Work Text:
Good Night, Lady Knight
by Pirate Turner
Her face was hidden by a helmet, and her armor clanged with each step she took. A makeshift shield was slung on her arm while her sword weighed heavy on one side. Yet never had she felt more naked than she did now, bowing before the woman whose affections she yearned for.
She didn't know how it had happened. It didn't make any sense. The woman before her was as different from herself as the night was from the day, but yet she shone and sparkled like the sun, and no matter how hard Dorothy had tried, she couldn't help feeling like Icaraus, always striving for the glorious, golden beauty of the sunlight even at her own peril.
Like Icaraus, hers was a fool's dream for Blanche would never look her way with the same thoughts that made Dorothy's heartbeat quicken. She'd never look at her as anything more than a friend, and if she had even the merest thought of how Dorothy truly felt about her, she'd pick up her skirts, run like the wind, and be forever more as elusive as that wind. Dorothy wasn't a man, let alone a rich or handsome man, and that was the only thing that would turn Blanche's head. The thought of looking at a woman, in a romantic light, would be as ludicrous to Blanche as never picking up another book was to the English teacher who had fallen, head over heels, for her.
Dorothy was a fool, and she knew it. Blanche wasn't smart, and she was the vainest woman Dorothy had ever known. She broke men's hearts in an instant, without ever thinking about it, and would be far swifter about destroying a woman's dreams were she ever to become aware of them. There was a million reasons why Dorothy shouldn't feel the way she had come to about Blanche and a million more why she should walk away right now, yet none of them were enough to make her heart cave to her brain.
Though not knowing it, Blanche had charmingly wriggled her way through Dorothy's every defense. Blanche had a temper and a vain streak both miles wide, but Dorothy had seen the softer side of the luscious redhead. She had seen her take delight in innocent things, her beautiful eyes lighting with a light that Dorothy found herself striving to make come on again and again. Blanche's laughter enthralled Dorothy, and her tears . . . Her tears made her feel helpless and yet at the same time furious at whatever had caused them, furious enough to kill whoever it was with her bare hands.
Dorothy wasn't sure when it had happened and doubted she'd ever entirely understand why, but one of the few things in life that she was certain of was that she loved Blanche -- infuriating, demanding, sensual, beautiful, charming, witty, luscious, provocative, whiny, determined, and every other aspect of the woman. She loved her all with her whole being, but she dared not ever speak a word of her true feelings aloud. Rose would be so confused her mind would never return from St. Olaf. Her mother would disown her, and Blanche -- Blanche would condemn her, hate her, and never, ever have anything again to do with her.
So she kept her feelings silent and watched Blanche from afar, taking pleasure in the moments they shared together, always knowing that Blanche looked at their relationship as only friendship and that it could never be anything more. She thrilled in silence at the friendly pats and hugs Blanche gave her and fought down her instincts when she held her while she cried. Her heart skipped beats with the merest of glances from her, and sometimes, when they were pressed really close together, like on the times they all ended up in one bed, Dorothy had to concentrate just to breathe. But on one night of the year, each year, she made herself known while never revealing herself.
She slipped into the Halloween parties Blanche went to as Dorothy, but somewhere in the fun and mayhem of the holiday, Dorothy slipped away and a stranger appeared instead, a stranger clothed carefully from head to toe, a stranger who never spoke a word but always brought a rose. This year, Dorothy had chosen to come as a Knight for she felt the role well suited to her situation. Blanche was her Queen. She would do anything for her, but yet Blanche would never deign to look upon her in the same light she gazed upon her in. Her King might change every night, but her Knight remained loyal and alone.
Blanche took the rose that her Knight offered from "his" place kneeling before her and crooned over it. "Oh, mah mystery man, you've come again!"
The Knight spoke not a word, only lifted a gloved hand up to her. "Of course Ah'll dance with ya!" She slipped her hand into "his". "He" stood and began to lead her back onto the dance floor.
Dorothy led the dancing, thrilling in silence at the way Blanche's body swayed against hers. She yearned to be able to strip away the armor that prevented their bodies from being meshed truly close together but knew she dared not ever let Blanche feel her that close. She gazed down through the slits of her helmet into her eyes as they danced and relished the excitement and pleasure that they were alight with, emotions that she caused in this costume that she would never be able to cause without its protection.
Blanche leaned close, standing on her tip toes to come as close to her face as she could, and Dorothy was suddenly glad for the helmet. "What would happen if Ah lifted yoah visor, Sir Knight? Who would Ah see beneath there?" She proceeded to rattle off a list of names, and Dorothy just shook her head at each guess. Her heart hammered as Blanche's fingers began to trail along the outside of her visor.
All too soon, and then again, perhaps not soon enough for Blanche had just began to raise the visor, the song ended. Dorothy gently took Blanche's hand, touched her visor to it as though in a kiss, and then released her hand. Before Blanche could touch her again, Dorothy was gone, running through the crowd of partiers as best she could and ignoring Blanche's every protest.
Their time together was never enough, but she'd had her dance for the year. She could not return for if she did, Blanche would surely discover her identity, and then she would be gone out of her life. Dorothy forced herself to keep her pace steady and refrain from turning around until she could no longer hear Blanche. Then she sighed and slouched as though all the air had suddenly gone out of her. Their time together was never enough, but it had to be. There was no other choice.
It was much later that night when Sophia crept into her daughter's room. Dorothy was still awake, mulling over her relationship with Blanche, both what she yearned for and knew she could never have and what truly occurred between them, but as always, when she didn't want her mother to know something was bothering her, she pretended to be asleep. She slowed her breathing and made the occasional snort.
Sophia looked down at her little girl with a kind smile. She stroked her grayed hair tenderly and finally came to a decision she'd been putting off for years. She leaned down and kissed her forehead, then whispered as she straightened back up, "Good night, Lady Knight."
Dorothy shot up in her bed, her eyes wide and frantic. "Ma!" she cried. "You knew?!"
Sophia nodded. "I've always known. You can't keep secrets from your mother, Pussy Cat."
Dorothy stared at her in shock. At last, she began to stammer, and then, finally, after a considerable while, she was able to ask, "You don't care?"
"No." Sophia shook her head and patted Dorothy's shoulder lovingly. "You're my daughter, Dorothy, and I love you no matter what."
"Oh, Ma!" Dorothy threw her arms around her mother and hugged her so tightly that Sophia finally had to break up the hug to gasp for air.
When she was finally able to breathe normally again, Sophia commented, "Now your brother, Phil, on the other hand . . . "
"Oh, Ma! Don't start on Phil tonight! Just tell me -- you really do love me, regardless of the fact that I'm . . . I'm . . . ?" Dorothy felt like a little girl again, a child who was so different from all her peers and just desperately wanted her mother to love and accept her.
"Queer? Gay? In love with the biggest whore of Miami?"
"MA!"
"Yes," Sophia relented with a grin. "I love you, Pussy Cat." She shook her head. "No power on this earth or beyond can ever change that. You're my little girl, and you always will be and I'll always love you. Now come here, you big lug." Scooting onto the bed beside Dorothy, Sophia hugged her daughter not too tightly but close nonetheless. She rocked her softly, and Dorothy still had her arms wrapped around her mother's much smaller frame when she fell asleep.
Sophia tucked her little girl in and kissed her forehead once more. "Good night, Pussy Cat, and Happy Halloween." She left her to her dreams of the woman Sophia felt would be lucky to have her and could never deserve her.
The End