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WHO: Duck, Fakir, Ryan
WHERE: Flat on the outskirts of the city, where Doul and Duck are staying
WHEN: Monday, March 2, '09
WARNINGS: Fluffy cuteness
SUMMARY: Duck wants to play big sister to Fakir, Ryan brings him over
FORMAT: Whatever you like

From the moment Duck had figured out what was happening with Fakir, she hadn't been able to do anything all day. She kept tripping and dropping stuff, and was generally at her clumsiest. She couldn't help it. Out there, alone, was a five-year-old version of her very best friend in the whole wide world. Then that Ryan guy called her up and said he'd picked Fakir up from his dorm. And she was curious to meet him, as well as see Fakir.

It was up to her to take care of him like he had taken care of her. FIGHT, DUCK! Gotta be strong!

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"I dunno," said Fakir. "Really you look like a girl..."

"Really?" he said, torn between skepticism and joy. "Please?"

"Okay." agreed Duck. She took a deep breath. "Quack." she said, and poof. Duck's clothes fall in a pile on the floor, and out pops a tiny yellow duckling.

"... wooooow!" said Fakir, his face lighting up. He walked over, bending down to look at the little duck.

"So you are a duck! It's just like a story!"

Then, without warning, he picked her up - gently, for a five year old - and held her in his arms, his face aglow with delight.

"I love birds, I think they're my favourite. Except crows... I don't like crows."

"Qua." Duck let herself get picked up. It felt good to be cuddled.

Well yes, she though. It was just like a story. That was how they had met in the first place. Because of that story, she could no longer be content to be a duck.

If it came to that, she didn't like crows either. Not after everything that had happened.

After a while, though, she wriggled out of his arms. She picked up her clothes and waddled to the bathroom, making sure the door was closed. The sound of running water could be heard, and then her voice.

"I'm sorry, I can't talk when I'm a duck." she said through the door as she wrestled into her tights.

"That makes sense," he said. "it's so cool that you can turn into a duck! I wish I could do something cool like that..."

She leaned against the door for a moment. "I think being able to write stories that come true is way more amazing." she had to remind herself that she was talking to a five-year-old, and not to her Fakir. She couldn't tell him, after all, about everything that would happen to him in his next ten years of life. "That's really all the power you need. Anyway I can't dance when I'm a duck. Well, I can, but it's not the same thing." she rambled as she finished dressing.

Finally, she opened the door.

"That's true! I wonder if I could write myself to be a duck? Did I write this place, Duck? And you dance...?" he asked, a cascade of questions.

"Eeeeeh-? S-slow down!" Duck exclaimed, overwhelmed by the rapid-fire inquisition. She managed to take a moment to compose herself. She had to be responsible and grown up for Fakir!

Deep breath. "Um, one." she began, assuming a serious expression, and counted on her fingers, "you probably could write yourself to be a duck, but I don't think it would be a good idea. Two: I'm pretty sure you didn't write this place, 'cuz it was here before you came along, and it's too huge and confusing."

She relaxed, the hard questions dealt with. "And three: I'm taking ballet lessons, but I'm not very good."

"Why wouldn't it be a good idea?" asked Fakir, but then he heard the bit about ballet.

Being a small boy, it had never occurred to him that ballet was girly or not for boys. He'd grown up with it, why should he think it girly?

"Will you dance for me, Duck?"

Duck was glad Fakir had got off the subject of writing. Not all his stories came true, she recalled, so maybe it was okay for him to write. Then again, better safe than sorry, she guessed.

Still, dancing. It was something she loved doing, but she was always acutely aware of her limitations in that area. This was different from in class, though, under the critical eyes of her teacher, and Fakir's inscrutable gaze.

"Okay. Just don't expect anything fancy." she agreed. She pushed the furniture in the living room around, to have some space. Then she stood in the middle of the room and assumed first position. She began the simple choreography she'd been practicing in class.

Fakir watched quietly, his eyes wide. It was simple, but he didn't care - he liked to watch people dance.

For a while the room was silent except for Duck's footsteps and her voice, counting the time under her breath. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four... It was still hard work, and when she made a misstep she sometimes had trouble remembering the beat.

Finally, her awkward movements came to a halt. "How was that?" she asked finally.

Fakir, of course, was really too young to catch the difference, so he simply said "That was great!" with a smile. "You dance really well."

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short tag is short; sorry for the late.

'sokay

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