private if i could drink the moon // robinheart

[brookstorm]

It's like any other day. With newleaf being so plentiful, and Brookstorm being skilled as she is, she brings home two fish instead of one. One finds its home atop the fresh kill pile, destined for the elders or a new apprentice with a kindly mentor. The other remains with her, as stone grey paws carry her towards the nursery. She does as she has done for days, if not weeks, now; bringing her ex lover a meal caught by her very own paws. The effort was instructed (if not demanded) by Lichentail and has since become second nature.

Her personal animosity against Robinheart has faded into grief instead. Mourning, maybe, if what she ruined.

She parts the reeds of the nursery, spotting the tortoiseshell unexpectedly. The other was usually on a walk at this time of day - did she forego it for some reason? Brookstorm had managed to avoid her thus far... Maybe it's time to stop.

"Hey," she says, but she cannot stop her voice from being tough and curt. "This is for you. And anyone you want to share it with," though Brookstorm would loathe to know if Robinheart shares it with anyone at all.​

 

[robinheart]

Robinheart longs for days of the past, or maybe even days far into the future. Days where she can leave the confines of camp and hone her hunting skills (she was just beginning to get the hang of fishing before falling pregnant), days where she doesn’t feel stifled within woven walls, days where she can find happiness again.

It has taken too much time to realize just how unhappy she has become; how happy she truly felt with Brookstorm and how she mourns those moments.

Call her crazy, for falling in love so fast and with someone so unlike herself, but Robinheart’s chest clenches with an ache triggered by loss every time she catches a glimpse of stone blue fur. Such glances are few and far between - each one still brimming with hurt and longing. Like the sting of a sunburn after a day spent lakeside; it speaks of joyful times yet burns and blisters all the same. She misses Brookstorm. And every day she misses the curled eared molly leave behind a freshly caught piece of prey for her. The mottled queen caught onto the act early on, yet she never knew how to react.

At least not until today.

Robinheart forwent her walk in anticipation of speaking with her ex-mate. Truly speaking to her. But any courage she had gathered diminishes in grassy gaze and curt words. She feels like she’s back at the riverbank, begging Brookstorm to stay with her, to stay for their growing family. “Wait,” the tortoiseshell whispers, pushing herself into a seated position and curling plush tail around rounded midsection. She hopes to keep Brookstorm rooted in place for a moment longer. “I want to share it with you. Please… stay. Just for a little while.”​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[brookstorm]

Brookstorm's expression remains terribly still, though she can't help the twinge in her features when Robinheart begs for her to stay. The blue moggy can't hold the other's gaze for long, guilt of being so distant and ruinous tearing her into ribbons from the inside. "I have too much to do, Robinheart," she says, and it hurts to say it, and yet she doesn't take the chance to leave. Her paws are rooted into the woven grass flooring, and her maw remains agape as if she's ready to spill reasons as to why she cannot stick around.

They never come.

Eventually, she closes her lips, and the restraints around her paws only loosen when they carry her closer to Robinheart once again. The fish is placed carefully by the other's paws, and she offers a quiet, "I cannot eat with you." After a beat she continues with, "I've not earned it. But I will sit with you. I will -" a hitch, and she finally glances at Robinheart, only for her gaze to fall again, "I will stay. Just so long as you eat." A compromise if there were ever any. Her tail curls around her body, as if she's protecting herself.

Only once Robinheart starts eating does the stone blue warrior speak again, "You're getting rounder. Have you spoken with Moonpaw? Will it... will it be soon?" She's constantly aware of how little she knows about this stuff.​

 

[robinheart]

Her heart stammers in her chest in the moments already afforded by the stone hued feline. It's… more than she anticipated to gain, more than she planned in the labyrinth of her mind. Ears fall against her head as Brookstorm claims to have much to do. Yet the blue molly stays one, two, many seconds longer, paws glued to the nursery floor and eyes looking anywhere but where Robinheart wanted them to. If only she could hold chips of emerald for more than a second at a time, though deep down the mottled femme knows she would divert her gaze just as quickly. Cowardice impregnates anxious mind. The fear of yet another rejection rising in her throat as this moment slips into a temporary limbo.

But then Brookstorm moves. For the first time in weeks they share a space within reach of one another. Robinheart's brows soften, the creases of her face melting into a subtle expression of hope. She holds it like a freshly emerged butterfly, fragile and fleeting, not knowing if it'll last. "You've made sure a queen was fed… I think that has earned you the right to eat," the tortoiseshell offers quietly, wanting to make the logic work. Wanting… to see for herself that Brookstorm was eating and taking care of herself. Even in her grief Brookstorm still took care of Robinheart, but was anyone caring for Brookstorm?

Their eyes meet and regardless of if the stone hued molly accepts her offer, Robinheart nods and pulls the fish nearer to take a bite. She will eat if it keeps the other molly near to her. Hunger does not reside within the tortoiseshell amidst the emotions bubbling beneath the surface - anxiety and hope and trepidation and sorrow. Still she partakes of the prey to appease her ex-mate. Still she partakes of the prey to nourish the lives growing within her.

