
The hollow emptiness of vacant eyes and a broken heart.
Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo. Cuckoo.
The antique clock mournfully noting another year’s passing.
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