"My Thorny Valentine" FEB/MARCH WRITING CHALLENGE entry

[Elfdame]

[Author's Note: this is set in my own AU, not canon, with an original character. Hope it gives you a few grins.]

"My Thorny Valentine"

Until she saw the casket, Elise had forgotten it was Saint Valentine's Day. Now it was too late to do anything. And she was feeling pretty weak anyway, even though she hadn't lost much blood at all.

Her mind wandered back to mid-morning, although it seemed as if it had been days ago…

***

Elise chided the rosebushes for not growing enough despite her ministrations. "And what are you gonna do when I'm off on a flamin' six-week honeymoon?" She sat back on her heels and gave one of her increasingly-frequent sighs. "That Fuzzy Elf doesn’t realize what he's getting himself into."

The tools needed to be cleaned and stored before she went back to the tasks for which she was actually employed, so she tucked everything under her arms and trudged down the hill to the gardening shed, feeling like a porcupine with oversized quills.

Now that they had decided to marry, Kurt wanted to ask her dad for his blessing. How Old World, but sweet. It was comforting that her parents had no qualms about the possibility of a human-mutant marriage – shoot, if they could have traded her for Kurt, she would have spent the last several holidays at an orphanage – but they didn't seem concerned regarding the potential for conflict between their daughter's overgrown-tomboy ways and the romantic nature of the dashing X-man. Fretting about the future, she walked with slightly unfocussed eyes. The lower step caught her unawares and she tumbled down in a clatter of implements and a spray of soil. The hoe gouged a five-inch track in her shin, and she clamped her lips against the curse that almost tumbled out.

"Liebchen! Don’t move."

What was he doing here? she thought, irritation nudging the pain aside for a moment. Through gritted teeth, she asked, "Where did you come from?"

Her fiancé crouched, nimble fingers skating across her legs and arms to assess the damage. "Nothing broken. Let me assist you to a more comfortable position."

"I can sit up by myself, thanks – whuff!" She grabbed his waist and made use of him to resettle on the middle step. "And quit avoiding my question. You happened upon me so quickly because …?"

"Um," he said, his head bowed in examination of her wound, "I was sitting on the roof as you worked in your garden."

"O-kay." Elise addressed the clouds. "He hangs around staring at me when I'm unaware he's watching. Is that creepy, or what?"

"Nein! I was … appreciating the handiwork of Gott. The sun, the wind, the flowers … and my Divine Promise."

Unfair, she thought. You know when you use my name derivation that it melts my heart of stone. What a weasel.

"Tch," the indigo weasel was saying, "This will probably need stitches. We should go to the infirmary." He glanced at her. "I can take you there my own special way."

Why do men always have to show off when they think they are rescuing a lady? "It would avoid leaving a trail of blood, but 'porting right now might make me woozy." She laid her head on her arms, gathering strength to hobble into the mansion.

"I could carry you."

"Thanks for the offer, but I can make it on my own steam." Kurt lifted under her bruised shoulders. She lumbered forward a few steps. "I think." The gardening tools were still piled in a jumble by the shed, and she gave them a fretful glance.

"I will return and take care of those, soon as you are mended and resting."

Chewing her lip, Elise said, "Wagner, are you sure I'm not going to be more of a nuisance than I'm worth? It's not too late to back out."

He took her chin between his thumb and middle finger and raised her eyes level with his, which were shimmering in shades of lemon and sunlight. "You could never be a burden to me. If I bring you a tenth – a hundredth – of the joy you have given me, I shall be content."

Elise rolled her eyes as they trekked along. "You gotta be kidding me, Elf. I'm always saying or doing the wrong thing, or getting into messes from which only you can extricate me." She leaned into him and paused to catch a breath. "Wouldn't adopting a dog from the pound be an easier way to avoid loneliness?"

Bending backwards as his laughter rang out, he almost dropped his supporting arm.

"Is that how you picture yourself, little feminist? As my lapdog?"

"More like an albatross around your neck." Frowning, she added, "Consider the price of being tied to a jerk like me for the rest of your life."

"We agreed that our future union is the will of Gott, ja?"

"Yeah, I remember. Signs and wonders."

"Then there is no need for further discussion of breaking the engagement."

"But—"

"Ah-ah," tapping a finger against his lips, "now shush."

"Yes, Sir. Shushing, Sir."

They resumed their ramble, maneuvering with caution on the steps to the infirmary below ground level. Once inside, he hoisted her onto a bed. The patient sat, legs dangling over the side, and watched him gather the necessary items onto a cart. He handed her a jigger of Tylenol 3.

"Bottoms up," he said, grinning. She complied with alacrity, and he squatted beside the bed to patch her up.

He poured saline solution on the wound to clean it, blotting it gingerly with sterile gauze, and peering at her with an apologetic expression, said, "I will need to prep this area."

"I said I'd marry you, Furball. Never agreed to shave my legs for ya." Patting his back as kindly as possible in her current exasperated mood, she added, "As long as Logan doesn't find out. He'll act like we were doing something kinky."

"That must wait for the honeymoon," he leered.

