Prince Phillip ♔ (losttime) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2014-07-10 23:16:00 |
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Hospital life was hectic, to say the absolute least. Shifts tended to bleed into each other in a blur of head injuries, paging and squeezing in quick naps and phone calls to Phillip when her mouth wasn’t full of long, complicated words or the spare cheeseburger that Aurora attempted to shovel in. At this rate she should just be given a bed in Pennsylvania Hospital. Or she should buy one for her office. She wasn’t particularly picky at this point. If she kept working the way she was currently, the house that she and Phillip had purchased, with its pristine view of the skyline and wonderful community, would be paid off in no time. With a sigh, she checked her watch one last time, ecstatic when it read 7 pm. Her 24 hour shift was over. Aurora practically sprinted to the locker room, her scrubs from her final surgery being tossed in her bag; her clothes swapped out for her sweats and sneakers. If she walked quickly enough, no one would spare a second glance at her. It wasn’t that she would refuse to help if she was needed. She just missed her Phillip. She was aware of how inherently lucky she was, to have such a wonderful life all in the span of a few months when for the past ten years she was so terribly lonely. There was something brilliantly overwhelming about having someone to wake up beside every morning (well, most mornings), to talk to about absolutely anything and everything and who supported her with more care than she could ever recall. Aurora was incandescently happy with her life. It was on that train of thought that she walked home, enjoying the warm quiet of the evening and entered her apartment, sighing in relief as she did. “Phillip?” she called out, setting her purse down and heading into the laundry room to get the stained scrubs in the wash. “Are you home yet?” It had taken Phillip months to get used to this new world, but there were many things that left him wide-eyed and slightly startled at their almost magical appearance. For every question he asked Aurora ten more swam in his mind. There were unnaturally bright colored foods, loud boxes that sang, and shoes that looked very precarious, but this was her world. He had taken steps to learn how to drive the horseless carriages that the natives called cars to fit more in, but he still felt more comfortable taking the bus to the stables each morning. While there were many differences, horses never changed. He had taken a position at a farm not too far outside the city, and the commute each morning felt like a ride back to where he used to roam. The crush noise of the city faded into a quieter buzz the further they got out, and each time he took a lungful of cleaner air he felt instantly rejuvenated. Years spent trapped in beastly form meant that his voice was the only one he heard, and it was nice to escape the other people around him. Though he loved having his princess back and wouldn't trade it for anything, having no more company than the horses and a few occasional visitors was a nice retreat from the friendly faces of his neighborhood. He was sprawled out on the couch when he heard the front door open, smelling slightly of hay and well-worn leather from the saddle he had sat in most of the day - and lowered the book he had been reading. "I'm in here," he called out, pulling himself off the couch and heading towards the racket she was making in the laundry room. He took in the crumpled scrubs and faint circles under her eyes, doing his best to commit the sight to memory. He had missed so many of these moments that, even months later, he felt the need to catalog them all. "I'm glad you're finally off. Is the pager going to eat with us tonight?" The burden of the hospital was dissipating rapidly as Aurora stretched up to retrieve the detergent, groaning slightly as she finally grasped it. The clothes were dispensed into the machine before she turned her head to catch Phillip’s eye. “There you are,” she smiled, abandoning the machine to greet him. “This day just didn’t want to end,” Aurora muttered into his chest, wrapping her arms around him to squeeze tightly. “It seemed like every little thing could only be taken care of by me. Such a day.” But she halted her whining to get the machine started. Scrunching up her nose, Aurora made a show of picking up her pager from the hodgepodge of items that had collected on the counter, turning it off with a calm sort of finality. “The pager is officially retired until midnight on Monday. I am off the clock.” They both knew that being off the clock was only as final as she made it. Vacation days meant little when one was in the healthcare profession. But unless it was an emergency with one of a small list of urgent care patients, Aurora was free to spend the next few days with her prince. “I’m sure you’re very disappointed,” she teased, enfolding herself in his arms and inhaling deeply. “I missed you.” It was only a murmur but her voice cracked all the same. Sometimes she was so very sleep deprived that her days off weren’t much different from her days on. “How was work? You smell like home.” "You were the only one in there entire hospital?" Phillip grinned as Aurora whined, knowing full