fanfic and original writing by ar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
witticaster) wrote2010-06-05 11:57 pm
witticaster) wrote2010-06-05 11:57 pm
0208
Finish this later, am sleeeeeeeepy.
"Would you like to sit?" James asked, when they came upon a wooden bench set back slightly from the path. "This seems a fine place to rest a moment or two."
Beth nodded her agreement, and James found himself taking a more careful seat than he normally might have; he did not like to presume to sit too close, but likewise would risk appearing suddenly aloof if he kept too much his distance, or so he thought. (Considering that the differences worked out to a matter of centimeters at best on the small bench, and his agitation was not outwardly evident, it was unlikely that Beth would have seen any sort of difference.) They rested in a mostly comfortable silence for some moments, appreciating the birdsong and the small new leaves of springtime.
James said, "Beth," and, when she turned her head to look at him, all his half-rehearsed speeches fled his mind. He could think only of the soft sheen of her long hair, the bright blue eyes now looking at him quizzically, and grappled for something, anything to say that might lead him to the question he had been saving for this afternoon. "I--I want you to know how very much I have appreciated your friendship, these past two years."
"I have likewise appreciated yours," she responded, giving him a smile glad enough to spur him onwards, to the words he was most unsure of saying.
"As of late, however, I wondered--have hoped," came his self-correction, and went his last opportunity to leave things as they had been since their acquaintance began. "There is no way but to speak plainly on this matter: I have hoped that there might be some possibility that we could be...something more than simply friends."
She said nothing for some moments, looking away from him toward the copse of trees opposite them; it was impossible to guess whether it was a matter of shyness or embarrassment for his proposition. Refusing to let himself speculate on the matter, he waited, quiet, until she looked back at him and said, "There--yes. There is. I have thought on it myself."
These solemn little words, coupled with such a sincere and loving look, left James' heart impossibly light. She could care for him--could perhaps love him as he felt quite certain he loved her. He made no effort to quell the grin on his face, surely undignified but born of such mixed relief and joy that he cared not for anything but the possibility of taking her hands in his and attempting to say the rest of his little speech. "I am so very glad. I would like to ask you something, and I only ask that you allow me to explain myself fully before answering."
"Of course, James," was the answer, and the reassuring squeeze of her hands in his; he wondered, briefly, if she had already guessed his intent.
"I cannot give you all the things you deserve," he began, feeling an especial weight to the truth of those words at that moment. "I am at sea too often to take you out on Saturday nights or--or otherwise show you the depth of my feeling in person. But I feel as though I know you already, as I hope you do me: from our letters, from the time we have had together since we met. And, knowing you as I do, I can see no reason why I would ever want the companionship of another. You are--you are kind, and loving, and intelligent, and talented, and I should be honoured throughout my life, if you would agree to marry me.
"We need not move hastily--if you would prefer a long engagement, I am amenable, and if you would rather we did not enter into such an agreement, I shall understand," he added. "Only, I know that, with things as they are, I will not be able to visit more than once or twice a year; our certainty in each other may still need to come of correspondence."
Beth was silent for several moments, but smiling, in that way women had, which suggested the expression was meant as a barrier to tears as well as an expression of happiness. When she spoke, it was not to say either the dreaded no or the hoped-for yes, of course, but to lean toward him slightly, and softly request, "Before I answer--will you kiss me?"
This was not an answer he had ever thought to anticipate, and for the span of a heartbeat, his inward thoughts were all of a panic. Then, berating himself sharply for quailing at the thought of a kiss, he curved a hand about her cheek and pressed his lips gently to hers.
"Yes," she breathed, when they broke apart, and tilted her head to kiss him again, sweet and restrained. "Yes, James, I'll marry you."
"Would you like to sit?" James asked, when they came upon a wooden bench set back slightly from the path. "This seems a fine place to rest a moment or two."
Beth nodded her agreement, and James found himself taking a more careful seat than he normally might have; he did not like to presume to sit too close, but likewise would risk appearing suddenly aloof if he kept too much his distance, or so he thought. (Considering that the differences worked out to a matter of centimeters at best on the small bench, and his agitation was not outwardly evident, it was unlikely that Beth would have seen any sort of difference.) They rested in a mostly comfortable silence for some moments, appreciating the birdsong and the small new leaves of springtime.
James said, "Beth," and, when she turned her head to look at him, all his half-rehearsed speeches fled his mind. He could think only of the soft sheen of her long hair, the bright blue eyes now looking at him quizzically, and grappled for something, anything to say that might lead him to the question he had been saving for this afternoon. "I--I want you to know how very much I have appreciated your friendship, these past two years."
"I have likewise appreciated yours," she responded, giving him a smile glad enough to spur him onwards, to the words he was most unsure of saying.
"As of late, however, I wondered--have hoped," came his self-correction, and went his last opportunity to leave things as they had been since their acquaintance began. "There is no way but to speak plainly on this matter: I have hoped that there might be some possibility that we could be...something more than simply friends."
She said nothing for some moments, looking away from him toward the copse of trees opposite them; it was impossible to guess whether it was a matter of shyness or embarrassment for his proposition. Refusing to let himself speculate on the matter, he waited, quiet, until she looked back at him and said, "There--yes. There is. I have thought on it myself."
These solemn little words, coupled with such a sincere and loving look, left James' heart impossibly light. She could care for him--could perhaps love him as he felt quite certain he loved her. He made no effort to quell the grin on his face, surely undignified but born of such mixed relief and joy that he cared not for anything but the possibility of taking her hands in his and attempting to say the rest of his little speech. "I am so very glad. I would like to ask you something, and I only ask that you allow me to explain myself fully before answering."
"Of course, James," was the answer, and the reassuring squeeze of her hands in his; he wondered, briefly, if she had already guessed his intent.
"I cannot give you all the things you deserve," he began, feeling an especial weight to the truth of those words at that moment. "I am at sea too often to take you out on Saturday nights or--or otherwise show you the depth of my feeling in person. But I feel as though I know you already, as I hope you do me: from our letters, from the time we have had together since we met. And, knowing you as I do, I can see no reason why I would ever want the companionship of another. You are--you are kind, and loving, and intelligent, and talented, and I should be honoured throughout my life, if you would agree to marry me.
"We need not move hastily--if you would prefer a long engagement, I am amenable, and if you would rather we did not enter into such an agreement, I shall understand," he added. "Only, I know that, with things as they are, I will not be able to visit more than once or twice a year; our certainty in each other may still need to come of correspondence."
Beth was silent for several moments, but smiling, in that way women had, which suggested the expression was meant as a barrier to tears as well as an expression of happiness. When she spoke, it was not to say either the dreaded no or the hoped-for yes, of course, but to lean toward him slightly, and softly request, "Before I answer--will you kiss me?"
This was not an answer he had ever thought to anticipate, and for the span of a heartbeat, his inward thoughts were all of a panic. Then, berating himself sharply for quailing at the thought of a kiss, he curved a hand about her cheek and pressed his lips gently to hers.
"Yes," she breathed, when they broke apart, and tilted her head to kiss him again, sweet and restrained. "Yes, James, I'll marry you."
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