sixthiterationlogs | be careful, it's my heart

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be careful, it's my heart

WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: House #12, the Sorellin-Kelly residence
WHEN: June 7
OPEN TO: the waifu 💑
WARNINGS: nothing triggering unless you find gratuitous sweetness worthy of a tw

It's been two weeks since his disastrous attempt at bonding with Bucky Barnes, and through some help from the healing springs, even the worst of the bruising has faded, leaving Benedict as good as new. (Even if his nose is a little tender, still, and sometimes he coughs more than he used to. That will pass in time, he's sure.) The problem with no longer convalescing is that he grows bored much more easily than he used to. Add that to the weather looking more and more grim, and eventually the stormclouds breaking overhead with spectacular results, and Benedict spends the majority of the day pacing restlessly, making a tight circuit through one room to the next, down to the cellar and upstairs into the bedrooms, even going so far as to climb up into the crawl-space that one can only charitably call an attic.

He's not really expecting to find much there, setting himself the task more for something to do than out of any other expectation, but once he gets his head and shoulders into the narrow gap afforded them, a small package catches his eye tucked away in one dim and dusty corner. Staring at it and trying to calculate how best to fetch it, he idly wonders if he'd be able to see it at all were he not warriorborn, a concern that gets brushed aside for more practical matters as he wriggles around and manages to get an arm up through the gap, his fingers straining as he reaches, only just barely managing to catch a corner with his fingernails. Eventually he is able to winkle it closer, close enough to grasp it in his hand as he drops back down to the floor beneath.

Upon closer inspection, it is a box. A plain white box, the size and shape of the box that he had discovered down in the Inn all those months ago, the box that had held his robes from the monastery (or at least, a reasonable reproduction of his robes; it wasn't as if he has put his name in the neck) that he had since all but forced Kate to repurpose into a blouse for herself. He has no need of Temple robes in this habble, and a part of him had chafed at the idea of some nameless observer dictating what he did or didn't do. Just like the previous box, his name is affixed to a label on the lid. He's certain the uptick in his heartbeat at this discovery is not his imagination, nor is the immediate surge of irritation that follows in its wake.

He will not let these mysterious overseers manipulate him quite so easily, thank you.

Scoffing at himself, he rips into the box, flummoxed slightly when the only contents is a smaller box, crafted of red velvet, small enough to fit in his palm. It's clearly a ring box. He's not so sheltered as to never have seen what jewelry comes in, on the contrary, but it seems a strange gift to give. The robes had unsettled him deeply. This...

He drops the external box, weighing the little red one on his palm curiously for a moment before using his thumb to unclasp the little gold latch and push the top half away from the bottom, revealing a delicate and brilliantly-sparkling ring nestled in the velvet inside.

Stunned, he stares at it in silence for a minute before letting out a loud whoop and all but bounding out of the room, taking the stairs down to the kitchen nearly three at a time, yelling for Kate at the top of his lungs loudly enough to compete with the thunder crackling overhead the entire while.

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Miss Hoppity has gone to ground. The cat, who usually splits her time between this house and the Inn, is hiding in a cupboard. Kate can see her eyes gleaming out of the gloom from behind the not-quite-closed door, and lets her be. Kate is busy enough.

As houses in this strange village go, it's not a large house, but still; it is so much larger than single house Kate has lived in before and there is so much to check with the howling wind and crackling weather. Windows to be secured and held fast, doors to be blocked, the ceiling to be inspected for leaks. This is a sturdier place than her ma's hut, she knows, but still. She has to check and fasten, and it's better than sitting around in the shaded rooms doing what she can by the dull light.

She's kneeling on the kitchen counter, seeing what she can do with the top part of the window, when Benedict starts to whoop and yell. She turns to face him, trying not to flinch at a particularly loud crack in the sky.

"Ben?"

Gone are the days when Benedict would creep into a room with his shoulders curling in slightly so as to appear as unthreatening as possible; this afternoon, Benedict comes crashing into the room like a whirlwind, not stopping until he's flung both arms around Kate's legs and lifted her clear off the floor, spinning her around in a dizzying circle as he grins up at her joyously, his sharp teeth on full display.

"Your god was listening," he tells her, an utterly nonsensical phrase for him to utter, especially as he doesn't elaborate. Nor does he let her down, seemingly content to keep holding her aloft and beaming up into her face. "I prayed, and he listened."

Benedict prays regularly. He keeps the schedule he learned at the Temple, praying religiously as if one of the Brothers was looking over his shoulder, maintaining a routine he had let slide years ago simply for the fact that it made him feel more at home. The fact that he prayed shouldn't be a surprised. What might be surprising is that he prayed to her Christian god, and apparently his prayer was answered.

(Alternately, the mysterious force that put them here was listening, and felt benevolent enough to grant him a wish, but he prefers the praying idea.)

Finally, he lets Kate slide through his arms, setting her back on her feet and then immediately sinking to his knees in front of her, reaching to hold her hand in his. "My love," he starts, winking up at her, "I am not sure of the specifics of your strange customs, but where I come from, a wife wears her husband's ring."

Producing the box, he lifts it up to her, but doesn't open it just yet. "Do you think you could find it in yourself to wear mine?"

She laughs at him, with him, as he spins her around, partly with amusement and partly in utter confusion. He's always been fairly good-natured, although not this joyous in some time, and given the weather it's all so wholly unexpected. Nice, and lovely, but unexpected.

"Of course He listens," Kate protests, the rest of whatever she was going to say lost as Benedict twirls her. Then he-

Oh.

Kate stares down at him, her hazel eyes wide and lips parted as he speaks. As he... proposes. To her. Staring up at her like that.

"I. Oh," she repeats, dumbly. "Yes, that's, that's the same custom back home, though we have little here." Something woven, maybe, to symbolize, except, no, he's produced a box.

