darktrent182 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darktrent182) wrote2006-01-21 04:54 pm
darktrent182) wrote2006-01-21 04:54 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Realizations [Blackadder Goes Forth]
Title: Realizations
Fandom: Blackadder
Characters: George Colthurst St. Barleigh, Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett, Bob Parkhurst
Prompt: #027. Parents
Word Count: 1,396
Rating: PG for a mention of kissing?
Summary: Bob joined the army to see how a war was fought. She hadn't anticipated on being a mother.
Author's Notes: Prompt chosen by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
empressvesica. Thanks again to amazonqueenkate for suffering through my writing process. *wink* Unbeta'd.
***
It was quiet in George's room, the candlelight just enough to be bright, but not blindingly so. The room itself was fairly straight, the bed unmade from that morning, clothes in the closet, make-up and a bald bust of some general or another sitting on the dresser with the good-sized mirror on it. George himself was sitting in a chair in front of the mirror, still wearing lipstick and rouge and all of the other make-up things he'd figured out.
He would never be a beautiful woman, but with the things he'd learned about make-up from Bob, of all people, he didn't look as he did that night when he was performing for the men.
He wondered if he should ever have been part of the music hall show to begin with, but in the end, he couldn't think of any reason against the stage. It still called to him, somehow.
Bob entered a few minutes later, the door clicking shut behind her. "Evening, George."
George grunted in response, not looking up at her when she approached.
She looked at him curiously. "No cheerful good evening?"
George shook his head, still staring at the mirror.
Bob watched him for a moment before picking up the small white rag from the dresser, folding it like her mother taught her, and dabbing it in a little bit of water.
"Here, face up," Bob told him, a finger under his chin to guide him.
George obediently lifted his face, but he looked serious, much too serious to be anything good.
"What's wrong? You're usually doing this yourself." She motioned with the rag in her hand.
George sighed through his nose. "He told me he trusted me with his life."
Bob frowned. "What?"
"The general." He sounded rather miz. "He trusts me with his life."
"What's wrong with that? Wouldn't it be an honor to have him trust..." Her voice drifted off, and her frown turned suspicious. "What's going on, George."
George stared up at her, lips still red, cheeks rouged, looking for all the world like a little boy who had gotten into his mother's make-up drawer. "Don't ask me that, Bob."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I feel I must." Bob stared at him, the rag still in her hand. "You never explained what happened after you'd been captured."
"I don't want to talk about it," George said quietly.
"General Melchett told you that he trusts you, and you're miserable. There's a reason for it."
George lifted his chin out of Bob's hand and gently took the rag from her, wiping at his cheek. "The Germans caught me. They interrogated me. I got out, and I'm here."
"You're a horrible liar," she told him.
George flinched, as if she'd slapped him. "I seem to be doing all right with Old Walrus-Face."
"That's because he's trying to tell himself that this war is going to end well," Bob said firmly. "And from the look on your face, you're sure it isn't."
George's head shot up, his eyes flashing with the first sign of life Bob had seen since he came back to his rooms. "Of course, it is! I wouldn't have signed up for a hopeless cause! We're going to win, and we're bloody well going to trounce those jerries and show them what-for."
Bob didn't reply, but took the rag back from him. "You still haven't explained how you escaped from the Germans." When he looked back at the mirror, she sighed. "I won't tell anyone."
"You bally well should if you didn't want to be court-martialed," George mumbled.
"You're not a leftenant now, George," Bob pointed out. "You're Gorgeous Georgina, the lady that General Melchett fancies, and I don't take orders from a woman unless I want to be polite."
George looked up at Bob and snorted. "Dashed rude of you."
Bob shrugged. "I'm a man from the lower classes. Being polite isn't too high on our list of priorities."
George looked back at the mirror, took a deep breath, and counted to three. "I'm a spy."
Bob frowned. "What?"
