This is a series of drabbles written while I was taking a break from writing my thesis. They're a hundred words each, taken from a prompt table. All are Nate/Elena, PG-to-PG-13. Enjoy, and please leave a comment if you like, or if you have a prompt; I'll get back to you.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is purely for fun and also to clear my head of boring thesis crap.
“Good tidings we bring, to you and your kin!” Elena sings happily along with the radio, as she circles the tree again, Nate following after with a string of colored lights wrapped around his hand.
“Give me a little slack,” she tells him, then bends over to adjust a stray light. “Good tidings for Christm—hey, where do you think this one should go?” Elena holds up a hideous miniature pinecone which just thoroughly sprinkled Elena, himself, and the cream-colored carpet with silver glitter.
For some reason, Nathan can’t seem to wipe the ridiculous grin off of his face.
Elena grips his hand desperately. She’s saying something to him, but in his semi-unconscious state, he can only see her lips move. He can hear her, but the words themselves aren’t making any sense. He is so tired. Was there somewhere he was supposed to be? He can’t remember.
In the driver’s seat, Sully has his foot stomped down on the gas, pedal to the medal.
“Just hang on, Nate!” he calls.
His eyes begin to close, and then his cheek burns. Elena has slapped him. His eyes reopen, try to focus. Her words suddenly make sense.
It’s Elena’s birthday. Nathan had the bright idea this morning to get up and make her a birthday cake from scratch. Now, an hour and forty-seven minutes later, he can hardly turn the batter with his spatula. In fact, the spatula is standing up in the brown substance that vaguely resembles dark chocolate without any assistance whatsoever. He swears loudly, then attempts to add some water to the batter to try and loosen it.
The doorbell rings.
“Here ya go, kid,” Sully hands him a store-bought cake.
Nate’s entire body relaxes. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Sully shrugs. “Don’t mention it.”
The night he leaves, Elena is standing out on the balcony. She absently turns her wedding ring with her thumb, listening to the wind chimes let her know the wind is picking up. A thunderstorm is headed their way, but she won’t beg him to stay, stay at least until the storm clears. She won’t beg him to stay at all.
Behind her through the sliding glass door, Nathan has grabbed his duffel. He cannot stay; cannot let this life of his harm her.
Please, please, don’t leave me, she thinks. But the words can’t seem to escape her lips.
Elena is used to dust by now. Dusty old—ancient—library texts, dusty sarcophagi, dusty clothing, dusty tombs. What she’s not used to is a thick layer of the stuff covering every square inch of her home when she unlocks the door. A thick bar of sunlight cast through an open spot in the blinds illuminates thousands of disrupted particles stirring in the air. Has it really been that long since she was last here? It feels so empty.
Then Nate springs the door open behind her, exhaling loudly. His presence stretches, fills the room. It no longer feels empty.
Nate checks the address scrawled on his hand before raising his fist to knock on the door. He hasn’t seen her since the two parted ways at the airport in Key West several weeks ago. He said he’d keep in touch—after all, he still owes her a story. But for now, she said if he looked her up that she’d buy him a beer.
The door opens, and before he can do anything, her arms are around him, wrapping him in a hug. “Hey! It’s good to see you!”
He hugs Elena back, saying, “Good to see you, too.”