A box, for her. For the disreputable Kate Kelly, now still sometimes only occasionally Kate Sorellin. She could open that box. She should. But she can't move.

"Yes," she says, hardly daring to breathe. "Yes. I'd be honoured."

If possible, Benedict's smile widens, taking over his whole face.

Of course, there was no worry that Kate might refuse him; she sleeps in his bed every night, she makes love with him when the mood strikes, they live in a house of their own, et cetera. That knowledge didn't dampen the nerves he felt regardless, as he watched her watch him and realize just what he was asking her.

"Open it then," he prompts gently, pushing the box a little bit closer to her.

She shouldn't be this giddy, for all the reasons he's thinking about, and yet, she is. It's different, being asked. Yes, yes, she's sure whatever is in that new, little box is something he didn't pick but was given, but still. He's on one knee, asking, and offering her-

"Oh, my God," Kate breathes out after her trembling fingers open the box. The ring is beautiful. Utterly beautiful. It's one of the most expensive things she's seen not on a racetrack, and Benedict's offering it to her.

Carefully, she picks the ring up and slides it on her ring-finger. It fits, perfectly, and she can't tell if it looks out of place or not, it doens't matter. It's a gift. It's a promise.

"You like it?" he asks, hopeful.

No, he hadn't chosen it himself. He'd been given it, by some unseen power he's choosing to interpret as her Christian god. Surely, of all people, He would know what Kate would deserve when it came to a wedding ring.

He slips the box back into his pocket and lifts her hand in his, ducking his head down to kiss her fingers the way he had when they were courting still, when he had been trying to impress her and treat her the way a lady such as herself ought to have been treated. As he pulls away, he glances up at her and then back to her ring, shifting his hand around hers to rub his thumb over the sparkling white jewel.

"It is a lumin crystal, I think," he says, although he knows that won't mean much to her and he can't verify his suspicions either way. "The stone.

"When we get out of here," when, not if "I will show you how to use it. My cousin wore them in her earrings, it was quite useful at times."

"It's the prettiest things," Kate assures him, eyes awed. It doesn't matter that it was given to him, he's still decided to give it to her, and you wrest what meaning you can in this kind of situation. And it's true. It's not gaudy, not grossly heavy or bleeding noveau riche. It's elegant and beautiful and nothing like anyone would have ever, ever given her in her original world.

"Lumin crystal," she repeats, glancing from the stone back to his face. "What... what might it do? In your world?"

He kisses her fingers again, remaining on his knees before her, almost like he's forgotten that he normally has to look down into her face and not up.

"It's a light," he explains slowly, perplexed that she didn't understand. Had he not mentioned them before? Surely he must have. "The crystal shines with etheric energy when you ask it to. There is none here," he adds sadly, "or I would test my theory. But it looks like it would be a very bright light, should you ask it to shine, based on the size and cut of the stone."

"Um. Yes. I know." He had explained it, before, early on when the electricity had arrived. She thinks. It's hard to remember things like sequences and the passage of time, when he's staring up at her like that. "Sorry, it is just..."

She grins at him, delight written large over her face.

"It'd be useful. Here, it is beautiful. And I'll wear it proudly."

A ring, a public statement of their affection and their commitment. A-

There's a crack of thunder, right above them, and she jumps. It's enough to make her giggle. "And get up, you ridiculous man. Or else I'll join you on the floor, and then what a picture we'd make."

"It wouldn't be so bad," he protests, clambering to his feet, his hands automatically moving to slide around her like iron filings drifting towards a magnet. "This floor is very clean."

That being said, the bed upstairs is much softer, and although he doesn't point that out to her, surely the gleam in his eye as he bends and scoops her up into his arms makes his intentions fairly clear. Thunder rumbles both near and far as he stands in the kitchens with his wife (fiancée?) in his arms, an accompaniment to the way he ducks his head to kiss her sweetly for a long, lingering moment before abruptly turning and heading for the stairs.

"I can think of better places, though."

"Oh, can you," she says, all wide-eyed and breathy delight. She's tempted to kiss him so that his knees buckle, that they spill across the floor in a ridiculous, giggling heap. But no, bed sounds nicer. More comfortable. More things to grab, brace herself against.

Except, Benedict's right there. Carrying her. All warm and strong and lovely.

Kate kisses him, hard and passionate. It's not far to their bedroom from here, just a few more feet to the door, but instead of being patient, she's regarding it as a challenge.

How far will his own patience and balance extend?

Not that far, it seems, as he has to stumble to a stop mere feet from the door, drifting towards the wall so he can half-lean against it, half-brace one hand flat on the wall.

"I'm going to drop you!" he protests between her kisses, muffling a laugh against her lips and not sounding all that upset about the idea of going down to the floor with her so close to their goal. "Kate."

"You won't drop me." It is a declaration of faith and a challenge all at once. A dare. If he succeeds in getting them to the bed, the reward is kisses. If he fails, the punishment is kisses. It all works out marvelously for her, as far as Kate is concerned.

"No one in the house but us," she adds, dropping her mouth to nip and kiss his jaw, then his neck. "We can do whatever we want." Which they have done so previously, occasionally with extravagance, but it still causes her a thrill.

"I might if you keep doing that."

It's been nearly two years since they met, and almost as long since he managed, through his awkward attempts at courting, to convince her to hitch her wagon to his, and in that time, Kate has grown to be very skilled at making a red flush climb high up his throat to stain his ears and his cheeks, to make his breath come short in his lungs and his head go a bit dizzy and light.

The nipping thing is incredibly effective.

"I only ever want you," he murmurs, his throat clicking as he swallows and musters up all his energy to push off from the wall and walk with determination into their bedroom.

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be careful, it's my heart

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