Disclaimer: I own neither Chrono Crusade nor Wicked, from which this song comes from. ("I'm Not That Girl")
Author's Note: My friend Emmy gave me a copy of the Wicked OST and when I heard this song, I immediately thought of Rosette. Why? I dunno. . . Maybe because I'm still in a "deep dark inner thoughts" mode from 'Chasing My Shadow.' All the same, I found I had to write this. (Then, when I "made myself Rosette" for a few minutes (you know, like when you're acting and you try to become the character?) to see if the song would work, I started crying- so then I REALLY had to do this fic. ;) )
PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE NO IDEA WHEN/HOW ROSETTE ACTUALLY FINDS OUT ABOUT MAGDALENE IN THE MANGA/ANIME, so this fic technically has no spoilers provided you already know that Magdalene was Chrono's first Contractor and romance interest. (And again, PLEASE don't tell me what actually happens- I HATE SPOILERS. (sweat drop))
Also, just a quick note about OOCness. You're free to say that Rosette's being OOC here, but I really don't think so. Rosette, in my mind, is more or less a person of extremes. When she's happy, she's extremely happy. When she's mad, she's extremely mad. When she's being sweet, she's extremely sweet. And when she's sad, she's extremely sad. I also don't think she's as thick-headed as she's sometimes portrayed. She knows what's going on, and most of the time, she knows how she feels about it. I think if she had five free minutes to actually sit and think about stuff like this, she'd be act a pretty much like she does in this fanfic. In fact, I recall seeing her act like this once or twice in the manga, so there ya go! ;)
Anyway, that's just my opinion. You're free to disagree. But please enjoy anyway!
"Hands touch, eyes meet
Sudden silence, sudden heat
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl
He could be that boy
But I'm not that girl. . ."
My hand is still warm.
Wrapping my fingers around the heat that continues to faintly radiate from my palm, I lean against the wall; staring out the open window. I can see all of the grounds from here- the neighboring buildings, the outline of Central Park, the fountain. . .
The fountain. That's where he is right now.
Face heating up slightly, I duck away- engulfing myself in the shadows of the convent's stone barriers. But I keep my eyes on him; watching him. Feeling him.
My fingertips skim over the flesh of my callused palm. Still warm. From him. It's like he's here.
But he's not right now. He's out there, sitting gracefully on the edge of the decorative dry well- thinking. Which isn't unusual. He's always done that: stare off into space with deep, intelligent maroon pools; contemplating something beyond mortal comprehension.
At least, that's what I'd always assumed he'd been doing. And when I'd ask what he was considering so seriously, -as I used to frequently do,- he'd simply smile, shake the nostalgic expression from his eyes, and change the subject. He didn't want to talk about it. I knew that. But I didn't care. It hurt to know he was keeping secrets from me.
Now I wish he'd kept it quiet; that I'd kept my mouth shut. I dislike recognizing that expression- the one that tells me he's reminiscing and what he's most likely revisiting in his mind. Or, rather, who.
I check my hand. Still warm. Warm from his taking it to tuck me into bed, to try and cure me of my fever. But it didn't help. After all, I feel physically fine.
It's my heart that hurts. It throbs terribly. . . One-hundred times worse than the pain that courses through my veins when the Seal is broken. I want that hurt to go away, Chrono, so badly. Yet the only way to do that would be to tell you how I feel, wouldn't it?
That I cannot do. I can't- and I never could. I don't want to make things awkward. I don't want to scare you. I don't want to be told you don't feel the same. I don't want to be distracted- to forget- to move on without Joshua.
Even if. . . Even if that means that my hand will only be warm when I'm sick, or when you're leading me through a crowd, or when you're comforting me for some stupid reason. Even if it means this constant hopeless feeling inside.
"Don't dream too far
Don't lose sight of who you are
Don't remember that rush of joy
He could be that boy
I'm not that girl."
You're staring at the bright blue sky, now, Chrono. Perhaps you're searching for the Astral Lines- the last traces of your first Contractor? The fragments of life you told me of so long ago? The ones I dreamed of discovering with you and Joshua?
My dreams. . .
