#*myficbits

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075: "Can you help me up, your child is pretty heavy." Romelza, thank you!

Laaaaaaate response but hey, better late than never.

1000 words, un-beta’d. Under a read-more for length.

“Go to bed,” Ross said absently, not looking up from his ledger. “I told you not to wait for me.”

“We-ll,” she prevaricated, “I’m settled here.” She yawned again, and this time Ross did look up, an eyebrow quirked, his amusement obvious. She made a face at him and rubbed gently at her belly as the child inside her made itself known. Her bladder was becoming a more pressing concern than her sleepiness, if she was honest, but neither problem had an easy solution.

Unfortunately she felt sure that, if she admitted her difficulties to Ross, there’d be no end of worrying and fussing and cosseting. And really, apart from the aforementioned ache in her feet by the end of the day, and sometimes a little backache, she’d never felt better. There was no need to fuss, none whatsoever, but Ross did fuss, and would fuss. She couldn’t altogether say she disliked it – as a sign of his feelings for her, it was entirely welcome – but it didn’t do to encourage it. Women in the village, and in Mellin, mostly worked until the day they delivered, and then were often up next day and back at the bal. She was the same stock as them, at heart, no matter how much Ross’s gentility was rubbing off on her.

The child kicked again, and another yawn made her eyes water. Need was overtaking want, much as she hated to admit it.

The fact of the matter was that she had settled herself so comfortably, and she felt so fat and unwieldy, that she wasn’t sure she could get up without assistance.

“Go to bed,” Ross said again, turning back to his accounts. “I’ll be a while yet.”

She contemplated her belly for another few moments. Then she gave in.

“Can you help me up?” she asked reluctantly. “Your child is heavy.” Ross looked up at her again, his lips twitching – but to his credit, he didn’t allow the smile to show any further.

“If she’s being inconvenient, I think we should call her your child,” Ross said, but he set aside his book, stood up, and reached out his hands to take hers. He levered her up and out of the chair with, it seemed, a minimum of effort. He didn’t release her hands when she was upright, but held them tight in his. “Inconvenient,” he repeated. He was trying to sound stern, she could tell, but he wasn’t quite succeeding. His mouth was too soft for sternness.

“Am I inconvenient, then?”

“Wholly inconvenient,” he assured her. “A tiresome distraction.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, belying his words.

“Maybe it’s a boy,” she said. “Maybe he’ll be stubborn like his papa.”

“Ha! Perhaps.” His lips lingered on her skin and she hummed a little, under her breath. The baby shifted, easing the pressure on her bladder. She could stay like this for a few minutes more, she decided. Standing here with the fire warming her side and Ross warming her heart. It was a pleasant feeling, and she savoured it. After a while his nose nuzzled at hers. “Go to bed,” he instructed gently. “You’re dead on your feet.”

“D’you want a son, Ross?” she asked, somewhat dreamily. Perhaps he was right; perhaps she was already asleep. Perhaps this was a dream. That wasn’t a nice thought, so she opened her eyes and made herself remember that she was awake, and this was all real. Ross, her child, the house cosy around them. Real, and hers. Or she was his. Both were true.

“What do you mean?”

“Men want sons, don’t they? To have their name.” She bumped her nose against his again, and felt the press of him against her belly. “Which d’you want?”

Ross visibly hesitated, and for a few moments she could see fear, written plainly across his face. She’d never seen him openly fearful before, not like that. She knew, of course, that he worried…but of course she would be fine, and so would the child. She was young and active. Her pregnancy hadn’t been troublesome. Ross would no doubt say she had no care for her own safety, but she felt well, and besides, she was sure nothing could mar the happiness that had been hers these past months, as his beloved wife.

“I want a healthy child and a healthy wife,” he said at last, which was what she’d expected him to say. “Anything more than that will be a blessing.”

“No, but serious,” she persisted.

“No, but serious,” he mimicked, “it’s time for bed, for us both. Did I not say you were a tiresome distraction? I’m abandoning my work to see to you.”

Sleepiness left her abruptly. “Oh?” she said. Alert now, she looked up at him and found the gleam in his eye that his words had suggested. “Yes?” It was still possible – and still wanted – despite her large belly, and if he wanted to, she had no intention of saying no. It was reassuring to find that he could still desire her, no matter how fat and fudgy-faced she felt herself to be. That had always been her biggest fear about becoming a mother, superficial and silly though it might be – the fear that perhaps he would no longer want her when she was fat and smelled of babies and clouts and all sorts of other things. So far that hadn’t happened. He still wanted her like this. He wanted her now.