well that she wasn't really bothered by everything she had done during her shift. "It's a wonder you're still standing, princess." He could tell she was passionate - not to mention very good - at what she did and honored her commitment to those under her care. However, it didn't mean he necessarily liked when she got called back to work to take care of something, but, in the end, Aurora always came back and that's what ultimately mattered. Phillip gladly took her in his arms again, kissing the crown of her head as she pressed herself close. He could smell the familiar scent of antiseptic and fading notes from her perfume that were distinctly Aurora and signaled the start of their time together. "I can't find enough words to describe how disappointed I am that the pager's turned off," he lightly teased, rubbing her back to ease some of the tension he felt coiled under the surface. "A new camp started so I was helping lead some of the older groups, but it's nice to be back on solid ground again." He gave her a squeeze before reluctantly pulling himself out of her embrace. "There's a new bottle of wine chilling for you, and if you ask nicely," he said, reaching down to raise her hand to his lips as he drew her towards the living room, "I'll bring you a glass or two." “The only one,” she said mock seriously, drawing her lips into a pout. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks and keep calling; if I’m always there, I can never leave.” She loved her job; Phillip knew that she did the first moment she discussed what she did with him. It was something so complex and methodical, and there was always a rush of anticipation combined with a small amount of worry that made the whole thing worthwhile. She couldn’t imagine herself doing anything else with her life, besides maybe dropping down to consulting in the future. Her muscles relaxed under the familiar ministrations of his hands on her back; her frame sagging against him as if she was a puddle of goo. She grinned at his little report of his day, imagining him working with the children that were sent to the stables during the summer. He was amazing with all of the students, regardless of their ages, and it was hard to repress the memory of him working with the five year olds a few weeks back. She was only human. “If you keep spoiling me like this, we’re going to have to invest in a wine cellar,” Aurora pointed out, sinking into the couch that he had previously occupied. “But thank you, heart,” she beamed, picking up a folder that she’d left on the table the day before to skim through it. It was a simple case, really, but it made for an interesting read. She glanced up as he entered the room again, moving forward so he had room to sit. “Come sit with me.” "Investing in a wine cellar would mean we'd have to move in order to dig one out," Phillip countered, ducking into the kitchen, "and I like this view too much to trade it just yet." The skyline was beautiful in its own way, filled with sparkling lights and soaring buildings, and it helped him orient himself each time he swung his feet out of bed in the morning. Besides Aurora, the sight was his anchor to this world. He had spent last evening roaming the aisles of the liquor store down the street, marveling at the variety of wares on their shelves. The different brands and gaudy labels had been overwhelming, but at last he had settled on a bottle of Beaujolais that the helpful clerk had shown him after taking pity on Phillip's indecision. He had placed it in the fridge to chill for a half hour, following the instructions he had found online, and after uncorking it and grabbed two glasses headed back into the living room. "I don't mind spoiling you," he clarified, setting the glasses on the coffee table and pouring them both a glass. He reached forward and gently extracted her folder from her hand and replaced it with one of the goblets, kissing her before she could protest. He grabbed his own wine and sat back, laying the folder on his knees so he could glance at the unfamiliar words that wrapped their way around the page. "What's all this about?" He reached forward and traced one of longer terms, a blunt finger gliding across the paper as if touching it would unearth the secrets it held. "Did I imply manual labor on my end? Because that was an honest mistake and I didn't mean it at all," she retorted from her safe nest of the couch, eyes wandering towards the giant window that held a magnificent view of a slowly sinking sun. From the time that she'd first arrived in this crazy place, no matter where the location, she had always been blessed with amazing views. They kept her sane when the world felt to be too much, and she knew it was much the same for Phillip. They really were two sides of the same coin. "I'd rather go to the spirits store down the street any day." For all the food and drink that she'd been able to sample since living in this world and being of age, wine was her favorite. Provided it's medicinal benefits and her enjoyment of it in general, it was surprising that they didn't know her name down at the store. With a small smirk, Aurora loosened her grip on the file, knowing full well that it would be taken out of her hands within moments. "Dare I say you even enjoy it?" she laughed, kissing him languidly as his sleight of hand