Ten Year Revenge
The Microfic/Drabble Meme!
Requested By: Xirysa (Livejournal, FFN)
Prompt: Oscar gets beaned with a snowball. In the head. Mistletoe scenario.
Pairing/Characters: André, Oscar
Fandom: Rose of Versailles
The snow that fell outside made her sigh with disappointment. She was stuck inside thanks to her big mouth. She did have the tendency to let it run at the worst of opportunities… Ugh, she'd have to work on that. And soon.
It was so close to Christmas Day that she could practically taste Nanny's best ham—a special Christmas recipe that she would share with no one—and smell those terrible mints that André loved so much.
With a sigh of resignation, she scrambled down from the window seat and sat in her favorite chair by the fire, opening up a book on military strategy as she crossed one leg over the other neatly. For a strategy book, it was rather interesting, but all it managed to do to her nine-year-old mind was put it to sleep.
It was snowing. Snowing! And she was inside reading a book about military strategy? Something was terribly wrong with that picture, but she forced her eyes to remain on the pages. She had to study no matter what. Even the holidays didn't excuse her from the allotted study-time her father insisted on. After all, she had overheard him telling her mother, Oscar will have to work twice as hard to become what would take half as much effort were she really born a boy.
She crinkled her nose in distaste. It wasn't that she didn't already know she was a girl. She knew. She didn't really care, that was all. Any stupid old boy could try as hard as he wanted, but she'd be better. She'd make sure of that. She wouldn't let her father down, not in a million years!
Ugh, boring, she sulked. She tried so hard to keep reading but her eyes almost slid closed of their own accord. She wouldn't even get the chance to take advantage of the rather rare snowfall to sneak up on a particular unsuspecting stable boy. She snickered quietly to herself as she imagined the shocked, dumbstruck expression on his face when the ball of freezing-cold snow splattered against his nose.
Oh? What was that? She perked up and peered around behind her chair, but nothing was there. Funny, she thought. She could have sworn that she had heard something…
Well, no matter! She would face it like a good soldier—shoulders back, chest out, eyes straight ahead! It wasn't like she was afraid of anything, anyway. She sat upright in her chair, listening carefully as her gaze lingered on the fire in front of her.
Suddenly, her left ear felt like it had been punched, and for a moment, she saw stars before the numbness spread and she noticed bits of frozen white snow lying all over her lap. When she looked up, she saw André standing there.
He grinned widely and shrugged. "Since you can't go outside to enjoy the snow," he laughed, "I brought some to you!"
He almost didn't get to finish his sentence before she tackled him to the floor. Grrr…! He was a goner!
He thought he was pretty awesome. Well, maybe not awesome. Epic. Yes, he was epic.
Snow was falling heavily for the first time in what felt like—and probably was—years. And Oscar, ever the dutiful one, insisted on going to Versailles, at least for a little while. Well, he didn't want to go, but there was absolutely no way that he would let her go alone.
She was just so…
He sighed as she made her way out of the house, rolling her eyes slightly at one lecture or another his grandmother was giving to her as the door swung shut.
They were left in the silence, and only the gentle pattering of the thick snowflakes falling against his hair and face disrupted the scene. It was still early in the morning, and due to the weather, most of France still slept. He sighed again as she came closer, but just like the first one, the second sigh was a relatively happy one.
She was so perfect, he thought. Perfect for him? Definitely. Perfect as a person? Well, she might as well be, but if he was going to be honest with himself, she was far from being a perfect person. She was temperamental, sometimes had no tact at all, was way too rough around the edges most of the time… but she was…well, perfect.
He almost felt guilty about what he was about to do. Almost.
It would be worth all of his efforts. His right hand, hidden partially behind him, was absolutely frozen. He couldn't even feel it anymore. But oh, would Oscar be surprised to feel the snowball he had hidden there smack against the side of her head!
It took everything in him to keep from laughing when she smiled almost cheerfully at him and mounted her horse—without his assistance, of course.
He smiled back at her and started to mount his own steed when, out of seemingly nowhere, a huge, cold, wet wad of snow blasted him in the side of the head. Dazedly, he blinked and turned toward Oscar.
She pointed a finger at him. "You've had that coming to you for ten years," she laughed. "It took me forever to get that snow out of my ear, and then the ear infection afterward, and—"
Her sentence was interrupted as he jumped down from where he had been standing in the stirrups and bounded toward her through the quickly deepening snow. She almost shrieked and tried to pull her feet out of the stirrups before he got there, but just as she freed herself, he was standing next to her.
André reached up and pulled her down, catching her so that she wouldn't fall to the ground before he leaned over and scooped up a huge handful of snow and shoved it—without any mercy, mind you—down the back of her uniform jacket!
