[Fic] Red Dragon Tattoo
Jan. 29th, 2007 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Red Dragon Tattoo
Prompt: Red
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters:
Word Count: 800
Rating: PG
Summary: The life and times of her tattoo.
He was sitting down to breakfast when she found the design she wanted and squealed so loudly that he almost dropped his spoon down the disposal. Cup of yogurt in hand, he leaned over her shoulder and voiced his unneeded approval. She was bouncing so hard he almost got strawberry-vanilla all over his shirt.
They talked about it over the rest of breakfast, trading ideas back and forth while he reminded her of the dangers of hepatitis and other blood-borne diseases. She called him an alarmist and made a noise like a deflating tire with her lips. He shook his head, grabbed water bottle and briefcase, and left while she was still clacking on the computer.
She was gone when he got back. He assumed she was out getting the tattoo. Went to bed, smiling. Was joined a few minutes later by her cold feet and sleepy murmurs.
He went with her to hold her hand while the needle buzzed and made him more uncomfortable than it was probably making her. He had never gotten a tattoo, never even considered it but she was immune to most of the sorts of pain that made him wince, although she could hop around the living room for twenty minutes shrieking and swearing if she stubbed her toe.
The needle buzzed, or maybe it was the whole machine, he didn't know and he wasn't going to look to find out. She looked over at him when he squeezed as the artist threw away a bloody tissue, laughed, and called him a big baby. He couldn't really argue with her.
When it was over she could barely stand, though, and he made sure she was comfortable in the back of the car before he started home. He might be a big baby, but he hadn't subjected himself to a grueling ordeal for the sake of beauty.
He thought of different words for it a few months later when, after making love, he traced the lines of her tattoo over her back. She giggled a little; it was still sensitive. And it was still beautiful.
He told her so, watching her shift to her side so she could look at him, and she smiled and explained that that was why she'd had it done, anyway. All her tattoos were supposed to make her beautiful. More importantly, they were supposed to make her feel beautiful.
He could understand that, he supposed, although he still didn't understand how she could just lie there while someone drove a needle into her body over and over again.
She called him a big baby, laughed, and hit him with a pillow.
He dismissed the changes when they first began. She was younger, she'd always been wilder, and there was nothing strange or unusual about her staying out late at night. Or coming home with bruises or strange fluids in her hair the next day, not with some of the clubs she'd gone to.
She'd dragged him to one, a hideous and loud event with people elbowing each other and red liquid spraying from the stage. He hadn't believed her when she told him to wear a raincoat.
Then it was the new clothes. She'd worn out the old ones in just six weeks, and it wasn't a lie, they had holes in them, stains all over. Some looked like engine oil. Maybe she was hanging around a machine shop or a garage? Fast cars would be like her. The excuses got bigger and wilder. Then the police detective came around asking questions.
It wasn't that hard to answer. To lie. It was harder to listen to the questions, talking about the boy, the girl, all the little things he had known about but never let himself think over too long.
He made the phone call a few days after the FBI got involved. Tax evasion. Tax fraud. White collar crime to go with the ordinary jaunts of a young woman. All kinds of things crashing down around his head and even if some of it wasn't true, enough of it was. The parts that hurt.
He had to be sure, though. He had to know for certain.
He went over to his desk to make the second phone call. Got it out from the desk drawer where he'd started keeping it ever since she'd started coming home later. For security, he told himself. Because he'd reset the security system. That wasn't it, of course. But that was what he told himself.
He asked for confirmation. Got it. It was too late to lie for her, now. His fingers traced the curves and rises of her tattoo. Beautiful red dragon. Red was supposed to be a color of good luck, that was why she'd chosen it.
Nothing lucky about her now.
Prompt: Red
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters:
Word Count: 800
Rating: PG
Summary: The life and times of her tattoo.
He was sitting down to breakfast when she found the design she wanted and squealed so loudly that he almost dropped his spoon down the disposal. Cup of yogurt in hand, he leaned over her shoulder and voiced his unneeded approval. She was bouncing so hard he almost got strawberry-vanilla all over his shirt.
They talked about it over the rest of breakfast, trading ideas back and forth while he reminded her of the dangers of hepatitis and other blood-borne diseases. She called him an alarmist and made a noise like a deflating tire with her lips. He shook his head, grabbed water bottle and briefcase, and left while she was still clacking on the computer.
She was gone when he got back. He assumed she was out getting the tattoo. Went to bed, smiling. Was joined a few minutes later by her cold feet and sleepy murmurs.
He went with her to hold her hand while the needle buzzed and made him more uncomfortable than it was probably making her. He had never gotten a tattoo, never even considered it but she was immune to most of the sorts of pain that made him wince, although she could hop around the living room for twenty minutes shrieking and swearing if she stubbed her toe.
The needle buzzed, or maybe it was the whole machine, he didn't know and he wasn't going to look to find out. She looked over at him when he squeezed as the artist threw away a bloody tissue, laughed, and called him a big baby. He couldn't really argue with her.
When it was over she could barely stand, though, and he made sure she was comfortable in the back of the car before he started home. He might be a big baby, but he hadn't subjected himself to a grueling ordeal for the sake of beauty.
He thought of different words for it a few months later when, after making love, he traced the lines of her tattoo over her back. She giggled a little; it was still sensitive. And it was still beautiful.
He told her so, watching her shift to her side so she could look at him, and she smiled and explained that that was why she'd had it done, anyway. All her tattoos were supposed to make her beautiful. More importantly, they were supposed to make her feel beautiful.
He could understand that, he supposed, although he still didn't understand how she could just lie there while someone drove a needle into her body over and over again.
She called him a big baby, laughed, and hit him with a pillow.
He dismissed the changes when they first began. She was younger, she'd always been wilder, and there was nothing strange or unusual about her staying out late at night. Or coming home with bruises or strange fluids in her hair the next day, not with some of the clubs she'd gone to.
She'd dragged him to one, a hideous and loud event with people elbowing each other and red liquid spraying from the stage. He hadn't believed her when she told him to wear a raincoat.
Then it was the new clothes. She'd worn out the old ones in just six weeks, and it wasn't a lie, they had holes in them, stains all over. Some looked like engine oil. Maybe she was hanging around a machine shop or a garage? Fast cars would be like her. The excuses got bigger and wilder. Then the police detective came around asking questions.
It wasn't that hard to answer. To lie. It was harder to listen to the questions, talking about the boy, the girl, all the little things he had known about but never let himself think over too long.
He made the phone call a few days after the FBI got involved. Tax evasion. Tax fraud. White collar crime to go with the ordinary jaunts of a young woman. All kinds of things crashing down around his head and even if some of it wasn't true, enough of it was. The parts that hurt.
He had to be sure, though. He had to know for certain.
He went over to his desk to make the second phone call. Got it out from the desk drawer where he'd started keeping it ever since she'd started coming home later. For security, he told himself. Because he'd reset the security system. That wasn't it, of course. But that was what he told himself.
He asked for confirmation. Got it. It was too late to lie for her, now. His fingers traced the curves and rises of her tattoo. Beautiful red dragon. Red was supposed to be a color of good luck, that was why she'd chosen it.
Nothing lucky about her now.