was completed. She leaned back, nursing her glass for a moment as she observed him; from the way his eyebrows furrowed together as he mouthed the terms to his tracing of the paper. It was still, after all these months, difficult for her to understand why she had been considered so worthy of this man; so much more than what he appeared, selfless and loving, when she had done nothing to earn that love in return. She hummed to let him know that she heard his question, and scooted closer to him to skim the details of the case quickly. She'd known it by heart for the past few weeks of work she'd put on it, but it never hurt to refresh herself. "It's a good one. Not too complex, and she'll be fine after a few more months. It's called agnosia; she can't really perceive certain things. Hers is visual, so the damage is to the occipital lobe of the brain. She can't recognize a spoon in a set of flatware, but she can taste." Her hands moved with her as she gave the overview, shrugging as she did. "The good news is that it's only temporary. Was brought on by a stroke. Bad news is that she had a stroke, and once you've had one, your chances of having another one increase tenfold." With a sigh, Aurora sat back, her free hand moving to play at the nape of Phillip's neck. "It's all about time and relearning. Which is easier for me to relate to, I guess. They keep giving me similar cases to this." Phillip enjoyed hearing Aurora talk about her work. He only understood enough of it to get a general idea of what she did, but he wasn't normally listening to what she was saying; he listened to how she said things. He knew he could spend a lifetime listening to her voice, shaping each word and making the print on the page come to life. "An apoplexy, right?" He interjected, drawing forth a familiar word. Satisfied that he was on the right track, he closed the folder and turned slightly, watching her as she sketched the air in front of her. "Do you enjoy the relearning?" He casually asked, taking a sip of his wine. There were many things he remembered about the young princess he had been betrothed to all those years ago, and hints of that girl still glimmered around the woman before him. However, ten years in this land had left their mark. He enjoyed discovering all of those differences, but he had rarely voiced the question he had posed aloud. She smiled and nodded at his interjection, taking a breath to mention, "Now they specify where it is. But yes." He could keep up with her with a basic understanding though she always attempted to simplify it as much as possible. That's what she had needed when she first came through. Everything was questioned; where the food was produced, who made the clothes the police offered her, when would she be able to get back home? But over time, she had softened to this time and allowed herself to become immersed in it and call it her home. True, it had never felt very homey until Phillip had arrived, too, but things had fallen into place long ago. His question caught her off-guard, just slightly, and she put her half full glass onto the table as she thought. Her bottom lip was between her teeth in a show of tension and her hands began to shake just so, her nervous tick from childhood emerging as it often did when she didn't know what to say. "I didn't not enjoy it," she answered finally. "There's always been so much to see and catch up on and I threw myself into it. What other choice was there? It was a good distraction." It was the truth; forcing herself to keep moving; to make friendships saved her life the first time around. "But distractions are just that, after all. It didn't help the loneliness." She shook her head at herself, exhaling deeply. "It came in handy in the end. For my patients. For you. If I'm doing a good job of it, that is." An echoing frown appeared on Phillip’s face as her hands began to tremble. He placed his glass back on the coffee table so he could take them in his hand, his large hands covering the shaking as if he could protect her from the tremors. He had meant the question innocently enough, trying to gauge her happiness now that he was back, and it pained him to see her in any sort of distress. However, a small part of him was curious what things had been like for her while he had been stuck in his beastly form. “Despite everything, love, you were able to start a new life,” he softly said with only the slightest tinge of regret coloring his words. “That takes considerable strength, and you’re doing an excellent job. You’ve always been one of the most caring people I know.” “I’m sorry,” she muttered despite herself. The shaking wasn’t enough to truly cause her distress, but it was still a very real sign of something amiss in her head. His hands covering her own immediately calmed her, and she managed a small turn of the lips in his direction, squeezing his hands gently. “I’ve been happy; I promise you. There have been so many things that I’ve learned and done and seen. It’s just that I knew what happiness was like. True, ultimate contentment. And happy is wonderful although it’s a fleeting emotion, but it pales to being understood and loved completely.” A hand broke free of his and traced his cheek, gently tracing the now-familiar lines and scruff of his face. “Only because that’s what you would have wanted