There's an art to medicine, she reflected, knowing how to secure the patient's trust. He has the compassionate touch. Why can't I be so tender?

"Kurt, I don’t know whom I can trust to look after my roses when we're gone. They're more finicky than the veggies and stuff."

"Sam might do it."

Head tilted, she considered the idea. "I'd have to leave detailed instructions."

"They are quite a bother. Pansies, now, those are such cheerful flowers, and they grow easily all year 'round."

Elise bristled. "But my roses are special. They're all so different. And you gotta love the scents!"

"Please quit kicking your legs, Liebchen."

"Sorry. I told you I'm a lot of trouble."

"Like your roses?" He let slip a sly look.

"You cad." The big toe of her good leg whopped him in the side. On purpose.

"But you are right," he continued. "And they are full of thorns. One must handle them with great delicacy, and always at the risk of being pricked."

"Point made, Professor."

"Lidocaine, bitte."

"With pleasure. Don't stint on the anesthetic."

"I will be generous." Absorbed in his work, the medic seemed unaware of his fiancée's fingers making furrows through his full, wavy hair. At last he said, "Bandage."

She squirted cleanser on her hands, then gave him the supplies. "Sorry if I ruined your afternoon."

"I enjoy tending my beloved as she enjoys tending her flowers." Finished, he sat next to her, nuzzling her neck. "Und I find the perfume of her presence sweet enough to make me drunk."

"Quit tippling, Circus Boy – we both have work to do."

"I am on break," he mumbled.

"Such a hopeless romantic. How can you stand being around Miss Pragmatic?"

He pulled back to face her, and his smile sent a pleasant warmth spreading through her, despite her clouded mood. "It does one no good to constantly gaze in the mirror. A healthy partnership consists of opposite sides of the coin. Complementary, without competing." He rose. "Now try to stand up."

Elise did, wincing, but with her arm around his shoulders, felt she could make it to the kitchen. "I really should change clothes, but dinner's already gonna be late thanks to this fiasco."

Kurt nudged her to sit again. "You will lie down, elevate your leg, and stop talking about work."

"Dinner won't cook itself."

"But Miss Pragmatic always plans ahead. The scent of red beans and rice tells me that dinner is indeed cooking itself."

"Still things to be done, finishing touches."

His golden-eyed glare made her back down for once.

He stuck a small cylinder in her palm. "Call Rogue on the X-comm and explain your need."

She switched the device on and twisted it to the correct frequency until a voice responded. "Rogue here, Nightcrawler."

"Anna, it's Elise. Do you have plans for tonight? ... Sorry to hear that, but your loss is my gain. Could you handle fixing dinner? ... No, I'm not going on strike, but I, uh, scraped my shin and the Elf is barring me from my kitchen." She shot him a disgruntled look, to put him in his place. "The crock pots are all set, the recipe to bake cornbread is pulled up on the 'puter, and, oh, listen – use a rag from the sanitizer bucket to wipe down the counters, very important, health code ... Uh-huh, and keep Drake out of the walk-in freezer or I won't have anything to fix for the next three weeks. ... I owe ya one, girlfriend."

Kurt's fingers closed over the comm like a fleur-de-lis as Elise asked him, "Satisfied?"

"May I carry you to the cottage?"

"Definitely not. Help me walk to the kitchen so I can keep an eye on things."

"Definitely not." Arms akimbo, he said, "You would not want my damsel-saving skills to grow rusty from lack of use?"

"All right, 'Crawler, but no fussing over me as if I were some helpless, fluffy kitten."

"First a pound puppy, now a kitten. Next you will be comparing yourself to a gerbil." He scooped her up and they left the mansion. Midway down the hill to her quarters, she relaxed her head against his neck, thumb toying with the nap of his fur.

"Elf?"

"Mm?"

The passenger swallowed. "I really appreciate you. It, it frightens me to feel dependent on a man, y'know?" She stroked his velvety cheek. "Even though I do kinda enjoy it when you hold me."

Arriving at their destination, he placed Elise on the couch and tucked a fuzzy midnight blue blanket around her, grabbed a beverage from the cooler in the wet bar for himself, and sat down for a short visit.

"That was a most precious gift," he said.

The codeine must be muddling me, she thought. "What are you talking about?"

He leaned toward her. "All my life, people have greeted me with fear and misunderstanding. They see only how I look on the outside, or at best how my talents may be utilized." His tail was undulating on the cushion behind him; she recognized it as a sign of agitation. "But the first day I met you, I was invited to sit in your kitchen and make myself at home."

She winked. "Strudel: way to a man's heart."

"Do you recall the day you hid in the gazebo, crying?"

His best friend fingered the blanket. "Some idiot sent you hate mail. It still rankles."

"Even today, it did not matter that I am agile, nor that I can teleport, not even that I am at home in shadows or skilled with a sword." He brushed strands of hair that had come loose from her braid, tucking them behind her ears. "My Promise of Gott confides that it is pleasant to be carried in the arms of her intended."

"You're makin' me blush, dude." A shy smile crept across her face; then a yawn surfaced.

Kurt popped "The Princess Bride" into the DVD player. "Now it is time for you to rest. I will come by later to see how you are doing." He planted a beer-scented kiss on her forehead and left for his duties.

