|Saint Columba | Malcolm Robertson (colm_cille) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2013-04-14 00:11:00
|Entry tags:||saint columba, saint darerca|
WHO: Saints Columba and Darerca
WHAT: Just being cuties
WHEN: Backdated a few days to after the attempted attack on Darerca
WHERE: Dee's apartment
Columba carried the mug of tea from the kitchen into Darerca's bedroom where she was waiting in bed. Her back was leaning against the headboard and she was propped up, though covered in her purple blankets. "Here, calming peppermint," he said, putting the tea on her nightstand before heading to take a seat in her chair.
He heard her clear her throat and he turned around. "Yes?"
"What are you doing? You come here right now!" And she pointed to the other side of her bed with an impatient look on her face, which he knew better than to challenge.
"I just didn't want to assume," he explained, his hands held up in surrender. He did as he was told though, slipping under her blankets and smiling when she immediately leaned against him. He wrapped one arm around her and gently rubbed her back. "How are you doing there, Dee?"
Darerca just grumbled. She had been attacked by three men and though she had managed to fight them off with relative ease, tie them up, and have them arrested, she was still not thrilled about the entire thing. "Not especially thrilled with the male species at the moment. You excluded, of course."
"Oh of course," he said with a nod. "I wish I could have seen their faces when they realised you're basically Superwoman."
Dee chuckled, swatting him on the arm. "Do you remember that guy in Limerick in the 90s?" She, of course, was referring to the 1980s. "He ended up on his back and he thought he'd slipped. He had no idea I hit him in the face."
"It was pretty good," he agreed.
Columba and Darerca had a history almost as long as their existences. She had been the one who had found him when he first returned, and she had cared for him through that traumatic experience. Occasionally they came together, had kids and watched them grow, and then in their grief over the inevitable passing of their children, they usually went their separate ways for a time. The love they held for each other never really left though. It was not jealous, nor was it demanding. She was the person he trusted most in the world and he didn't care that, for her, it wasn't the same. He would always come second to her brother, Patrick. And he was just fine with that. They weren't together these days, but he had no doubt they would be again at some point. It was just the way they were.
"You were always one of the best soldiers we had," he admitted to her. They had fought, side-by-side, for more years than he could count. Both of them had opposed English rule and they had been militant about it.
"I thought I left that behind by running here," Darerca explained with a harsh laugh.
"You were protecting yourself, Dee."
He felt her bury her face in his side and fall silent. He didn't feel like forcing her to speak, so he just continued to rub her back.
Eventually she spoke up. "It just felt like it did back then, just for a little while. And I didn't like it. I don't want to return to the hate I used to feel...the hate that still keeps Darerca in Ireland hiding on Valentia Island. Will you just...keep me from becoming that person again, Colm?"
"Of course," he promised. He leaned down to kiss her hair. "Always."