Work Text:
One baby to another said,
“I’m lucky to have met you”
—
There hasn’t been one truly sunny day since Meursault first boarded the Mephistopheles. In a way he felt relief, because seeing the sun illuminate the world in bright colors brought needless reminiscing and nostalgia. Despite his reluctance in regards to lingering on memories, when the sun peeked through the clouds on their journey one day in the early morning, he couldn’t help but recall the way the sun would bleach the metropolitan Nest of District 14 with harsh shadows and blinding highlights. The sun would bounce off of pristine concrete intensely, nearly blinding those who were unprepared or unused to the bleak, sanitized Nest.
“Mon cher, you should really get some sunglasses. The way you squint makes you look so angry.”
Hm. Memories of a different time and of her.
A gentle laugh like the rolling waves on the beach they used to frequent. Sand under his feet and her hand in his. The sun brought out freckles on her cheeks and shoulders when she wore that one sundress he liked. Striped with the lines following her curves like how his hands would and the front had a daring deep plunge for her ample bosom. He liked it when she wore a red bikini underneath that dress because the red would peek out daringly just underneath the striped fabric when she bent just so. How he felt the desire to kiss her on the freckles that gathered at the top of her breast. The sun on the outskirts of the Nest didn’t bleach things or cast dark shadows.
One name repeated in his mind. And he wondered if she was still in District 14. If she was convinced that he was truly sentenced to death.
She shouted again from across the visiting room."You'll get out and we'll get married! " He answered, "You think so?" but it was mainly just to say something. Anything to fill the space between them.
Then very quickly and still in a very loud voice she said yes, that he would be acquitted and that they would go swimming again.
Confoundingly, he felt his palms begin to sweat and he removed his gauntlets to flex his fingers in the slowly brightening world. He looked again at the parting clouds and just as the sun fully revealed its glorious face, a loud voice spoke out, parting the clouds of his pesky memories.
“Prithee! Young Meursault, why fore art thou staring so intensely upon the sky? Never hath I seen thee so lost in thought.”
Ah. Speaking of sunshine.
He turned his head to look at Don Quixote, who had sat herself beside him, perhaps seeking for their morning ritual of reading the newspaper together. Meursault would pick up the paper during one of their brief refueling stops and automatically handed the pages featuring news on Fixer offices over to Don Quixote.
Yet this morning there was no paper. Just the sunlight and the sweat on his palms.
He replied, “It is nothing.” because it was nothing for Don to concern herself with. At least not yet.
Don Quixote pursed her lips together into a pout. “Hmph! But thou hast not even departed to gather the morning paper! Truly tis strange to see thee not follow thy own routine, as rigid as thou art!” She cleared her throat and looked down. “N-Nay, I do not wish to imply to thee that to be rigid in thy routine is a flaw. Tis an admirable trait for a good knight to have!”
Meursault didn’t bother trying to remind Don Quixote again that he was no knight. He said so at least three times by now yet Don would always say that he is: “an honorable and truly reliable gentle knight when thou art needed”.
Which he couldn’t argue with, really. For his honor is bound only to honoring the command of their Executive Manager and he was only as reliable as he was told to be. He wouldn’t call himself a knight in that regard, especially the version of a knight that Don Quixote imagined.
With the sun fully out, Don’s eyes glowed and sparkled with righteous joy and wonder, and Meursault felt the world around him brighten just a little more. His palms didn’t feel so clammy.
He felt the desire to brush her hair out of her face and kiss her lips.
Meursault furrowed his brows slightly at the sudden desire.
Hm. That was new.
Don Quixote tilted her head at him and Meursault realized that he was silent for a second too long. He must really be distracted this morning, especially with the new thoughts coming to the forefront of his mind and Don Quixote’s presence in the sunlight.
“We have not stopped in a location where I could retrieve the paper today. Perhaps I will be able to at a later time.” This was true, though he could’ve gotten the paper much earlier in the morning had he not watched the sun rise.
The answer seemed to be enough for Don and she nodded. “Hmph! Verily! Then I shall accompany thee to retrieve the paper! For yesterday’s news told of a new Grade 1 Fixer and I wish to read about their exploits and tribulations!”
Meursault watched her excitedly gesticulate as she went on to discuss this new Fixer she read about yesterday and how she wondered what kind of righteous adventures they had done. He always listened, even when the other Sinners would’ve tuned her out by now, he always gave her his undivided attention. Not because he was interested in the ongoings of Fixers but because he found himself taking enjoyment from watching and listening to someone so excitedly express themselves and their interests.
Recently, he’s caught Don looking in his eyes and then looking away quickly with a newfound shyness when she spoke to him for prolonged periods of time. This began after the events of La Manchaland, perhaps when her memories as Sancho combined with her brief memories as Don Quixote, she began to feel a small sense of shame. Like an actor who stumbled upon their lines once and attempted to play it off as an improvised yet purposeful misstep.
“… and to think they’re from a smaller office rather than an association! I recall from yesterday’s writings in the paper that they’ve taken to the Lake! Prithee it is a valiant adventure that they shalt return from!” Sparkling eyes met his gaze again. “Dost thou believe they can make it?”
