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smallfandomflshWorking Title: From This Day Forward
Author: Pirate Turner
Fandom: Golden Girls
Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: #86: Victorian
Summary:
Date Written: 7 June, 2012
Word Count: 1,249 (Aye, I know a bit long, but hey, at least my writer's block is finally getting broken!)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, none of whom are the author.
It was a scene straight out of one of her favorite Victorian romances, Blanche realized as her hero pulled her close after shutting them away from the rest of the world. She had been as innocent as ever when trouble had struck her this time. She had been minding her own business, having wrapped up her daily flirtations at the mall and heading for her car, when she had been pulled into a dark and shadowy alley by a young thug. She had screamed for help and heard hurried footsteps as other shoppers ran away.
Blanche remembered the terror very well, and her large bosom heaved at the mere memory of how scared she had been as the thug had slid a knife across her throat. His breath had been putrid, and his touch worse. She had never felt so dirty, scared, or abused in her entire life as she had when he had cut the first few buttons from her blouse and snarled, "You're gonna give me what I want, Grandma." It had truly been the lowest point of her life.
But then, just like in a romance book, her hero had arrived. At first, Blanche had thought a policeman had finally heard her screams, and it was only when her rescuer had stood and straightened up from being the thug unconscious that Blanche had realized that it wasn't a cop or any other man at all. It was her best friend. Her cry of "Dorothy!" had echoed throughout the alley, ringing loud and clear as was her shock.
A woman had come to her rescue! When no one else had cared, when men had ran away, a woman had risked her life to save Blanche's, and not only that, but that woman was already had dearest friend! The next events had happened in a blur as Dorothy had taken her in her arms, asked her if she was all right and how badly he'd harmed her. Blanche had collapsed in the safety Dorothy had offered, weeping and wailing like she had not done in years. Dorothy had let her cry, never once making Blanche feel like a coward, and had not left her side even when the police had finally arrived.
She had led her through it all, Blanche remembered, her mind still hazy in her emotional state. She had driven her to police headquarters and stood beside her while she'd filed her complaint. She had spoken to the police for her at first and snapped at the thug when he'd made a snide remark while being hauled away.
He had told Blanche the most insane thing of all: that she wasn't even pretty. Blanche sniffed, another tear falling from her eyes. That remark had cut almost as harshly as his knife. But Dorothy had been quick to her defense even then, telling the thug that Blanche was the most beautiful woman ever and receiving several strange looks from the police.
Blanche sniffled. "Blanche," Dorothy's voice slowly called her out of her thoughts, "are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah, Ah'm fine," Blanche replied hesitantly, blinking and trying to make sense of the strange emotions swirling within her.
"You don't look fine, and you haven't stopped crying yet."
"Ah'm sorry, Dorothy! Ah just -- It isn't every day a woman is nearly raped!"
"Actually, I'm afraid it is," Dorothy informed her in her matter-of-fact, English instructor tone of voice. She pulled her closer against her, and Blanche realized, for the first time since arriving home, that she was still in the safe confines of her rescuer's strong arms. "But that's beside the point. It's not why I'm asking." Dorothy gazed down into her sad eyes, and Blanche's heartbeat quickened.
"Then why are ya askin'?" she breathed shakily. She shook her head in bewilderment. "Why did you do it, Dorothy? Why did you risk your life to save mine? That little thug could have cut you or -- or worse -- " A flash of Dorothy's body laying still and cold in the alley ran through her mind, and the sight alone filled Blanche with even more fear than she'd felt when she'd been attacked and made the blood in her veins turn to ice. She shook her head quickly. She didn't want to think about what could have happened if Dorothy had not been stronger than that creep.
"He was a kid," Dorothy assured her. "I used to fight guys like him and worse every day on my way to school in Brooklyn."
Blanche shook her head again. "But that doesn't answer my question, Dorothy," she said. "Why'd you do it?"
Dorothy stopped, and the look she gave her as she gazed down into her eyes was one of complete surprise. Blanche knew Dorothy didn't understand why she was asking her. "Isn't it obvious?" Dorothy queried. "I care about you, Blanche." She raised a hand and touched her cheek. Her fingers ran over her flesh, still ripe with goosebumps, for a brief second, and then her palm caressed her face with the most touch Blanche had ever experienced.