“Yes,” he confirmed, and used their clasped hands to pull her from the room.

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Hiya. Thanks for giving us this light amongst all the darkness. # 3, 5 or 7 for Ross and Demelza. Thankyou

Sorry this took so long.

Prompt 7 - “I’m cold. Come closer.” Double-drabble (200 words), set post-books at some vague later date.

*

“I’m cold,” Ross grumbles. “Come closer.”

“Your feet are too cold,” Demelza protests,but hers are no better; she wriggles closer to him, wraps an arm around hiswaist, and only utters a small squeak of protest when his feet touch hers. Hisfeet are always cold these days, especially his bad foot, with the old wound.But she doesn’t really mind. She’s lived the better part of sixty years withhis cold feet in bed. Besides, her hands are the same now. Cold and stiff, hardto get moving. She burrows one under his armpit, seeking extra warmth.

“We should have lit the fire,” she suggests.

“We still could. Ring for Betsy.”

 “No, no, I don’t want to wake the baby.”

 “That child,” Ross remarks, “is as like Bellaas two peas in a pod. You wouldn’t wake her if a horde of starving wolves camerampaging through the house.” She giggles sleepily. His feet are heating up. Soare her hands. He tucks the blankets closer around her. “You’re warm enough tosleep?”

“As long as you don’t let a draft in,” sheyawns.

“I promise not to,” he says, pressing a kissto her head. “Goodnight, love.”

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Romelza + May I have this dance, wife/husband?

(sorry for the delay)

Double drabble - aka 200 words - un-beta’d.

* * *

“Like this,” Demelza says coaxing Jeremy’sarms into the right movement for the dance he’s trying to learn. “Good, Clowance,around and – oh, Jeremy!” He has collided with her, their feet trying to occupythe same space, and they both very nearly fall over. Clowance, who has pickedup the steps with graceful ease, doesn’t hide her giggle. Ross conceals hissmile behind his pipe, but the tobacco is long gone, and anyway, Jeremy learnslike he does: seeing something done is so much easier than trying to understanda verbal explanation.

He sets aside the pipe and steps forward. “MayI have this dance?” he asks, ushering Jeremy aside. Demelza laughs and shakesher head, amused, but pleased. Jeremy takes over tapping out the beat for them.Ross is sure Demelza is imagining music as he bows – to show Jeremy how it’sdone, of course – and takes her hand for the beginning of the dance.

They step this way and that, circle aroundeach other, pretending there are others dancing with them to form the correctfigures. It’s for the children, to teach them. That’s what he tells himself.

But really, he just wants to dance with hiswife.

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051 ROSS/demelza

051: "I wasn’t planning on asking you, but it appeared to me thatlife is short. Will you marry me?"

 Slightly adapted the wording of this to suit better, but the meaning is there. ~770 words, un-beta’d.

* * *

“Do you know,” Caroline said idly, as Rossrefilled her glass, “you’ve never told me how it was that you two came tomarry.”

It was late, and they were all mellow fromgood food, good wine, and good company. In the months since Ray Penvenen’sdeath, Ross and Demelza had tried to make more of an effort to bring Carolineout of her empty home, inviting her often for supper or calling there for ameal. She was a solitary being now, without the uncle she had nursed faithfullyand without the fiancé that nobody else knew about. Her thoughts wereconstantly with Dwight, trapped in a prison in Franceand suffering who knew what deprivations, but Ross and Demelza had agreedbetween them that company – and company who knew the whole truth about herrelationship with Dwight – was the only tonic they could provide her atpresent.

Demelza had stepped out of the room forsomething – no doubt to make sure the servants were managing the kitchen in herabsence – or else, Ross was sure, Caroline would never have voiced her bluntquestion. Even she had some tact – most of the time.

Now Caroline looked at him, challengingly,over the glass between them. Ross poured himself another glass and tried todecide how far to commit himself.

“I thought Dwight must have told you,” heprevaricated. “He discussed so many of our affairs with you – to our benefit! Idon’t lay any blame on him for that.” Caroline smiled, but said nothing. Shedisliked his gratitude, though it was freely given. She still liked to pretendit was a financial investment she’d made, and not a reckless gamble to save areckless gambler from bankruptcy. “He never spoke of this, though?” Rossqueried.

