A Parody, Perhaps?

"You idiot!"

A dainty fist was all he saw before pain spread across his cheeks and throbbed at his temples. Lord almighty, that hurt! His already crooked nose, broken twice on separate occasions in brawls, ached. Granted, it wasn't broken -- he really had to teach her how to make a proper fist -- nor gushing out blood, but it was going to leave a nasty bruise.

"What was that for?" he said, while clutching at his nose. At least, that's what he attempted to say. What came out instead was a nasal jumble of words, very unlike his usual baritone, due to the hands covering most of his face.

"What was that for? What was that for?" her words ended in a screech. Right, apparently she'd managed to decipher his words after all. "I'll tell you what that was for. That was for being an absolute jackass!"

He finally looked down at his betrothed, a good foot shorter than him, and stared in amazement. It was the first time -- no wait, second now -- he had heard her curse. His usually proper-to-a-fault and gentle fiance swearing! Granted, she had done some softer cursing when she first learned of their arranged betrothal, but the worst that had been said then was "ugly goat". It would seem he was rubbing off on her.

"How exactly am I being a jackass?" he breathed out.

"How? How? By contemplating suicide, that's how!" she screeched. Lord almighty, she had really screeched. He didn't know whether to laugh at the fact that only she would use such words while upset or frown at her behaviour. He chose instead to address her rather ridiculous claim of self-murder.

"What do you mean suicide?" he asked her. Good, he sounded better this time. Probably due to the fact that the pain had morphed into a dull throb.

"I mean killing yourself! Splayed wrists, hemlock drinking, self stabbing actions!" The last few words were delivered on a wail.

"Where did you get such an idea?"

"From Tom. Your good friend Tom who happens to be the drinking buddy you told your abysmal plans of suicide to," she sniffed.

Good Lord almighty, she didn't mean Thomas, did she? Great galloping piggies, what exactly had he said?

"Tom? As in Thomas Greene?" He really had to be sure it was Thomas. After all, Thomas let no one call him Tom. Something about first grade teasing...

"Yes, Thomas Greene! I only know one Tom in Scotland with bright red hair and shoulders the size of a freaking house!" she snapped.

He ignored the fact that she had cursed yet again in order for an incredulous, "When exactly did he tell you this?"

"Just now, on the phone. He called to make sure you were still alive after last night's meet with you," came her terse reply.

Great Scots, last night! He'd come home pissed and sure as hell couldn't remember anything after the second bottle of whiskey. It was a good thing he didn't suffer from hangovers anymore. What in the world had he said last night? Something about a nice neck tie? Neck rope? Or was it something about a rope around a neck?

"Now Julie..." he started in a placating tone.

"Don't you 'Now Julie' me, you great lumbering ox! How could you even think of such a thing?" she choked out.

Great galloping Gerties, please no! Not tears. He could handle fighting three men the size of rhinos, but he sure as hell didn't know squat about a woman's tears. Should he be running off to get chocolates now?

"How could you think of doing such a terrible thing? Do you really hate me that much?" she sobbed. "I know you value your bachelorhood and I'm difficult to handle at times, but you certainly don't have to go so far as to kill yourself to be rid of me!"

"But--"

"No! If you really hate me so much all you had to do was say so. I would have helped you convince Aunt Marge to absolve that ridiculous contract!" she cut in.

"You don't--"

"Yes, I do mean it! In fact, I'll do so this very minute!" She rushed for the phone.

"Stop right there!"

She paused mid-step and looked back, her brown eyes large in her face and her arms still reaching for the little red phone. If he hadn't been so exasperated, he would have laughed.

"I didn't 'contemplate suicide', nor will I ever. For God's sake, woman, we've been seeing each other every bloody day for three months, lived together for two and bickered with each other like hens on caffeine. You should know by now that I don't hate you, and I sure as hell am not the type to kill myself!" he said all in one breath.

"...Really?"

"Yes."

"Truly?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I did think it odd at first but then I thought you might anyway."

"I won't!"

"Alright then. I'm sorry for the outburst." She managed a crooked smile as she swiped at her eyes. He let out a gusty sigh and forced himself not to roll his eyes. A heavy silence permeated the air, broken only by a few stray sniffles as both stared at each before she spoke.

"How's your nose?"

Hell, the burning hit him full on with her reminder. All he could do was groan.

"If it's any consolation, I don't think it's broken."

"I know." God almighty, maybe he shouldn't teach her how to hold a proper fist after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

A wee drabble that hit me over the head like a sledgehammer after a fanfic and too many meows.

Um... Romeo and Juliet on crack?