"N-No." Blanche kicked herself inwardly and cringed at the sound of her voice as her response came out in a meek whisper. Why couldn't she still talk right? It wasn't like this was the first time she'd had a would-be suitor get violent. But it was the first time, she thought, that she'd come so close to being raped in years. It was the first time that she'd been rescued by a woman, a friend who meant more to her than any guy except for George whom she'd ever known. No, Blanche realized, gazing up into Dorothy's intent eyes, she meant more to her than even George. It hadn't taken Blanche long to recover after her husband's death, however, but it would take her a lifetime to recover if she ever lost Dorothy. The mere thought was still unthinkable, but yet it could have happened so easily today.
She cleared her throat, forced her fears to subside for the time being, and asked again, "Why'd you do it, Dorothy? He could have killed you! Why not just call the police?"
"Blanche, you know me. I could never let a friend be hurt." Their shared gaze was becoming too intense; Dorothy looked away.
This time, it was Blanche who cupped her face. She softly turned her head back to face her. "It's more than that," she said, her heart beat wildly in her ears, "an' Ah'm beginnin' to think Ah know the real reason why. Dorothy . . . " She paused as her courage almost deserted her, but then she gathered her strength and spoke again, "Ah may be completely out o' line, but Ah don't think so. Ah've felt . . . feelings before when we touched, an' Ah think you've felt 'em too." She never would have thought she could ever feel such for a woman, but after this afternoon, there was no way she could keep denying those forbidden emotions. "Ah'm gonna thank ya, shugah, just like Ah would any rescuer."
"Blanche -- " Dorothy started but was hushed when Blanche touched her lips to hers. Both the women's hearts soared, and Dorothy quickly melted in the kiss for which she'd been aching ever since meeting the often obstinate but always beautiful Southern belle. Things were never the same for the friends after that fateful afternoon, but they were far more wonderful as they loved each other openly from that day forward.
The End
Author: Pirate Turner
Fandom: Golden Girls
Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: #86: Victorian
Summary:
Date Written: 7 June, 2012
Word Count: 1,249 (Aye, I know a bit long, but hey, at least my writer's block is finally getting broken!)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, none of whom are the author.
It was a scene straight out of one of her favorite Victorian romances, Blanche realized as her hero pulled her close after shutting them away from the rest of the world. She had been as innocent as ever when trouble had struck her this time. She had been minding her own business, having wrapped up her daily flirtations at the mall and heading for her car, when she had been pulled into a dark and shadowy alley by a young thug. She had screamed for help and heard hurried footsteps as other shoppers ran away.
Blanche remembered the terror very well, and her large bosom heaved at the mere memory of how scared she had been as the thug had slid a knife across her throat. His breath had been putrid, and his touch worse. She had never felt so dirty, scared, or abused in her entire life as she had when he had cut the first few buttons from her blouse and snarled, "You're gonna give me what I want, Grandma." It had truly been the lowest point of her life.
But then, just like in a romance book, her hero had arrived. At first, Blanche had thought a policeman had finally heard her screams, and it was only when her rescuer had stood and straightened up from being the thug unconscious that Blanche had realized that it wasn't a cop or any other man at all. It was her best friend. Her cry of "Dorothy!" had echoed throughout the alley, ringing loud and clear as was her shock.
A woman had come to her rescue! When no one else had cared, when men had ran away, a woman had risked her life to save Blanche's, and not only that, but that woman was already had dearest friend! The next events had happened in a blur as Dorothy had taken her in her arms, asked her if she was all right and how badly he'd harmed her. Blanche had collapsed in the safety Dorothy had offered, weeping and wailing like she had not done in years. Dorothy had let her cry, never once making Blanche feel like a coward, and had not left her side even when the police had finally arrived.
She had led her through it all, Blanche remembered, her mind still hazy in her emotional state. She had driven her to police headquarters and stood beside her while she'd filed her complaint. She had spoken to the police for her at first and snapped at the thug when he'd made a snide remark while being hauled away.
