Midnight Whispers

Author's Note: This continues the scene in the movie where Lucius and Ivy are kissing on her porch. My imagination took me further after the camera panned away, especially considering we didn't get enough Ivy/Lucius after this, so I knew I had to do something about it! As well, M. Night Shyamalan never told us what colour Ivy saw Lucius as, so I felt it was necessary to include that somewhere as well. Enjoy!

Lucius Hunt shifted his body weight so that he could bring his hands up and towards her face. He cupped it softly as he kissed her, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin where her jaw line met her earlobe. He heard the cane clatter to the bottom step of the porch as her own hands reached out to grab his thick coat in fistfuls. She pulled him closer to her, and he reveled in the feel of her soft warmth pressed against his frigid body. Her arms moved forward to twine around his back and draw him closer still and, as response, his hands moved further into her silken hair, getting lost in the ringlets.

Coaxing her mouth open softly, he gently deepened the kiss further. At this progression, he could feel her sharp intake of breath and immediately regretted his rash action. Although it nearly destroyed him, he released her slowly and pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip.

She regarded him, and he was certain no one could look more beautiful to him than she did in this moment. Her soft, full lips were dewy and swollen; there was a flush on her porcelain face, visible even in the moonlight. Her eyes, lids at half mast, were glazed over with a multitude of emotions playing within them. Those sightless eyes, the ones that had been as such for many, many years, looked at him now more clearly than a pair of good eyes ever could. He tried to read the feelings in her gaze, the passions that ran through them.

"Lucius," she whispered softly, her hand settling on his rough cheek, stroking gently. "You have given me a great gift tonight."

"Ivy—" he began to protest, wanting to tell her that it was she who had given him a gift, that he was not worthy of such praise from her.

"Lucius." She stopped him with a single look, one he was certain she had perfected. The kind of look that put him in his place while simultaneously convincing him that this "place" was with her. "I am not a fool. I know that I am different, that I am not considered to be the ideal for any man. For, who would want a wife that could not see her own two hands to cook, or to clean, or to properly rear her children? You've accepted me as I am, loved me as I am. And for that, how can I not be forever grateful towards you?"

He listened quietly as she spoke, his disbelief growing by the second. How could she possibly believe that she was not worthy? That it was she who should feel lucky to have him? What she was saying, the things she spoke of, they were beyond him. He was stunned that Ivy, his Ivy, this confident, loving, wonderful girl could feel any doubt towards her desirability as a woman and as a wife. He wanted to tell her all these things, and more. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how he had loved her for so long, how she was his world, his life, his everything...

Instead, all he said was, "You are wrong."

She laughed, a short laugh, one that did not suit the Ivy he knew. "Am I, Lucius?" She turned away from him, and he could see the glint of a tear in her eyes.

He had not come to this porch to cause her grief, nor had he intended to leave it as her betrothed. However, that was precisely what had occurred. And although he had no desire to change the latter, he could certainly alter the former.

"Yes, Ivy," he whispered, bringing his arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer to him, close enough that the whole right side of her body was warmed from the contact. She gently laid her head upon his shoulder and he, in turn, laid his head upon hers. "You are indeed wrong."

She waited in silence for him to speak further, and when he did not, she spoke instead. "Can you not say more than that, Lucius?" she pleaded with him. "Can you not speak the words you know I need to hear at this time? I realize you have already given a speech that should suffice you for the next month," she teased him, referring to the heartfelt tirade he had blessed her with just moment before, "but please, Lucius, tell me why I am wrong. A woman does like to hear such things."

He emitted a low chuckle, such a foreign sound to come from his lips. And when he kissed her softly upon her hair, she once again gave a quick thanks to her Maker for granting her such a gift as this—a man who loves her, who had perhaps always loved her. Then he spoke, and she realized that mere thanks would not be nearly enough to express the gratitude she felt.

