Hold on My Heart
Throw Me A Lifeline
“Yeah, you’d have it rough,” she said softly, a tender little smile starting to curl around her lips. Trust Cheshire Cat to save her from her sudden awkwardness, even now when it had seemed as if he had needed her comfort so much. It was how it had always been, his rare moments of weakness overshadowed by her clumsiness with consolation, the strange tendency that she’d always had at times like these to say something so ludicrous that he would brighten and that familiar shine would return to his eyes and his arms would hold her tighter. “But think how much fun they’d be – with your brains and my sense of adventure! There'd be no stopping them.”
The grin on her face was ripe now, just as devilish as ever, and she could barely hold in the sudden impulse she had to wink at him (March doesn’t wink). His arms were tighter around her, and she couldn’t help but cuddle into his chest, mumbling a contented ‘mmhm’ because her Cheshy was half-way back and the weight of being the mature, responsible, considerate grown-up was sliding from her shoulders. She couldn’t think why anyone would want to be like that all of the time, and it was quite clear in the way the concern never quite left her eyes and the way her fingers were wrapped so tightly around his that he was the only person she would do it for. He smoothed the wayward strands of hair back from her face, and she tilted her head a little to look at him, but she was almost sorry she did. She was not quite sure if the way he was looking at her was so wonderful or a little terrifying, but she did know that it was dangerous. If he kept looking at her like that she might just be compelled to kiss him, and then as her eyes flickered from his down to his lips, she was quite sure that he was going to and if he was just her friend shouldn’t she want to push him away rather than feeling like she had just been kicked in the chest?
And then the door swung open in a much gentler manner than it had earlier (she’s not sure of the time at all, how long had they been caught up in their grief and each others heartbeats?) and a thick ray of sunlight flooded into the room. If she had been a shyer girl she might have blushed, might have turned her face away but March Hare was never so meek or so apprehensive. She could only make a disgruntled sort of sound, and shivered lightly when he jumped up and away from her. More than anything she wanted to push the girl back out of the door and wrap herself up in him once again; at least until the sound of frenzy hit her ears. She blanched a little, tucked her hair behind her ear, and bit her lip hard as she watched him reach for his shirt.
Now she could remember why she hated hospitals so much and she wondered, briefly, how she could slip out without seeing too much of the gore and the suffering and the pain that made her heart ache and her eyes water. “Hey!” She said, and her voice would have been every bit as strong and commanding as it had been when she was telling him off for rocking his canoe from side to side just for kicks, just to see the look on her face, if it hadn’t wavered so pathetically in the middle. She almost hated herself for it, then, as his breath brushed hotly against her forehead, and she caught his half-buttoned shirt in her fingers to keep him close to her, just so that she could whisper heatedly into his ear, “you be careful, yeah?” Though she was not entirely sure what he should be careful about, his well-being perhaps, just how involved he got. There was so much between them that was left unsaid, but she could see that she had to let him go.
And so she let loose his shirt and watched him march out of the little room that had been so full of heated glances and tangled limbs just moments before. She watched until his back was out of sight and then she flopped back down onto the bed with a defeated sort of sigh slipping from between her lips. Why did things have to be so horrifically complicated? But she knew very well that it would be much easier to think when she was away from this room that was so heavy with everything that was Cheshire. And the time she had spent here, not all that far from the front line, had taught her the rather valuable lesson of being unseen and thrifty, and she managed to find her way out of the winding corridors without coming across too many screaming, bleeding boys.
The grin on her face was ripe now, just as devilish as ever, and she could barely hold in the sudden impulse she had to wink at him (March doesn’t wink). His arms were tighter around her, and she couldn’t help but cuddle into his chest, mumbling a contented ‘mmhm’ because her Cheshy was half-way back and the weight of being the mature, responsible, considerate grown-up was sliding from her shoulders. She couldn’t think why anyone would want to be like that all of the time, and it was quite clear in the way the concern never quite left her eyes and the way her fingers were wrapped so tightly around his that he was the only person she would do it for. He smoothed the wayward strands of hair back from her face, and she tilted her head a little to look at him, but she was almost sorry she did. She was not quite sure if the way he was looking at her was so wonderful or a little terrifying, but she did know that it was dangerous. If he kept looking at her like that she might just be compelled to kiss him, and then as her eyes flickered from his down to his lips, she was quite sure that he was going to and if he was just her friend shouldn’t she want to push him away rather than feeling like she had just been kicked in the chest?
And then the door swung open in a much gentler manner than it had earlier (she’s not sure of the time at all, how long had they been caught up in their grief and each others heartbeats?) and a thick ray of sunlight flooded into the room. If she had been a shyer girl she might have blushed, might have turned her face away but March Hare was never so meek or so apprehensive. She could only make a disgruntled sort of sound, and shivered lightly when he jumped up and away from her. More than anything she wanted to push the girl back out of the door and wrap herself up in him once again; at least until the sound of frenzy hit her ears. She blanched a little, tucked her hair behind her ear, and bit her lip hard as she watched him reach for his shirt.
Now she could remember why she hated hospitals so much and she wondered, briefly, how she could slip out without seeing too much of the gore and the suffering and the pain that made her heart ache and her eyes water. “Hey!” She said, and her voice would have been every bit as strong and commanding as it had been when she was telling him off for rocking his canoe from side to side just for kicks, just to see the look on her face, if it hadn’t wavered so pathetically in the middle. She almost hated herself for it, then, as his breath brushed hotly against her forehead, and she caught his half-buttoned shirt in her fingers to keep him close to her, just so that she could whisper heatedly into his ear, “you be careful, yeah?” Though she was not entirely sure what he should be careful about, his well-being perhaps, just how involved he got. There was so much between them that was left unsaid, but she could see that she had to let him go.
And so she let loose his shirt and watched him march out of the little room that had been so full of heated glances and tangled limbs just moments before. She watched until his back was out of sight and then she flopped back down onto the bed with a defeated sort of sigh slipping from between her lips. Why did things have to be so horrifically complicated? But she knew very well that it would be much easier to think when she was away from this room that was so heavy with everything that was Cheshire. And the time she had spent here, not all that far from the front line, had taught her the rather valuable lesson of being unseen and thrifty, and she managed to find her way out of the winding corridors without coming across too many screaming, bleeding boys.