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His parents were having what amounted to a water fight last night. It was very cute, with a moose nightshirt figuring in the festivities, and a chortling Malfoy Senior evaluating his, erm, prospects.

Darkside hustled me out before things could get above PG-13. He was as embarrassed as only someone with parents can be. They haven't been (mis)behaving like that since ... well, ever, he commented, then mentioned how children often turn out just like their parents...

He seemed to mean it in a slightly-silly, semi-rueful sense. I smirked a little to myself and speculated a little, just for the sake of practice. The more I see of Malfoy Senior, the more I like him, and the more I think that Darkside's going to turn out pretty much all right after all.

I object, on general principle, to the concept (but, not, it seems, the actuality) of becoming quasi-girlfriend-by-default. I'm not courting him in an Epic Blaze of Glory: I'm courting him in simple, every-day ways. By the time the Good Little Midwestern Military-Industrial Complex Drone Male programming kicks in and he realizes that he is, in fact, thinking of nesting and starting a family, will something small within him have made that cognitive leap that connects "this woman is a good friend and she will stand beside me through thick and thin" with "I cannot imagine anyone else standing beside me forever"?

Only time will tell, eh?

I might say, "beggars can't be choosers," but he'd not want me to beg. I take comfort in that.

(Now, after roughly 23 hours awake, it's time to re-consider that unfortunate state, and seek gainful employment in sweet slumber. Coherent trains of thought are drifting in and out of the station, with the recurring theme of curling up beside him just within the reach of his hand. Not abject submission, no -- but an abandoned enjoyment of the cherished esteem I'm held in.)

I'd like to win him over in a campaign worthy of Miles, but instead I feel I'm more likely to become just a quiet fixture of life, the given that's barely considered until something external to both of us shakes things up some...
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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