A/N: I had first thought to post this at the end of my earlier story, "Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl," but having decided to make this a multi-chapter work, it makes more sense to start a new story all together. For some reason, writing sap seems to be my new reaction to stress from RL. Expect to see more chapters, although updates will be highly irregular.

Thanks to all who have reviewed my work or listed it under favorites. It's gratifying to know my scribbles are read.
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Reactions: A Tale of Unmitigated Sap

An unabashedly sappy sequel to my other story Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl. Following the quotidian details that compose Ahiru and Fakir's happily ever after.

Disclaimer: I own neither Princess Tutu nor any of the quoted material
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Another autumn, Fakir thought looking out his window as the rising sun touched trees already resplendent with flaming leaves. It was just a little over a year since Ahiru had turned into a girl again—for good this time. Funny how life could change in such a small amount of time. What was one year compared to his entire lifetime? A negligible fraction. And yet…this one year was filled with some of his most precious memories. Some of those treasured memories would seem so insignificant to a casual observer, but to Fakir they were everything.

How much it mattered to him, for example, that almost every day, he would have lunch with Ahiru. Usually it was just the two of them but occasionally some one or other of Ahiru's friends would come find them—those ballet bubbleheads, a strange quiet drawing student, the crazy drama club girls, among many others. He wasn't sure if Ahiru ever noticed, but they were all the people she had helped as Princess Tutu, gravitating towards her as if still feeling the forgotten pull of her kindness.

It was a routine now. Fakir would walk over to the ballet building, and find her sitting by the fountain of two dancers performing a pas de deux. After ingesting Ahiru's first few culinary disasters, Fakir started bringing lunch for both of them. Sometimes they went to the pizzeria in town. The first time Ahiru had suggested that, Fakir had been anxious. After all, that was almost like an official date. Did that mean Ahiru knew how he felt about her? Did that mean she felt the same about him? But then somehow, those bubbleheaded ballet girls had ended up there too; Fakir still couldn't figure out if that was intentional or coincidental. And then he realized, with Ahiru in the equation, it would be impossible to figure out: logical explanations seemed impossible with her. He decided to stop worrying. He would simply enjoy his time with her.

Those few times where either one of them couldn't make the lunch date—there was that damned word again!—his entire day would seem worse. Dull somehow. He wondered often how he had ever lived without her, without her enlivening presence bringing color to his life, without her kindness softening his jagged edges.

Fakir made a slightly disgusted face at his faint reflection in the window pane. Since when was he so sentimental? He hurriedly gathered his books and left for Kinkan Academy.
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Ahiru was frantic. She couldn't find it. Where had she put it? How could she lose such an important thing? Come on, Ahiru, she chided herself. Try to think rationally. Where was the last place you put it? Gah! She couldn't remember! Now what? Maybe she should ask Fakir for help. He was the one for rational thinking. But then he would know she had lost the birthday present he'd given her just two months ago. That had been so considerate of Fakir—not just the present, but the birthday itself. Since Ahiru was a duck, she really didn't know exactly how old she was. And ducks, not really bothered by such things as time didn't really keep track of birth dates. Ahiru hadn't given much thought to the matter at all, until one day late in the summer Fakir had suggested out of the blue that they celebrate a birthday for her. He said the day Lede had turned her into a girl again would be fitting since that was kind of like a being born again. Ahiru had thought back to the small cozy family birthday they'd celebrated for Fakir earlier in the year. It had just been her, Charon, Rachel, and Fakir. Just remembering the soft smile on Fakir's face as he had looked at the birthday cake Rachel and Charon had made and touched the present Ahiru had given him made her heart ache just as it had then. She'd gotten him a brilliant blue writing quill, made from a feather that a kingfisher had given her quite willingly when she had confessed her dilemma about Fakir's present to the birds at her window. Making it into a quill had actually been the hard part, but she'd found a small shop that had agreed to do it for her, capping it with a silver pen nib since the feather itself was too delicate to carve. He had thanked her so sincerely, but the best part was that whenever she had seen him using it, his green eyes smiled even if his mouth did not.