Did I ever tell you of my most secret desire? Of the one fantasy that I replayed every night in the orphanage; the one that I refined and honed in my head until it was a flawless picture of perfection?
In it I was your wife.
I suppose it was just a girly crush, the kind every child has when growing up. I didn't fully understand what marriage was about- just that it meant two people were in love. I didn't know if devils took wives. I still don't, I suppose.
But my wish hasn't changed.
None of my wishes have, really. Even now I want to be an explorer; want to live- want to travel with you and my little brother.
But Chrono. . . . that's all. Not you, me, Joshua, and the memories of Magdalene. You and me and Joshua. Is that too much to ask?
. . . Yes. Yes it is, isn't it?
"Ev'ry so often we long to steal
"Ev'ry so often we long to steal
To the land of what-might-have-been
But that doesn't soften the ache we feel
When reality sets back in."
I'm being greedy, Chrono. I know it. And if you could hear my thoughts, you'd think so, too.
Sighing, I prop myself against a nearby column- flushed cheeks pressed hard to the cold stone. My hand is still warm. . . I hold it to my chest.
I don't deserve you. Everyone always says it's the other way around- that you're lucky to have such a friend to fall back upon, especially with the way your life has gone. But that's a lie. I'm selfish and shy and scared and stupid. I make you help me without any thoughts as to what you want. I accept your kindness and affection and wisdom without giving anything in return. I refuse to share you with others.
. . . Though in reality, I suppose I don't own a part of your love to share with anyone anyway, do I? I'm just a friend, a child, the trigger-happy nun you follow out of loyalty and pity. Magdalene was the one who truly held your heart. It was within her smile that you found happiness. Her touch that calmed you. Her words that soothed you.
You were hers.
And she deserved to have you.
"Blithe smile, lithe limb
She who's winsome, she wins him
Gold hair with a gentle curl
That's the girl he chose
And Heaven knows
I'm not that girl. . ."
My hand is still warm, but I'm sure that's only because I'm grasping it so tightly. Had I let it go, it would have cooled by now.
But I don't want to let go. I never want to let go, Chono. Even if I have no chance. Even if you don't love me. Even if I die. I want to be with you. I've always wanted to be with you, ever since I saw you crouching there, lonely and pathetic, in that gloomy tomb. I want to be able to hold your hand- hold it like a lover would. And I want you to hold my hand like you love me, not like you're worried about me, or like you want me to get better soon.
I wish. . .
". . ." I close my eyes tightly, turning away from the window.
No. I don't wish- won't wish- anything. Wishing has never helped anyone. And it won't help me now.
I begin to walk away.
A pause. Turning around slowly, I make my way back to the window and lean out, squinting in the sun. Chrono beams up at me, grin bright and cheerful, wistful expression having been cast into the wind. He must have heard me moving. The grass around his feet ripples like disturbed water in a pond.
I bend my fingers in response, a weak smile on my face.
"Rosette! Are you feeling better?" he calls, hopping off his make-shift seat and taking a step foreword. "Did a nap help?"
I don't reply; only continue to smile sadly. Oh, Chrono. . .
He frowns, concerned; tilting his head and allowing his braid to spill over his shoulder. A bird sings in a cluster of aspens. "Rosette? Are you okay?"
Am I okay? Interesting question.
No, I don't think I am. Of course, I don't tell him this. Instead I motion halfheartedly to my throat, pretending that I've lost my voice . . . But truly- if I try to speak now, I might cry. Cry for so many reasons. . .
"Rosette?" Urgency can be heard in his tone, a worried glitter in his red orbs. So worried. . . It next to disgusts me. It's not the worry I want. "Do you want me to-"
I don't want to hear anymore. I can't take pity and can't stand the knowledge that he's only acting like this because I'm sick; because I can't take care of myself. I'm a baby in his eyes. A daughter. A friend.
My hand feels suddenly cold.
I turn around and walk away, leaving him alone with his buried thoughts- his musings of the girl he loves.
May he be happy with those memories.
"Don't wish- don't start
Wishing only wounds the heart
I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl
There's a girl I know. . .
He loves her so. . .
. . . I'm not that girl."