400-word Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead ficlet, Ros/Guil implied, PG

[shinodabear.livejournal.com]

Title Where the Rain Can’t Reach You
Fandom: Shakespeare/ Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead
Rating/Warnings: PG, implied slashies only
Pairing: Rosencrantz/Guildenstern, obviously
Disclaimer: Wasn't Shakespeare deprived of the rights to his own works? Well, no matter. The characters aren't mine. The brilliance of the two belong to Tom Stoppard, as well.
Note: Song title of inspiration: I’d Be Better Off in a Pine Box; it's been a while since I've read/written these two, but I couldn't resist the prompt. Set pre-movie.



There are trees with leaves that are not broad enough. There are bugs crawling over the ground. There are creatures scurrying about the bushes. There is rain falling steadily from the sky. He observes all of this and determines only: “I’m miserable.”

There is a back pressed against his own, still covered in every layer it had donned in the morning light. There is the sensation of breathing, pushing and retreating. There are loud noises emanating from the other’s nose. There is slight twitching and murmuring. He observes these things, too, and determines only: “I’m cold.”

There is adventure, and the thrill of the unknown. There is the exhilaration of having a purpose, whatever it is. There is the excitement of moving toward something greater than them. There is finally a reason to set off with more than one pack and a pair of horses. He feels and knows these things, but can think only: “How dreadful.”

There is time to think, and to play questions. There is time to philosophize, and to toss coins into the air. There is time to remember – they were sent for – and time to forget – What’s the first thing you remember?. There is a time for everything. He takes all of this time and asks himself only: “Alive or dead?”

There are thoughts of lying in a box. There are thoughts of being alone in the box. There are thoughts of not being alone in the box – but how should they both fit? There is a determination that he should only tolerate the box if there was that warmth at his back. He takes note of this and says: “That’s settled.”

There is loud snort. There is an elbow in his side. There is a wet blanket thrown over his face. There is the pressure of a hand on his arm pressing down as the other man steadies himself to stand. He takes it all in and thinks of life in a box: “Better off.”

There is the sound of the other man rustling in his clothes. There is the unmistakable trickle of him urinating against a tree. There are squishy footfalls and the crumpling of soggy leaves. There is a wet hand grabbing back the blanket, followed by a warm body pressed closer. He smiles at this last action and knows, since they couldn’t possibly manage this in a box, finally: “I’m happy.”