George looked up at Bob miserably. "It wasn't my doing! The jerries have Balders and the Cap, and they said if I didn't come back to Melchett as Georgina and pass information to them, they were going to bally well shoot them!"
Bob blinked. "Oh, dear."
George took the rag back from Bob and began wiping furiously at his left cheek. "And the general trusts me with his life."
Bob stared at him for a moment, watching him smear the rouge into his cheek messily, his teeth biting into his lower lip unhappily. Some part of her that was still Kate reached out, gently stopped his hand and removed the rag.
Bright blue eyes lifted and met hers.
"You're smudging your make-up."
"Bob--"
Bob shook her head. "How much have you passed on to the Germans?"
"Just a few dispatches," he said softly. "Some troop movements."
"And those men..."
George looked back into the mirror quickly, blinking a few times.
"I see," she replied softly, almost to herself.
When George didn't reply, Bob slid a finger under his chin and tilted it up, wiping away at the rouge. "You should tell the general."
George's eyes widened, looking hurt. "I can't. If I do..."
"Then he'll know that Private Baldrick and Captain Blackadder are still alive, and that a search-and-rescue mission should be made to save them."
The rag passed over his lips, dark red disappearing with a swipe, replaced by pale pink. "He'll hate me."
"He'll find a way of dealing with it somehow," Bob told him.
"Bob, he trusts Georgina so... so much. It would be dashed horrible for him to find out that she was being used against him."
"It'll be even more horrid when he finds out that she's a he."
George's eyes widened. "No."
Bob frowned at him. "George."
George winced at the rag digging into his right cheek. "Absolutely not. I'm not going to do that to him. He just got her back..."
"George, you're a man playing at being a woman," Bob said firmly. "Didn't you tell me that a few nights ago, you and he almost--"
"He stopped." George glared up at her. "We were kissing, and I said 'stop' and he jolly well did."
"And what about next time?" Bob snapped. "One of these times, he's going to want more, and so help me, so are you. And when he finds out that way--"
"Stop," George said quietly.
"Oh, no, you don't. You're Gorgeous Georgina, and what's going to happen to his trust when he finds out that you're George?"
George snatched the rag out of Bob's hands and glared at the mirror. "You're dismissed, Private."
Bob narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't have it both ways, George."
George shot to his feet, throwing the rag down at the dresser angrily, the cloth bouncing a little. At his full height, he towered over Bob, his expression thunderous. "Do you think I don't know that!"
Bob clenched her jaw, trying not to feel intimidated by George's presence, despite the fact that he was still wearing his wig and the light blue dress. "Do you like doing this to Old Walrus-Face?" she hissed at him. "Is that why you're keeping up this charade instead of telling him?"
A long finger pointed at Bob's nose. "That is none of your bloody business."
Bob stood her ground, staring up at George. His long, narrow, young face quivered, his teeth bared at her, his cheeks reddening without the help of rouge. But his eyes, blue and angry and hurt and scared, were shining.
"You're in love with him, aren't you," Bob whispered.
If anything, George's face shook more. "Get. Out."
"You're in love with him, and this is the best you can manage to being with him," Bob continued.
"Get out," George snapped, reaching for Bob and grabbing her arm, the two words almost a mantra under his breath as he pushed her at the door. "Get out, get out, get OUT!"
Just as George shoved her through the door leading out into the hallway, Bob turned and whispered sharply, "If you really loved him, you'd be honest w--"
George slammed the door in her face and sank against the back of it, dropping his face into his shaking hands.
END
Fandom: Blackadder
Characters: George Colthurst St. Barleigh, Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett, Bob Parkhurst
Prompt: #027. Parents
Word Count: 1,396
Rating: PG for a mention of kissing?
Summary: Bob joined the army to see how a war was fought. She hadn't anticipated on being a mother.