“I daresay I do know the bare bones of it,”she said, “but Dwight would never be drawn on the subject.”

“Well…he probably doesn’t know the details. Wewere married by the time he arrived in Cornwall.”

“So?”

She was as stubborn as he was, Ross reflectedruefully, and clearly wasn’t going to give up. “Well, why does anyone getmarried?” he deflected. “I was here, and she was here…” He didn’t like to saymore, not without Demelza’s consent. He was aware of her enduring measure ofdefensiveness against Caroline, though he didn’t for a moment suppose it wasgrounded in anything Caroline had done. It came from Demelza’s ownapprehensions, her own sense that anybody anywhere might have reason to lookdown on her for being a miner’s daughter. Caroline was a provoking sort ofperson, who delighted in discomforting other people’s sense of complacency andsuperiority, but he highly doubted she would turn that sharp wit on Demelza.

“If that was why people got married, I wouldbe Mrs Unwin Trevaunance,” Caroline said glibly. Then something more seriouscame into her expression, something uncertain. “Come, Ross, give me somesuccour. The whole county can see it was a love match, but how…how did youknow?”

“How did he know what?” Demelza was back, witha fresh bowl of nuts and dried fruit. “Ross?”

“Caroline was asking how we came to marry,” hesaid, impulsively sharing what perhaps he ought not to share. Demelza lookedstartled for a moment, and unsure. She glanced at Caroline briefly, and thenlooked back at Ross.

“Well, the normal sort of way,” she said, hervoice holding that faintly uncertain note that he always hated to hear. “Thebanns were read, and we wed.”

“I seem to recall not planning to ask you,”Ross went on, following a devilish impulse, “but then it appeared to me thatlife was short, so I did ask.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” Demelza put downher bowl and lifted an eyebrow at him, amused now, and softer with it, thesharp edge of her discomfort eased by whatever she saw in him. “I don’t seem torecall much asking happening.”

Caroline burst into a laugh. “Oh, that I canperfectly picture! Was it a command, then?”“It surely was,” agreed Demelza, but the warmth in her eyes as she looked at himmade a mockery of her words. “He came down to breakfast one day and said he wasoff to see Mr Odgers about getting the banns read.”

“Lies,” Ross claimed, but Demelza was laughingnow too, and Caroline’s mirth was too genuine to be a façade. Contented byseeing them both happy, he gamely allowed this mockery of himself to continuein service to that cause.

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How greedy am I? 3, 23 and 43 for our lovelies in Nampara! Thank you 👏🏼👍🏼❤️

Just one (and late, sorry). 43 - Silent night

Same modern AU as these other prompts.

* * *

“This was my mother’s favourite carol,” Rossmurmured, wrapping an arm around Demelza’s shoulders. She leaned her headagainst his and said nothing. She’d heard this story before, but wouldn’t dreamof interrupting him. “She loved it. Her grandfather served in World War One,and he was in the trenches that first Christmas. They heard the carol, and hekept hold of it as a…a buffer against all the bad things that happened, Iguess. My grandfather was in the second war, of course, but nothing like thatever happened again. Mum always said her grandpa told her the story of thatday, in France, when they all just…stopped fighting. She always said it remindedher that even in the middle of the most awful circumstances, there’s always…”

“Hope,” Demelza suggested.

“Yes.” He was silent for a long moment,listening to the music. ‘Silent night! holy night! Son of God, love's purelight, Radiant beams from thy holy face, With the dawn of redeeming grace.’“That’s why you want Christmas so much, isn’t it?” he asked her at length.

“Yes, Ross,” she said quietly. “That’s why.”

“Well.” He tightened his arm around her,turned his head to press a kiss against her temple. “Fingers crossed for nextyear, I suppose.”

“Yes. Fingers crossed.”

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Demelza and Ross "scarves" or "my car broke down" thank you!!

Same non-specific modern AU as previous two prompts.

(at this point I should stop calling it non-specific, I think?)

* * *

“I expect this is the annual scarf,” Rosssaid, pulling a wrapped present from a jiffy bag and giving it an experimentalsqueeze. “Aunt Agatha never will change.”