me to do. Had I not understood that, who knows where I would have been.” And then there was living through the show, seeing that they married and had a child, despite the whole flying monkey incident. “You’re here now. It’s more than I could ask for.” And she had asked, many many times. It was just part of being here. “You don’t have to apologize to me,” Phillip assured her, his thumb skimming the curve of her palm. They had both waited a long time for the other, each fighting a separate form of loneliness that was both complete opposite and alike at the same time, before ending up together. He remembered what it was like to live without the other half of his heart, and being with her now helped make up for all of those years. It didn’t erase what they had gone through, but it made the moments they had together all the sweeter because of it. He turned his head slightly, nuzzling his cheek against her hand as it ghosted over his face. “I’ll always want you to be happy,” he said, his hand moving to rest on her leg. He drummed his fingers slightly, his own tell that something was turning the wheels in his mind. “What’s something that you’ve wanted to do that you haven’t been able to?” After all, they had all the time in the world now. Her only response was a nod, as she was stuck in her head a bit again. She knew that the apology was unnecessary on her part; that he understood why it had happened, but she, again, had dealt so long in most things by herself with the support of friends, but never a partner. “This is better than I thought possible. We’ve both grown, separately, but somehow together.” It was strange, how their life experiences mirrored in each other in some ways. “You are my happiness,” she said simply, registering the drumming on her leg and she turned her head to look at him questioningly. The steady beating had always been a bit of a tell for her beloved, apparently still in any world that they came across. There hadn’t been much that she hadn’t been able to accomplish on her own, except for two glaringly obvious things that made her cheeks light up in a blush that could rival the setting sun. “I- I-” she stuttered, laughing at herself. “You’re going to think that I’m utterly ridiculous for saying getting married. Like I’m some sort of distressed princess that has some crazy list in order to feel accomplished. It’s what I’ve wanted with you since before I was brought through. Marriage and a family.” Still, she wore an amused smile on her lips. “And what about you? I’m sure your list must be far more interesting than mine.” Phillip caught the questioning look Aurora shot in his direction and lifted a shoulder in reply, brushing aside the steady beating as nothing to worry about. He watched, fascinated, as a transformation took place on his beloved’s face. She always looked so sure of herself, so it was a new sight to hear the stutter pass her lips. “No, I don’t think you’re being ridiculous,” he told her, pushing a hand through his thick hair. “That’s...that’s what happens back home. I had assumed - well, I still view myself as being betrothed to you - if you still do too, of course,” he hastily added, knowing that ten years and a new view on things in the world could make a difference. Marriage and children at a young age were commonplace back in their kingdom, and he had heard that in ‘canon’ they had had a child early on together. However, things were different here. People got married for various reasons, and it wasn’t uncommon for couples to choose not to have children. “Does making a one-sided betrothal two-sided and having a family count as more interesting, or is it one in the same?” he asked, his lips quirking slightly around the edges as he tried to keep a rueful smile from his face. “I haven’t-” she cut herself off, both to gather her thoughts and to not alarm Phillip further. Instead she leaned forward to press her lips to his insistently, her fingers carding through his hair briefly in an attempt to convey what she couldn’t quite put to words. As she leaned back, she beamed, not bothering to censor herself any longer. “I’ve never considered myself as anything except betrothed to you, Phillip. It may be a rather long engagement, but my heart has known what it’s wanted since the moment we’ve met.” She shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance and failed, though she didn’t care. “I would say it’s a great life plan, in the long run.” Phillip wasn’t a person for flashy gestures, choosing instead to sit back and let Aurora shine while he admired the view, but he suddenly wished he had his mother’s ring from back home to slip on her finger to make it official. In the end, though, he much rather have Aurora over the ring, and practicality with her profession meant that the ring would end up in a locker somewhere while she scrubbed in for surgery. “I like the sound of this ‘long run,’” he said, a wide grin splitting his face as she watched him. He leaned forward and plucked the glasses off the table and passed one to her, holding up his in a salute to his princess. “To the future,” he toasted, meeting her eyes over the raised rim of his glass. “As long as there’s no actual running involved,” Aurora joked, her own smile threatening to crack her face in two. She took her glass, raising it in turn with him. “To us.” |