Author's Notes: Prompt chosen by
empressvesica. Thanks again to amazonqueenkate for suffering through my writing process. *wink* Unbeta'd.***
It was quiet in George's room, the candlelight just enough to be bright, but not blindingly so. The room itself was fairly straight, the bed unmade from that morning, clothes in the closet, make-up and a bald bust of some general or another sitting on the dresser with the good-sized mirror on it. George himself was sitting in a chair in front of the mirror, still wearing lipstick and rouge and all of the other make-up things he'd figured out.
He would never be a beautiful woman, but with the things he'd learned about make-up from Bob, of all people, he didn't look as he did that night when he was performing for the men.
He wondered if he should ever have been part of the music hall show to begin with, but in the end, he couldn't think of any reason against the stage. It still called to him, somehow.
Bob entered a few minutes later, the door clicking shut behind her. "Evening, George."
George grunted in response, not looking up at her when she approached.
She looked at him curiously. "No cheerful good evening?"
George shook his head, still staring at the mirror.
Bob watched him for a moment before picking up the small white rag from the dresser, folding it like her mother taught her, and dabbing it in a little bit of water.
"Here, face up," Bob told him, a finger under his chin to guide him.
George obediently lifted his face, but he looked serious, much too serious to be anything good.
"What's wrong? You're usually doing this yourself." She motioned with the rag in her hand.
George sighed through his nose. "He told me he trusted me with his life."
Bob frowned. "What?"
"The general." He sounded rather miz. "He trusts me with his life."
"What's wrong with that? Wouldn't it be an honor to have him trust..." Her voice drifted off, and her frown turned suspicious. "What's going on, George."
George stared up at her, lips still red, cheeks rouged, looking for all the world like a little boy who had gotten into his mother's make-up drawer. "Don't ask me that, Bob."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I feel I must." Bob stared at him, the rag still in her hand. "You never explained what happened after you'd been captured."
"I don't want to talk about it," George said quietly.
"General Melchett told you that he trusts you, and you're miserable. There's a reason for it."
George lifted his chin out of Bob's hand and gently took the rag from her, wiping at his cheek. "The Germans caught me. They interrogated me. I got out, and I'm here."
"You're a horrible liar," she told him.
George flinched, as if she'd slapped him. "I seem to be doing all right with Old Walrus-Face."
"That's because he's trying to tell himself that this war is going to end well," Bob said firmly. "And from the look on your face, you're sure it isn't."
George's head shot up, his eyes flashing with the first sign of life Bob had seen since he came back to his rooms. "Of course, it is! I wouldn't have signed up for a hopeless cause! We're going to win, and we're bloody well going to trounce those jerries and show them what-for."
Bob didn't reply, but took the rag back from him. "You still haven't explained how you escaped from the Germans." When he looked back at the mirror, she sighed. "I won't tell anyone."
"You bally well should if you didn't want to be court-martialed," George mumbled.
"You're not a leftenant now, George," Bob pointed out. "You're Gorgeous Georgina, the lady that General Melchett fancies, and I don't take orders from a woman unless I want to be polite."
George looked up at Bob and snorted. "Dashed rude of you."
Bob shrugged. "I'm a man from the lower classes. Being polite isn't too high on our list of priorities."
George looked back at the mirror, took a deep breath, and counted to three. "I'm a spy."
Bob frowned. "What?"
George looked up at Bob miserably. "It wasn't my doing! The jerries have Balders and the Cap, and they said if I didn't come back to Melchett as Georgina and pass information to them, they were going to bally well shoot them!"
Bob blinked. "Oh, dear."
George took the rag back from Bob and began wiping furiously at his left cheek. "And the general trusts me with his life."
Bob stared at him for a moment, watching him smear the rouge into his cheek messily, his teeth biting into his lower lip unhappily. Some part of her that was still Kate reached out, gently stopped his hand and removed the rag.
Bright blue eyes lifted and met hers.
"You're smudging your make-up."
"Bob--"
Bob shook her head. "How much have you passed on to the Germans?"
"Just a few dispatches," he said softly. "Some troop movements."