She pushed at him and he let her fall on her derrière in the snow. Her lovely white pants would be soaked completely through before too long, he knew.
Now free from his grasp, she didn't bother to try and shake out the snow from her clothes. No, clearly it was time for revenge! She scooped up a big snowball and packed it tightly in her bare hands before throwing it at him with all her strength. It splattered against his chest, and he only laughed as he brushed it off and kneeled in the snow to throw handfuls of it at her.
She couldn't even retaliate properly, but she did her best, and finally, remembering that one must utilize every advantage on the battlefield, she ignored the onslaught of snow and tackled him to the ground. He landed on his back with a squishy thud and remained perfectly still as Oscar grinned victoriously at him.
Though really, he felt triumphant in his own way. After all, she was on top of him. As far as he was concerned, she could tackle him any time she wanted.
"I do believe," she said breathlessly as she leaned her elbows against his chest so that she could look down at him, "that I am the winner."
"Was it ever a contest?" he whispered back, wanting nothing more than to pull her down for a kiss. There were a hundred—no, a thousand—no, a million—reasons that he wanted to kiss her. Big snowflakes were scattered in her hair—a snowy halo—and a few tiny ones had gathered on her cheeks and eyelashes.
Wow, he thought. It can't get better than this.
"Of course it was." She pushed against his chest and managed to get to her knees, reaching out a hand to pull him to a sitting position afterward. "If I remember correctly, you—André Grandier—came into the house while I was confined for talking back and threw a snowball at my head. Ten years ago." She cocked her head to the side slightly and raised an eyebrow, picking up her dropped cloak and shaking it off.
"That's not quite accurate," he insisted, a smirk on his face.
"Oh? It isn't? Please feel free to correct me, then."
He ignored the hint of sarcasm in her voice. "I didn't just throw it at your head. I hit you in the head with it, too."
She let out a heavy breath. "At any rate, I've had my revenge, I think. And now we're both soaking wet." She gave him a pointed look and struggled to her feet. "And cold."
"I don't think it's that cold," he replied, standing up and dusting the snow off of his clothes.
"You have a cloak on. I don't. I have," she shuddered, "snow half-melted in the back of my shirt and I think that it's dripping into my pants!" A quick pause, and then she shoved her finger into his chest. "But it was worth it. I still won. And I guess Nanny was right… I shouldn't go to Versailles today. They won't be expecting me there anyway. Not with all this snow."
He nodded. "So what will you do now, then?"
"I was contemplating maybe…thawing out." She glanced down at her red hands, and he noticed that they were shaking slightly.
"That sounds like a good plan." He smiled innocently and when Oscar shrugged and turned back toward the house, he not-so-innocently leaned over and grabbed an armload of snow and trotted up behind her, dumping it all over her head.
She stood completely still—he noticed her body stiffen immediately—as the cold white mass of snow broke off into smaller chunks and covered her. Some clung to her clothes, some went into her jacket and into her shirt, and the rest fell into her hair and face, making her shiver slightly.
He couldn't help himself. He laughed. Hard.
Until she turned around and tackled him to the ground. It actually hurt a little bit to be tackled by a 19-year-old woman, he realized as he landed in the soft snow. But it didn't really bother him one bit. It was fun in its own way, and she was absolutely furious and beautiful at the same time! He didn't even try to push at her off of him as she sat on his stomach and grabbed a fistful of snow. He could only keep laughing because one of her knees was poking into his sides, and she took the liberty of pulling open his coat and his shirt to shove handful after handful of snow inside. It was terribly cold, but her frozen fingers would occasionally trail against his ribs and he would let out another strangled chortle.
He quickly ran out of breath and started to gasp slightly, grabbing her wrists in his cold hands as he tried to fend her off. "S-Stop it, Oscar!" he wheezed, still laughing slightly. "You win, I swear you win!"
She stopped struggling in his hold to glare down at him defensively. "You swear it?"
"I do, I do!" he insisted, feeling completely frozen but incredibly warm at the same time. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip on her wrists and then let her go for a quick moment. It was all the time he needed to wrap one of his arms around her, and he pulled her to him for a quick hug.
She grunted slightly and tried to tug away from him. "André," she complained. "You. Are. Crushing me!" When he loosened his grip, but didn't release her completely, she leaned up, her elbows resting on his chest, and smiled peaceably at him. "Do you think Nanny would make us some hot chocolate?" she asked him.
"I'll bet that she would," he answered, and pulled one of his hands around and above both of their heads after digging in his pockets for a moment. "Hey, Oscar?"
"What?" She looked suspicious.
"No. I'm not looking up there." She blinked slowly and grinned at him slyly. "I don't trust you."