***

As she awoke, waning sunlight revealed a jewelry casket decorated in silver filigree sitting on the coffee table. Inside, nestled on the maroon velvet lining, was a rosebud with ribbons woven around the stem, thorns intact, petals beginning to blossom. A small parchment scroll, when unrolled, revealed a note in Kurt's serif-spiked handwriting.
My Dearest Elise ~
Although I know it is difficult for you to accept gifts, especially on this day full of what you call "guilt-driven males kowtowing to desperate attention-starved females," please bear with your fiancé's desire to remind you of how precious you are to him. When I saw this treasure box, my first thought was how, like so many women, it was lovely on the outside but barren inside. Unlike you, my love, who are beautiful without and within, body, soul and spirit. I pray that through the years you would fill this empty coffer with mementos of our love.
I remain ever your,
Fuzzy Elf

Leave it to me to forget the day devoted to romance, she thought. Trailing her fingers across the argent curlicues, the day's happenings tumbling through her head, Elise despaired of whipping up a fitting response to his thoughtful gesture. But, if he loved her as she was, he would understand even a clumsy attempt at expressing sincere feelings.

It was worth a try.

***

A few hours later, as Kurt was returning The Adventures Of Robin Hood to the bookshelf in his room, he heard someone knocking. "Special delivery for the love of Elise's life," came Kitty's voice.

He opened the door. "I must have Hank check my ears."

"You heard right," Kitty answered, proffering a flat, rectangular object wrapped in red paper. "She told me the story about how Saint Valentine cured a blind girl. I wouldn't know about that, but this must be a day for miracles." She flashed her dimples, handed him the package, and went down the hallway to her room as Kurt turned back to his own suite.

His tail closed the door while trefoil hands tore through the paper, then froze in amazement at the colored-pencil drawing. He recognized the frame as one they had made together.

Elise's bold style could not hide the delicate sentiment tucked into every detail. On the background of a vibrant red heart was a sketch of himself, slightly comical but drenched in the artist's admiration. The figure stood on a tightrope, dressed in his Flynn-inspired X-man uniform, with the rosary she had given him peeking out of the waistband. His tail wound around a first aid kit. His teeth clenched a yellow rose.

In one hand he brandished a sword; on the palm of the other stood a woman in overalls and chef's hat, hands clasped at her chest. A comic balloon from her lips read, "My Hero."

He didn't know whether to laugh in amusement or cry from joy, so he did both.

[Edited on 14/3/08 by Elfdame]

[the_lone_bamf]

Awwww this story is so cute. Makes me want to learn how to make some strudel and lure in a fuzzy elf of my own.

[Elfdame]

He's probably just marrying her for her family. (jk) She has a bunch of younger brothers who like to play pirates and Jedis and stuff ...... and, she has a Jeep. Hard to turn down a lady with a Jeep.

Thanks for the kind words.

[Angelique]

I don't think anything I was thinking of scribbling for this challenge could compare.

(You heard right! My fanfic moratorium is at an end!)

[Elfdame]

You're so kind. But I think my entry is kinda lame, actually.

Then again, I don't really like romance.

Go ahead -- write something. Longer isn't necessarily better, duh!

PS - I adore your pirate flag. Too clever!!! Jealous!

[Edited on 4/3/08 by Elfdame]

[Rowena]

Well, it worked--I'm grinning! This is a great Valentine's story: short and sugar-sweet. All the Word List words are accounted for, and you've managed to bring your OC alive in a relatively small space, so great job on the characterization! Fantastic!

And yeah, Angelique, do write something! Why not try a St. Patrick's Day story? You know, shake things up a bit?

Wonderful story, Elfdame! Thanks so much for entering!!!

[BlueVelvet14]

This is really good! I loved the ending, so sweet. The story I wrote also had an origianal character, but she storyline revolving around her was a bit boring. Overall, I loved it.

[Elfdame]

Thanks, BlueVelvet! I thought my story was actually boring, ie nothing happens. Oh well. That's what I get for writing romance (I don't like romance). Humor is my forte, and I have to admit I enjoyed writing a scene where she kicks him in the ribs, even if it meant something implausible like her sitting on the edge of the infirmary bed instead of properly on it.

Glad you enjoyed it.

[bleh!thevamp]

*late reply* but... well done! this story is so sweet and it most definitely wasn't boring!

[Elfdame]

Thank you for such an encouraging reply.

Still think it's boring, though ... no plot to speak of except: Girl Gets Hurt, Boy Stitches Girl, Girl Finally Admits She's Fond Of Boy.

At least she got to kick him in the ribs. That part was fun. And calling him an indigo weasel.

[Elfdame]

Most of what I write, I realize, is the product of my subconscious co-opting stuff I've read or heard in the past, eg, one of the scenes in my Crawlerfic is suspiciously like the break-up scene in "Little Women."

So I was reading this passage from St-Exupery's Little Prince and I realized what must have been percolating (since like, oh, 1975) in the back of my cranium, to come gushing up at the end of the story.

*blush* Happens to me all the time. I take comfort in the thought that at least I cadge from the best.