"What more can I say, Ivy?" he said, his soft voice washing over her. "You know as well as I that words do not come as easily to me as they do to others. And yet, how can you have doubt about what is in my heart? You are a beautiful person, inside and out, sightless or not. It matters not what you see or do not see. As you have said yourself, you see more than, better than, that of a regular person. I truly believe this Ivy, with my whole heart, that you are a better person than all of us in this entire village. What man could not feel blessed to have a woman, a wife, such as this? You will make an excellent mother. And I shall help you with the cooking and cleaning," he added, and she could feel his smile against her hair.

"Yes, so you say now," she teased once more, her mood lighter with the lifting of such a burden off her shoulders.

"Now and forever, my heart." It was the first time he had called her such a name, and she felt her own heart swell with the intense and burning love she felt for this dear man.

They sat in silence for a long while, wrapped in each other's arms. Lucius had his eyes closed, so he could experience life as Ivy did. It allowed him to feel closer to her, more in harmony with her very being. And so, they both felt, rather than saw, the wind rustling the trees and the misty fog rolling in through the grasses. Owls calling out into the night, the soft murmur of voices in the adjacent homes. Eventually, Lucius opened his eyes and spoke once more.

"Now that I have told you such things," he whispered close to her ear, his voice causing her to shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the breeze, "I would ask that you tell me something."

"Lucius," she began warningly, knowing exactly what his next question would be.

"What?" he questioned innocently, in an uncharacteristically teasing way.

"You are going to ask me what your colour is again, are you not?"

He sighed deeply, wrapping his arm tighter around her. "Is it so terrible for me to know?"

"No..." she trailed off. "And yet, it is something I am not ready to tell."

"Why not, Ivy? Should the affianced keep secrets from one another?"

It was her turn to sigh, just as lustily. "No," she admitted, finally. "It is unfair that you would use such a tactic," she added, accusingly.

His response was merely to smile at her again, before remembering that she could not see it. He placed another kiss within her lavender scented curls instead.

"Did you know," she said suddenly, "That you are the only person whose colour I can see so brightly? Others have fleeting shades that ebb and flow according to their moods or even my own, but yours remains constant only changing to grow brighter."

"And when does it grow brighter?" he asked softly.

"When you are happy," she responded immediately. "Even though you hardly laugh and I remember even as a boy you rarely smiled, your happiness is evident when you feel it within. Why, you are fairly pulsating now," she added with a laugh.

He knew his face coloured slightly at this, and was thankful she could not see it.

"The way you are glowing, Lucius," she continued, "I would hazard to guess that you are even blushing!"

"Men do not blush," was his response, even as he flushed darker.

"Indeed," she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she stroked his cheek softly with her knuckles.

"You are straying from the original topic, Ivy," he reminded her.

"I know," she replied cheekily.

"Are you so adamant on keeping this from me?" The laughter was gone from his voice and she knew he was regarding her with his serious eyes.

"No, Lucius," she whispered after a beat. "I will tell you."

He waited for her to continue.

"You are the bad colour," she finally told him, eyes locking onto his as though she could see him. She did not miss his sharp intake of breath, and yet she continued. "Sometimes so fiery that it hurts me to look upon you, and sometimes so placid and soft I want nothing more than to run into your arms and hold you close to me."

He took her hand into his own, and tenderly stroked the top with his thumb.

"This is why, if there is anyone who should not be afraid of Those We Do Not Speak Of it is I, not you. For how can I fear them if we have such a common bond? That colour is the one thing we are both attracted to, both drawn to. It holds such passion, such mystery, just magnetism, allure, appeal—"

His mouth covered hers, effectively cutting her off, and when she let out a little sigh he felt it in his lungs. When he finally pulled away from her, he still remained a hairsbreadth away.

"Thank you for telling me," he whispered against her mouth. "It is you who has given me a gift. The gift of your smile, of your eyes, your beauty, your presence, your words, your character...And tomorrow, we will let the rest of the village know." He kissed her again, quick and gentle this time, before pulling away and straightening. He tucked his hands into his pockets and began to walk away, still marveling at the good fortune he had been granted this night.

Ivy heard Lucius' footsteps slowly receding and she smiled softly for, although she knew that he was going further and further into the night, his colour still failed to grow dimmer.