Speaking of, triangular ears perk ever so slightly as Brookstorm asks of the kits. In her own roundabout way. "They are growing," she muses at the getting rounder comment. "I saw Moonpaw recently. She did a checkup and guessed how many we- I - would be having… they should be arriving in a couple weeks." Robinheart answers as citrine eyes seek out some sort of reaction from the other parent of the kits kicking around inside her. "Do you… want to be informed when labor begins?" It was commonplace to fetch the sire when labor began, but Robinheart wasn't sure if that was something Brookstorm would want.​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[brookstorm]

She does not see the pleading in Robinheart's gaze, nor the anxiety that comes with her expressions or mannerisms - all for she does not look at the mottled queen. A mere glance would tell her all she doesn't want to know and the guilt and uncertainty she already feels would tear her apart tenfold. She wants so despetately to stare into sunflower petal eyes, to see her former lover smile and hear her bell-laughter. But she knows she's earned no happiness and security in the wake of her abandonment. (Does that warrant continuously hurting the other, however? If she is to know that Robinheart longs for her the same way she does, does that negate the pain she's inflicted on the other? Does that entirely invalidate her sin and save her from damnation? And if it doesn't - are the flames in hell worth it if Robinheart can hold happiness once again?)

She knows the answer. It's what returns her to the molly's side, despite her fear and frustration. The world could be nothing but the final furl of a flame, but if Robinheart is happy, then that would be enough.

"There is a nursery full of queens and a den full of elders, each still waiting for a meal," Brookstorm reasons, her gaze falling over the few that likely linger. The many, she knows, who will gossip after she leaves. "I will have my meal before the day's end. Do not worry about me," her final words on the matter squeak out of her throat, pleading almost. She cannot stand to have the other be so selfless when she's always been the opposite. Her tail tip flicks, a mindless action, but it settles on the other's rounded flank as she speaks about it. Robinheart swallows her first few bites and agrees by way of, they are growing. The reality of the situation does not urge her to run anymore, but she cannot help feeling uncomfortable. Brookstorm knows there are many reasons behind her discomfort and she settles them all with a silent, forceful stop.

It doesn't always work, and even then she struggles to keep her paws stationary. But for now, she eases herself through the information she's given.

The slip up and clarification hurts, and such flickers through verdant green eyes, but she says nothing on the matter. "... How many did she guess?" Brookstorm asks, ears folding backwards for a moment. How many little, tottling souls will not know her as a mother, but rather another warrior? She would never forbid Robinheart from sharing the truth (even when the truth terrifies her,) but the other is too kindly with secrets. Brookstorm would be unsurprised to learn that the molly suggested that she manifested her litter all on her own, rather than they have an unwanted sire. Another beat passes and Robinheart pitches a question towards her, and for the first time in their conversation, Brookstorm looks towards her. There's a mix of shock and confusion in her leaf green gaze, fading into something uncertain.

A pause.

"Would you want me there?"​

 

[robinheart]

Robinheart has never been good at dancing. Not the physical action but the metaphorical back and forth, the twirling and swaying between two forces magnetically drawn together and forced apart. Her heart hurts, her soul aches, her mind so incredibly weary at all that has transpired. The mottled queen wants nothing more than to curl up against stone hued fur. To be lulled to sleep by steadily beating heart. To only see love flickering in verdant gaze rather than regret and shame. Her desires outrank logic; should she know of Brookstorm’s longing she’d launch herself wholly at the curled eared molly - reckless abandon of emotions for the chance at love.

It’s stupid, just how dumb in love Robinheart has become.

Even Brookstorm’s tail tip resting against her flank send electricity through her body, exciting the organ within her chest despite her mind’s weak pleas to stay calm. Kittens tumble at the change in heart-rhythm and Robinheart’s own tail drapes closer to her swell as if hiding them from uncertain and uncomfortable gaze. A selfish action, though the multicolored queen fears overloading her former lover with kit activity and scaring her off. She tries instead to focus on Brookstorm’s reasoning and subsequent promise. “It is hard… not to worry about you. But I trust you’ll stay true to your word,” she murmurs softly, citrine gaze fixated on her paws out of … embarrassment? Is it wrong to tell Brookstorm that she still worries for her despite all the blue feline has put her through? Robinheart doesn’t want to dwell on such questions, for they confuse her lovesick heart too greatly.

Guilt rattles ivory ribcage at the brief flicker of hurt in emerald eyes over Robinheart’s slip up and clarification. She should have been more mindful of her words - she should be using her brain to talk rather than her heart. But Brookstorm asks how many and she can’t help the swirl of hope blossoming in her gut. Her heart grows with the other’s curiosity regardless of intention. “Four.” Robinheart answers, clear and concise. Whether or not Moonpaw was correct, Robinheart trusted the apprentice to be close with her guess. “Nothing felt wrong to her either. They are healthy,” the queen adds. Perhaps more so for her benefit than Brookstorm’s. It eased misplaced feelings of anxiety to remind herself that the kits were healthy and growing on track.