He had told Blanche the most insane thing of all: that she wasn't even pretty. Blanche sniffed, another tear falling from her eyes. That remark had cut almost as harshly as his knife. But Dorothy had been quick to her defense even then, telling the thug that Blanche was the most beautiful woman ever and receiving several strange looks from the police.
Blanche sniffled. "Blanche," Dorothy's voice slowly called her out of her thoughts, "are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah, Ah'm fine," Blanche replied hesitantly, blinking and trying to make sense of the strange emotions swirling within her.
"You don't look fine, and you haven't stopped crying yet."
"Ah'm sorry, Dorothy! Ah just -- It isn't every day a woman is nearly raped!"
"Actually, I'm afraid it is," Dorothy informed her in her matter-of-fact, English instructor tone of voice. She pulled her closer against her, and Blanche realized, for the first time since arriving home, that she was still in the safe confines of her rescuer's strong arms. "But that's beside the point. It's not why I'm asking." Dorothy gazed down into her sad eyes, and Blanche's heartbeat quickened.
"Then why are ya askin'?" she breathed shakily. She shook her head in bewilderment. "Why did you do it, Dorothy? Why did you risk your life to save mine? That little thug could have cut you or -- or worse -- " A flash of Dorothy's body laying still and cold in the alley ran through her mind, and the sight alone filled Blanche with even more fear than she'd felt when she'd been attacked and made the blood in her veins turn to ice. She shook her head quickly. She didn't want to think about what could have happened if Dorothy had not been stronger than that creep.
"He was a kid," Dorothy assured her. "I used to fight guys like him and worse every day on my way to school in Brooklyn."
Blanche shook her head again. "But that doesn't answer my question, Dorothy," she said. "Why'd you do it?"
Dorothy stopped, and the look she gave her as she gazed down into her eyes was one of complete surprise. Blanche knew Dorothy didn't understand why she was asking her. "Isn't it obvious?" Dorothy queried. "I care about you, Blanche." She raised a hand and touched her cheek. Her fingers ran over her flesh, still ripe with goosebumps, for a brief second, and then her palm caressed her face with the most touch Blanche had ever experienced.
"N-No." Blanche kicked herself inwardly and cringed at the sound of her voice as her response came out in a meek whisper. Why couldn't she still talk right? It wasn't like this was the first time she'd had a would-be suitor get violent. But it was the first time, she thought, that she'd come so close to being raped in years. It was the first time that she'd been rescued by a woman, a friend who meant more to her than any guy except for George whom she'd ever known. No, Blanche realized, gazing up into Dorothy's intent eyes, she meant more to her than even George. It hadn't taken Blanche long to recover after her husband's death, however, but it would take her a lifetime to recover if she ever lost Dorothy. The mere thought was still unthinkable, but yet it could have happened so easily today.
She cleared her throat, forced her fears to subside for the time being, and asked again, "Why'd you do it, Dorothy? He could have killed you! Why not just call the police?"
"Blanche, you know me. I could never let a friend be hurt." Their shared gaze was becoming too intense; Dorothy looked away.
This time, it was Blanche who cupped her face. She softly turned her head back to face her. "It's more than that," she said, her heart beat wildly in her ears, "an' Ah'm beginnin' to think Ah know the real reason why. Dorothy . . . " She paused as her courage almost deserted her, but then she gathered her strength and spoke again, "Ah may be completely out o' line, but Ah don't think so. Ah've felt . . . feelings before when we touched, an' Ah think you've felt 'em too." She never would have thought she could ever feel such for a woman, but after this afternoon, there was no way she could keep denying those forbidden emotions. "Ah'm gonna thank ya, shugah, just like Ah would any rescuer."
"Blanche -- " Dorothy started but was hushed when Blanche touched her lips to hers. Both the women's hearts soared, and Dorothy quickly melted in the kiss for which she'd been aching ever since meeting the often obstinate but always beautiful Southern belle. Things were never the same for the friends after that fateful afternoon, but they were far more wonderful as they loved each other openly from that day forward.
The End
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