Simply the thought behind Fakir's idea to give her a birthday had touched her so much that when he had given her that small gift-wrapped package, she'd felt tears well up. Of course he'd teased her about that and of course she'd huffed angrily. And now she'd lost the present that, knowing Fakir, he had considered so carefully before choosing for her. He was Fakir, so of course he'd brood over it. And then he'd think she didn't like it since she'd already lost it. How could she possibly explain? She'd lost it because she'd liked it so much; she carried it with her almost everywhere.

Ahiru agonized. What was she going to do? For now, she'd just search some more. Her dormroom already looked like a disaster zone since she'd upended everything while looking about recklessly. Well, she'd just have to go back to everywhere she'd been that day and try to find it!
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She was exhausted. Following her resolution, Ahiru had looked everywhere—her room, the ballet practice rooms, the art classroom where she took a painting class, by the fountain where she'd had lunch with Fakir, the library where she'd gone to chat with him in the afternoon after practice, by the lake where she usually went every morning, and just about every place in between and still she'd had no luck!

She'd cherished it, the small book of poems Fakir had given her: her very first present on her very first birthday. She remembered Fakir reading her some other poems by the same poet when she'd still been a duck and he'd come to the lake to fish every day. Somehow, he'd figured out that she'd liked them. It was a small elegant book, the paper fine, the print graceful.

On the flyleaf, Fakir had scrawled simply,
Ahiru,
I wish you the happiest birthday.

This was followed by a blot of ink—which Ahiru had thought odd since Fakir valued good penmanship—almost as if he'd hesitated, uncertain on how to close the little missive. Then as if changing his mind, simply a dash and his name.

Ahiru had loved it; at first simply because it was a gift from Fakir but as she read through it, she came to love it for the poems, all of them beautiful, delicately wrought creations that seemed to say all she wanted to say. There was one poem in particular that she'd read over and over ever since he'd given her the book. She wished she could read it to him. She wished she had the courage.

And she had lost that priceless book. Well, she'd bite the bullet tomorrow during dance practice and tell him.
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He idly traced the edges of the little leather-bound volume with his fingers; it was a book of sonnets by a poet Fakir had thought Ahiru would like. The pages looked well thumbed, the spine slightly lined as if she'd read it over and over again. There was one page in particular near the end marked by a small feather serving as a bookmark that looked like it had received particular attention. He'd been so uncertain about what to give her for the impromptu birthday celebration he'd suggested that he had even asked Rachel for advice. He had no idea what girls liked, he admitted to her. And Rachel had simply laughed. He'd stalked away angrily while she tried to apologize and call out to him "Fakir, anything will do. Whatever you give her, she'll treasure."

He'd thought of several potential birthday presents. Jewelry since he had some notion that all girls liked jewelry, but that just brought to mind the necklace twisted with Raven's blood that Mytho had unwittingly gifted Tutu with. He'd thought of toe-shoes, but that seemed so obvious. Besides they also carried unhappy connotations from the past: Mytho tainted by Raven's blood had first revealed himself by destroying toe-shoes. He'd considered simply getting flowers, but that didn't seem to be enough for a birthday present. It all seemed hopeless. And so he settled on the one thing he did know. Books. And best of all, after that summer of reading out loud to her when she was still a duck, he knew Ahiru's tastes.

With all this in mind, he'd gotten her a collection of sonnets and as he wrote out (as always, using the quill Ahiru had given him to write the things that mattered) a birthday wish to her on the inside cover, he had almost closed with
Love,
Fakir

From anyone else, it would have seemed simply a gesture of friendship. But Fakir never threw around such personal words as "love" casually. He was probably overthinking it all, but he couldn't help feeling that writing it would expose everything in his heart. When Ahiru had turned back in to a duck, and then disappeared for weeks, when it seemed he had lost everything, Fakir had been forced to realize his feelings for her. But now that she was back in his life, reserve and uncertainty had sent those feelings back into hiding. Besides, the book itself was risky enough: all the poems were about love. He was already giving himself away, he couldn't hazard actually writing "Love, Fakir." She'd loved Mytho, after all, how could she possibly love Fakir? How could he confess his feelings with one careless word? What if she didn't love him? What if—as he hesitated, a drop of ink blotted the rich creamy paper and he cursed his idiocy, signing with simply a dash and his name. Coward, he'd thought to himself as he waited for the ink to dry.

