Oh gosh, look what I found! A true drabble (100 words) and a flopsy from what was once my favourite very-AU pairing:
When she Smiles
It's her smile.
He can't explain it. It’s a sweet smile, definitely. He remembers seeing people –and very occasionally a real woman – smiling like that, and it wouldn’t do anything to him. Even since turning human, smiles like that would make him think “Ain’t that a nice smile?” Nothing more.
But when she smiles, it’s terrifying. It fills him with a cold, naked fear; makes his heart race; his breath catch; and the blood drain from his face. He doesn’t know whether to stay and fight or run as far as he can.
He always stays. But he never fights.
Telling the Tale
She sat still on her hands throughout the whole relation of the story, just as she had said she would. He never knew what range of emotions passed across her face and body as she listened – he didn’t look.
At the end there was silence. For far too long. Eventually he chanced a glance at her, to find her just sitting there on the couch, watching him with that disconcerting gaze of hers.
“Well what?” she asked, her watchful gaze not faltering even as he visibly squirmed
“Ain’tcha got nothin’ to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I dunno!” he snapped. “Say somethin'. Don’t just sit there like… like…”
“Like I don’t care?” she completed the sentence for him as she stood up, eyes flashing. “Of course I care. But I can’t change it, and neither can you. It’s happened now.”
He turned away as she approached him, but was unable to react as she placed one white hand on his shoulder. He became vaguely aware of a head of ash blonde hair appearing in his peripheral vision
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Jus’ thought you should know…” his mumble was barely audible, but he knew she could hear it, her ears being what they were. “Because you never know…”
“Have you done anything like that since? Would you do it again if you had the option not to?”
“Then there’s no problem.” Again, he found himself unable to move as her arms wrapped around his waist. But still he couldn’t look at her. “You know what I am, everything I’ve done. Are you leaving?”
He wanted to say that it was different, that that was what she was and she couldn’t help it, that she wasn’t herself…
…but she was, wasn’t she? All month long, no matter what shape, that’s what she was. And why he didn’t protest when she spun him around to face her.