Meursault recalled their own journey through the Lakes. Considering how woefully underprepared they were, their lives were saved due to Ishmael’s seawoman know-how and her experience. Even if it did end with them diving into the belly of the beast.
He made a quick calculation in his head of the probability of survival with or without an expert on the Lakes. “Their survival is highly probable if they are accompanied by an expert like Ishmael. Based on what you have told me of their experience there is a good chance, approximately 78%, of them surviving the endeavor.”
Don Quixote gasped, her mouth forming a perfect o of awe, and Meursault felt the urge to kiss her again. His eyes lingered on her lips for a second as she spoke. “Hoh!! Tis a very high probability indeed! Verily, I do believe they have with them an entourage of three! Hm hm indeed ‘tis a small yes mighty force and—ah um…”
She faltered and stared up at Meursault. He realized that he was caught looking at her mouth and he quickly fixed his gaze back to her eyes. In the midst of watching her speak, he made the discovery of small, sharp fangs.
“… Ah. Pardon.” He replied, turning his gaze elsewhere. “Continue. I will continue to listen.”
“A-Ah! Well! F-Forgive mine stumblings! I believe I may have erm misjudged thine line of sight for it looked as though thou were looking at mine lips!” She laughed nervously and he turned his gaze back at her just in time to see her eyes wander all over his face with a faint flush on her cheeks.
Meursault stared for a second. “You were not mistaken. I have found myself looking at you in a different light this morning.” He admits, voice as steady as always. “You are pleasant to look at.”
Don Quixote blushed wildly and stumbled over her words. “Ah! B-Buh! Erm!! Y-Young Meursault!! Thou art a pleasant sight to mine eyes as well! In f-fact, you are most handsome this day, good sir!” She blurted out and turned her gaze away shyly.
Meursault knew that logically he wasn’t unpleasant looking given the glances he had received before from strangers. Yet the confession from Don Quixote made his head and chest feel lighter.
“… Don Quixote.” He called to her softly,
“Y-Yes? Young Meursault?” Don turned her head slightly to look at him from the corner of her eye.
Meursault gently took Don’s hand in his. Her hand was petite in his but so warm and calloused from her lance. He felt oddly daring in this moment. “May I kiss you?”
Don Quixote let out a squeaking yelp and nearly jumped out of her seat were it not for Meursault holding her hand. “V-Verily! I will accept thy k-kiss!!”
He stared at her blushing face for a second. It’s easy to come to the conclusion that Don had very little experience in the ways of physical intimacy and it was safe to assume she hadn’t been kissed before or at least hadn’t been kissed for a long time.
Still, he slowly leaned forward with his eyes fixed on her golden, sparkling eyes. Those eyes fluttered shut and it was Don that leaned in that last couple centimeters to press her lips against his.
It was clumsy and chaste yet there was a spark and a warmth. Meursault brushed her hair out of her face like he felt the urge to before. He didn’t dare push things any further so he began to pull away but as he did so, Don threw her arms around his neck to kiss him again passionately.
She was definitely inexperienced. Don used too much tongue and sometimes he felt the prick of her sharp fangs, not enough to bleed but just enough to be a little uncomfortable. Meursault settled his hands on her waist only to discover his thumbs nearly met each other when he wrapped his hands around her middle. He became intensely aware of their size difference.
Don Quixote pulled away from the kiss with a soft gasp and stared up at Meursault from where she was half draped on top of him in the bus seats. “W-Wow…” She smiled dreamily and leaned in to nuzzle Meursault underneath his chin. “Forsooth, Meursault… I must confess that I have begun to truly cherish thee as mine compatriot in arms as well as a companion and friend.”
She pulled away slightly to look up at him shyly. “M-Mayhaps thou felt the same?”
Meursault brushed his thumb over the curve of her waist and stared down at her face with the same expression he always had. Yet he felt the usual minute furrow to his brow soften and the corners of his lips upturn slightly. He reached up to brush a lock of hair behind one of her ears.
“Yes. I do.” Distantly, he hoped that Marie moved on and found happiness after he was sentenced by the jury. She deserved something better, always did, and even now he was surprised to see that Don felt for him so strongly.
Don Quixote’s face lit up and he swore her eyes sparkled even more. “Then! May I ask of thee to give me another k-kiss? Please?” She pursed her lips in a kissy face and Meursault found himself amused at the exaggerated expression.
“D’accord.” He leaned in and kissed her cheeks then her forehead. Don puffed up her cheeks with a pout at the lack of kisses where she clearly wanted them but Meursault quickly delivered.
With his back to the window, the sun was warming the back of his head and shoulders while the sunlight in his arms warmed his chest from the inside.
Don Quixote smiled wide against his lips, her giddy giggling disrupting the kiss for a moment before diving back in like she couldn’t get enough. “Sir Meursault, I believe that I am lucky to have met thee.”
“Hm…” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I agree. I am lucky to have met you.”