“And you wouldn’t want her to,” Demelzalaughed, snatching the present out of his hands before he could poke a hole inthe wrapping paper. It wasn’t safe to leave presents under the tree – Jeremywas about ready to crawl, and had an unerring instinct for getting into thingshe shouldn’t – but she put it on a shelf behind the tree, ready for Christmasmorning. Despite their resolve to have a small Christmas, there was already anaccumulation of presents gathering on the shelf from friends and family. Itwarmed her heart to know people cared.

“That’s not the point,” complained Ross. “Thepoint is she makes me a new scarf every Christmas, and I end up not gettingenough wear out of a single one of them.”

He’d be glad of them when Agatha was gone,though. She knew that well enough, though she would never say so. She had a boxin the attic, full to bursting with the little clothes and shoes and toys thatshe hadn’t been able to bring herself to give away, after Julia’s death.

But Ross never got rid of any of Agatha’sscarves, though he complained every year about getting another one, so Demelzawas fairly sure he shared her feelings.

“Still,” he added, “she never misses aChristmas or a birthday. And here – something for Jeremy, too.” He took anotherpresent from the envelope and put it with his own, on the shelf. “D’youremember that awful dress she knitted for Julia?”

“I do.” She smiled, not entirely happily. Itwas rare that Ross spoke her name, but it was a good sign, really. They werehealing. And Jeremy helped, though of course he wasn’t a replacement. But hissmiles and gurgles and development eased the pain in their hearts. “Let’s hopethis one isn’t so…colourful.”

“Let’s hope my scarf isn’t neon yellow,” saidRoss, not sounding terribly optimistic.

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The Poldark family with #49, please?

Continuing on the same non-specific modern AU as this prompt.

* * *

“No, little man, this goes at the top. Likethis.”

Demelza leaned against the doorframe, out ofRoss’s sight and thus free to shed a tear. He had Jeremy in his arms, andJeremy had a firm grasp of the angel ornament, the one Ross’s mother had boughtwhen he was a child. The one he’d dragged out of storage for Julia’s firstChristmas, and her second. They hadn’t used it last year – neither of them hadbeen in the mood to celebrate much, not least because Demelza had still beensuffering lingering bouts of morning sickness. They hadn’t had a tree todecorate, so the ornaments had stayed tucked away in the attic. And this yearRoss had seemed to feel the same, still prone to bouts of melancholia andstruggling with the new business. Uninterested in celebrating Christmas at all.

But he’d agreed to a tree, for Jeremy’s sake.For Demelza’s sake. He’d dragged out the box of ornaments and showed each oneto Jeremy, though at seven months Jeremy wasn’t really interested. And now…nowhe was showing Jeremy where the angel went. Even though Jeremy wouldn’tremember; even though he was too young to appreciate it.

“There. Doesn’t that look nice? Well done,Jeremy.”

She wiped her eyes and went to join them.“Very nice,” she approved. “Welldone, Jeremy.” Ross smiled at her over Jeremy’s head, and the sight of it madeher happier than anything else could.

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Ross & Demelza + 26?

26 - Bah humbug.

Set in a non-specific modern AU.

***

“He’s too young,” Ross said, when Demelzaraised the idea of Christmas. “He won’t care if we have a tree or not. Demelza,I’m really not in the mood for pretending things are alright. The business is barelyscraping through, our debts are mounting – we don’t have the money for abig Christmas, apart from anything else.”

Demelza took a deep breath and let it outslowly. “I’m not talking about a big Christmas,” she said, deliberately mild. “Asmall tree and a few presents and a roast chicken. That’s all.” He was glaringat some unseen thing, and she considered him for a moment, and then reached outto touch his arm, bringing him back to her. “We gave Julia a first Christmas,”she reminded him softly. He flinched at her name, but he was listening. “I wantJeremy to have the same.”

“They’re not the same, though.”

“No, but I’d feel bad if…” She trailed off,not quite sure she could put it into words. “He won’t care,” she said at last,“but I care. I don’t want to look back and think he didn’t have a firstChristmas. We can give him that, Ross. It doesn’t have to be much.”

Finally Ross smiled, a rueful expression thatshowed both his understanding and his chagrin. “Alright,” he agreed. “I get it.I’m being a scrooge.”

“Bah humbug,” she agreed.

“A small Christmas, then. Just a smalltree.” He glanced over at their infant son, happily playing with his blocks.“You’re right,” he added. “He deserves everything she had.” He held his arm outfor her, and she leaned against him and let him hug her.