"But you have to look."
"I do not."
"Yes you do! It's mistletoe. And you know what that means…" He gave her a devious wink that got him a hard jab in the side.
"I'm not looking up there."
"You're just afraid to."
"I'm not afraid of anything, André Grandier." She blinked at him again.
"Yes you are. In fact, I think I have a list…" Another jab in his side silenced him, and he chuckled a little. "You're afraid of mistletoe."
"I am not." She sounded and even looked indignant at his accusation.
"Prove it by looking up at it."
"See? You're afraid!"
"Fine, I'll prove that I'm not!"
"You sound just like you did when we were kids, Oscar." He grinned. "Now, let's see you prove it."
Reluctantly, she looked up, and sure enough, a sprig of mistletoe dangled from his fingertips. He let it go, and it landed in her hair. She gulped, slightly, and turned to look at him, her cheeks tinted a slightly rosier shade than they had been only moments before.
"Got you," he whispered lazily, and grabbed her face in his hands, placing a warm kiss first on one cheek and then the other before he pulled away and chuckled at her now flaming red face. "See, it wasn't so bad! And let me see…"
He started to sit up, and she nearly fell off of him, but managed to right herself and get to her own feet. She sighed a little bit, her expression slightly annoyed but mostly embarrassed.
"You waited ten years to smash a snowball into my head for revenge, but I've waited longer than that. You see, I still remember a precocious little eight-year-old Oscar who, right before Christmas…"
Here, Oscar groaned. Oh, how she hated this story… Thank God André was the only other one who knew about it…
"…Pointed up and showed me some mistletoe hanging over us, and insisted—and I do mean insisted—that she be allowed to kiss me." He grinned victoriously.
She had teased him endlessly about his refusal to let her kiss him. Of course, in the end, she had done so anyway, but now it was his turn, and it felt pretty darn good to get his supposed revenge.
"Please don't ever tell that story again," she grumbled, shivering badly now as she made her way to the doors at the front. "You'll be sorry if you do."
"Fine, fine," he said, catching up to her. At the door, as she worked to turn the knob, she glanced upward.
Curse her luck! It was probably André's fault that stupid mistletoe was there, too. She just hoped he had not put any of it in the house.
He followed her gaze and grinned. "Oh, is that what I think it is?"
Scowling, she shoved him. "You don't have to act so gleeful about it."
"Why not? I think it's amusing."
"You would." With a sigh, she grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him down, kissing one of his cheeks and then the other. "There. Done. Now, I swear, I don't care who has mistletoe with them, or where I'm standing, I'll not kiss anyone else."
"If you say so, Oscar," he answered, trying to hide a blush of embarrassment. Well, he hadn't meant for that to happen. It just had, somehow. Who had planted that above the doorway outside?
Once inside the house, André grabbed her arm. "Ugh, what now?" she asked.
"Look, up there," he said, and pointed upward.
Without even thinking, her eyes went to the top of the doorframe. "But…" she blinked in confusion. "There's nothing there."
"Hah," he said. "Made you look!" And with a flick of his wrist, he snatched the mistletoe out of Oscar's hair and handed it to her. "You might not want to carry this around like that, or all of the men and women will want to kiss you."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid, André."
"I'm being honest," he told her. "But I was just thinking… After we change our clothes and get warmed up… You have the day off, so maybe we could put this little thing to good use, don't you think? Maybe we could get your father caught underneath it with my grandmother. Or better yet, both of your parents together. You know they hate public displays of affection…"
"You're terrible," she said, shaking her head.
"I am? No, you are. I think I still have snow in my ear."
"And I have snow in my shirt!"
"Well so do I!"
"And I've got it dripping down into my pants!" She didn't quite realize that when she said it, she said it in such a loud voice.
And André didn't quite expect it, and he had just opened the door to the kitchen.
Nanny's wide-eyed, horrified expression greeted them.
Perhaps this was a little out of character for Oscar and André? I'm not really sure. It's written when André's love for Oscar was more of a happy love. You know, where you love someone, and you don't feel that it has to be returned? He's happy just being able to be with her. She's 19, getting ready to turn 20, and he's already 21. So they're both still young.
Not everyone will agree with me, but I'm sure Oscar had some nicer, happier days before her life started to get so complicated. We know Oscar's not above a little bit of fighting, too. And as for the mistletoe? Well, I didn't have them kiss each other on the lips. That, I felt, would be…perhaps more out of character than anything. But I could be wrong.
Those of you in the Rose of Versailles section? As I said in the other 'fic I posted, I'm still taking requests, so check out my profile to a link to my journal with more information if you haven't already requested something from me.
Anyway, I hope it was at least entertaining and enjoyable. Thanks for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated.