Arabian (arabian) wrote,
Arabian
arabian

FIC: The Tale of Mr. Lee (PG-13)

Pairing/Character: LoVe
Word Count: 535
Rating: PG-13 (for slight sexuality and language)
Summary: The faded looks of a bear tell a story.
Spoilers/Warnings: Mildly "M.A.D."
Disclaimer: UPN, Warner Bros. Rob Thomas, et al. You know, the usual suspects. They own these characters, not I.
Notes: This is part of a challenge at my LoVe board. If you're interested in reading the other results from writers, check it out.



In the corner sat the bear.

A faded tan now, with splotches of a peachy beige where the sunlight had hit too often, the luster of the original woodsy brown was gone. One of his coal-black eyes was missing, lost during a fight years ago. He had wanted to take the bear back. Being petty and vindictive. Something both of them were still capable of even after seven years of being together.

She had refused. Holding tightly to Mr. Lee (a variation of his initials), she had wept tears over the damn bear. Tears that she had been unable to shed {damn her pride} over the man. He had tugged and pulled and because she feared that Mr. Lee would lose an arm and stuffing, she let go. He fell back and the bear went flying, knocking into the lamp on the table. Hard. The lamp fell -- a beautifully crafted take on a Japanese lantern, unique and expensive, unique and beloved, a gift from him on their 3rd anniversary -- and broke.

A hundred shattered pieces fell to the floor, shattered just like her heart because amidst the porcelain was a black button eye. A cry flew from her throat and he reached the eye before she did and then their eyes met and sobbing she fell into his arms, telling him:

"IloveyouImsorryIloveyousomuchImsuchabitchImsorry."

And he said the words right back to her. And then they laughed, she looking up at him, her eyes wet and blue. "You're not a bitch." "I'm not a bitch." They spoke at the same time. And then a beat. "You're an asshole." "I'm an asshole." Again, timed to the second.

He had tried to sew the eye back on as a surprise, a token of his love. The eye fell off the next time she cuddled with Mr. Lee when he was away on a location shoot. She decided it should remain off -- a reminder to her that however imperfect they were, they were perfect for each other. When he asked her about Mr. Lee's missing eye, she just told him simply "it's a reminder," and he understood.

His little white tee shirt wasn't even pretending at a shade of white anymore. Mottled shades from the chocolate syrup experiment, juice from the strawberries that had briefly stained their bodies had forever taken the pure out of poor Mr. Lee's existence. It was when the red wine didn't pool exactly right at her belly button and the bear was lying at her side at just the wrong moment that she had decided he needed a new home. Their bed would be the death of him.

The glitter was gone from the Dolphin-font, the brilliance of the royal blue faded to a dusty cornflower but even after twenty years it was easy to make out the words that stretched across that mottled, no-longer-white tee. And every time she walked into the room and glanced at the corner, Mr. Lee’s home, she smiled. Every time. And every time she looked at Mr. Lee's faded declaration, she remembered the look in Logan’s eyes, the adoration of a still-boy there. And Veronica heard his voice in her head: "I wuv you beary much."

The End
Tags: fic
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