"And those men..."
George looked back into the mirror quickly, blinking a few times.
"I see," she replied softly, almost to herself.
When George didn't reply, Bob slid a finger under his chin and tilted it up, wiping away at the rouge. "You should tell the general."
George's eyes widened, looking hurt. "I can't. If I do..."
"Then he'll know that Private Baldrick and Captain Blackadder are still alive, and that a search-and-rescue mission should be made to save them."
The rag passed over his lips, dark red disappearing with a swipe, replaced by pale pink. "He'll hate me."
"He'll find a way of dealing with it somehow," Bob told him.
"Bob, he trusts Georgina so... so much. It would be dashed horrible for him to find out that she was being used against him."
"It'll be even more horrid when he finds out that she's a he."
George's eyes widened. "No."
Bob frowned at him. "George."
George winced at the rag digging into his right cheek. "Absolutely not. I'm not going to do that to him. He just got her back..."
"George, you're a man playing at being a woman," Bob said firmly. "Didn't you tell me that a few nights ago, you and he almost--"
"He stopped." George glared up at her. "We were kissing, and I said 'stop' and he jolly well did."
"And what about next time?" Bob snapped. "One of these times, he's going to want more, and so help me, so are you. And when he finds out that way--"
"Stop," George said quietly.
"Oh, no, you don't. You're Gorgeous Georgina, and what's going to happen to his trust when he finds out that you're George?"
George snatched the rag out of Bob's hands and glared at the mirror. "You're dismissed, Private."
Bob narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't have it both ways, George."
George shot to his feet, throwing the rag down at the dresser angrily, the cloth bouncing a little. At his full height, he towered over Bob, his expression thunderous. "Do you think I don't know that!"
Bob clenched her jaw, trying not to feel intimidated by George's presence, despite the fact that he was still wearing his wig and the light blue dress. "Do you like doing this to Old Walrus-Face?" she hissed at him. "Is that why you're keeping up this charade instead of telling him?"
A long finger pointed at Bob's nose. "That is none of your bloody business."
Bob stood her ground, staring up at George. His long, narrow, young face quivered, his teeth bared at her, his cheeks reddening without the help of rouge. But his eyes, blue and angry and hurt and scared, were shining.
"You're in love with him, aren't you," Bob whispered.
If anything, George's face shook more. "Get. Out."
"You're in love with him, and this is the best you can manage to being with him," Bob continued.
"Get out," George snapped, reaching for Bob and grabbing her arm, the two words almost a mantra under his breath as he pushed her at the door. "Get out, get out, get OUT!"
Just as George shoved her through the door leading out into the hallway, Bob turned and whispered sharply, "If you really loved him, you'd be honest w--"
George slammed the door in her face and sank against the back of it, dropping his face into his shaking hands.
END
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Aww, shucks! Thanks for the comment. *blush* Glad I could entertain.
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I got here from reading your Jeeves and Wooster fic, which is a wonder, and despite never having watched Blackadder as far as the fourth season, I'm utterly enthralled by this series of stories.
I love how you write these characters...
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It's always a pleasant surprise to find new readers who like the other stuff I've written. Thank you for your kind words! :D
Personally, I recommend the fourth series because it's the funniest (imo) out of the four. I mean, heck, Hugh Laurie dresses in drag, as does Tony Robinson.
I'll have to try to write more Blackadder or J&W, because I feel so bad for neglecting them so. *^^*
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George is being all manly and such. It's kind of hot, really. (I'm using that word a lot to describe your fics. Let me see if I can find another, more suitable synonym....) Er.
It's really alluring. The image of George throwing Bob out when she guesses the truth.
I adored everything about this scene. The "Kate" in Bob wanting to help him wipe off the makeup. The confession of treason. The strange flip-flopping between the Lt. persona and the Georgina one. And then the declaration that he can't have it both ways, and his telling her that she's dismissed.
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