Her question, innocent as it may have been, draws forward Brookstorm’s attention and for longer than a moment they see each other. Brow furrows ever so slightly at the shift in emotions across the other’s face. It is hard to read her thoughts, to decipher the depths of a heart once belonging solely to her, but surprise colors queried mind at the question posed.

‘Would you want me there?’

“Yes.”

She breathes the response without thought. For now her heart leads and the rest of Robinheart is powerless to follow. “Not even entirely for them but… f-for me. Because as much as it hurts to have my love suddenly allotted to lives I have yet to meet,” she confesses, glancing at her rounded midsection for only a moment before looking back at hues of blue and green and white, “it would hurt more to continue to withhold it from someone I can’t stop loving.” She needed Brookstorm. Through the toughest trial she was about to face… she needed her former lover by her side. To give her strength. To give her courage. To protect her.

“I want you in whatever capacity I can have you.”​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[brookstorm]

Trust is gifted to her again, and though her expression doesn't change Brookstorm cannot help the furl of frustration and droplet of hate that sinks her heart into her stomach. She's fooled the mottled queen before her - made her an idiot in love when all she can do is sit dumbfounded, angry, and lost. Maybe Robinheart likes this back and forth between them, in some sort of sick way. Or maybe she hurts so terribly and bleeds so badly that this conversation brings out the hope in her. Maybe to re-extend the trust, the molly hopes to recapture what they once had by proxy.

Her feathered tail reacts to a slight, wayward kick of a kit, but her expression doesn't shift, doesn't address. She wants to reiterate, don't worry, as if such a demand is needed - but the pressing unavoidable parenthood draws her attention away. Four, Robinheart says, and she murmurs a softened, "Oh," between the molly's words. Finally her green gaze sinks to Robinheart's midsection, watching as if four blind tots would burst forth just then. Healthy, they are - dictated by a cat no older than she. Brookstorm can't help the pessimism. She keeps it to herself.

"That's good," she says. And she leaves it there.

Before she knows it, her return question is spiked earthbound by a firm, Yes. There is no hesitation, no fear of judgement or worry of dismissal. Dare she wonder it demanding in tone, if not for the wobble of the she-cat's lip as she continues talking. The stone-faced warrior finds her expression softening, morsel by morsel, and she can only think about how badly she's damaged a heart so pure. She doesn't deserve love so endless, so resilient. She doesn't deserve Robinheart - but the queen wants her back.

"Robinheart," she says, "I love you."

It's almost a hiccup, as if sobs threaten to break down the barrier of expression she so carefully held onto. She pauses only to steady herself, "I... I'm sorry that I hurt you," she says. "Do not accept me until I have made all right again. Promise me that you will not take me when all I can provide is pain. I - I will be here for you, in any way you need me. But do not love me back until I have fixed what I have broken between us. Do not tell me you love me in return. Not until all is perfect again. Promise me that."​

 

[robinheart]

If it hasn't been apparent already then this moment solidifies the fact that Robinheart is too trusting. Too reckless with her heart. She will allow herself to break time and time again if it allows selfless ichor to seep golden into Brookstorm's cracks, a kintsugi lover deserving of happiness. She would hurt and ache a million times if it guaranteed hope for their future - a fulfillment of a promise Robinheart made moons ago.

Further and further does the mottled queen allow her hope to spread; like a crawling vine, the sweetest of strawberry blossoms, it perfumes her thoughts. Brookstorm does not shy away from subtle kitten kick or the news of numbers and health. She stays. She speaks words much too soft for such an unyielding femme. Robinheart nods gingerly at the shortened phrase. That's good.

Like a mirror her expression softens, her eyes misted and chin trying desperately not to tremble. She wants Brookstorm back so badly that the mere seconds ticking by feel like eons. Perhaps the blue molly does not deserve her love and forgiveness, perhaps others may think them fools - think Robinheart an idiot for falling all over again. But deserving or not, Robinheart has made her choice. And she chose Brookstorm.

'I love you.'

The confession chokes wobbly breath and the multicolored queen feels her cheeks wet with emotion. Words do not come easy, which benefits Brookstorm as she continues. An apology is given - and a clause. Another promise to be made to absolve the other of a crime Robinheart was so ready to forgive. 'But do not love me back until I have fixed what I have broken between us. Do not tell me you love me in return.' "You are asking a fish not to swim, or a bird not to fly… but I'll try. I promise I will," she finally murmurs, a shaky promise built on hope. "However," Robinheart adds as she stands and tentatively takes a step towards Brookstorm, "I don't want you to strive for perfection. Neither of us are perfect. Fix what you need to fix," she aims to gently touch her nose to the other's cheek, eyes closed and heart bare, "and come back to me. Please don't make me wait too long."​

[ penned by kerms ]​