The way her expressive blue eyes had widened and then started to tear up when he gave her his gift had made Fakir's heart ache. So of course, he'd teased her to cover it up.

And the book he'd given her on her birthday had fallen out of her bag today as she dashed off after lunch. Not realizing what it was, Fakir had picked it up, calling out her name but she was already heading toward the entrance of the ballet building. Looking at the cover, he realized it was the book he'd bought for her. So she had liked it after all.
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Ahiru was fluttering with anxiety the next day as she waited in the practice room for Fakir to arrive. He only had ballet once a week now that he was only cross-registered in the Kinkan Academy of Ballet and wasn't majoring in dance anymore. Ahiru always looked forward to Fridays since not only would she get to practice with Fakir— it was nothing at all like that first time she'd danced with him which had been painful and embarrassing as he'd insulted her and warned her off Mytho; now when they danced together, somehow, somehow, it always made her feel graceful, even when she made mistakes—but they would spend most of the day together an she would go over to his house for dinner.

She was early today, which was unusual for her, but her worry over the approaching confession hadn't allowed her to sleep. She'd gotten to class so early that she was the only one there. She was trying to figure out what she would say when the door handle turned and someone else stepped into the room. Fortunately, or perhaps not so fortunately Ahiru thought, it was Fakir; she'd have to face him now.

"Good morning, Fakir!" her voice overly loud in her nervousness.

Fakir arched an eyebrow as he turned to look at her from where he had started warming up. She had apprehension written all over her face. He sighed. "All right, what's the matter?"

"Matter?" Ahiru gasped. "How did you know something's the matter?"

"Will you just tell me what's bothering you?"

"Um. Well, you see…I…Well."

Fakir sighed again, crossing his arms impatiently. He was about to open his mouth and say something that reflected his irritation when the thought struck him that it might be serious. She looked tired, dark circles around her eyes as if she hadn't slept, her irrepressible vitality somewhat dimmed. Was Ahiru all right? What could have gotten her so worked up?

As if the worry in his eyes had relaxed her tension, Ahiru finally seemed to gather herself together and a torrent of words spilled out of her mouth, "I'm so sorry, Fakir! I didn't mean to lose it, but I did. And I looked everywhere I could think of yesterday, but I can't find it! But that doesn't mean it's not important to me! I'm just careless, you know how careless I am! Birdbrain, right? It means a lot to me and I'm really sorry, can you forgive me?"

He stared at her blankly and blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, haha! I didn't say, did I? The book you gave me." She bowed, her hands together in apology. "I'm so sorry!"

To think she'd gotten so worked up over that! While he felt bad that she'd worried so, part of him was happy to see it mattered so much to her. But surely, she'd feel that way about any of her friends' presents a hopeless part of him whispered. His good mood effectively dampened, Fakir turned to his bag and pulled out the little book. "Oh, you mean this?"

Her eyes lit up, even brighter than when he'd first given it to her. "Where did you find it?.!" she cried out gratefully.

"It fell out of your bag yesterday at lunch. Does it really mean that much to you?" he asked as he handed it to her.

She clutched the book to her chest. "You have no idea." Then, her expression firming into one of resolution, Ahiru flipped to the page marked by the feather, "Fakir, I—"

Just then, a group of ballet students entered. Ahiru hung her head in frustration. Just when she'd made up her mind to tell him too! Somehow, getting back the book she'd thought lost forever convinced her she should tell him how she felt. That journey outside Kinkan Town had revealed her feelings to herself and that one poem in the book had seemed to put them into concrete words. If she never told him, she had realized as she searched desperately for the book all yesterday, everything would be lost, just like she had thought the book was. Even if he didn't love her back, she loved him and she had to tell him.

"Ahiru, are you all right?" he asked with concern shadowing his eyes.

"Yeah. Fakir, I—can I talk to you after class?" She would do this. She would.
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Well, whatever she decided, it's not doing her ballet much good Fakir thought as they practiced together. She's making more mistakes than usual. And yet, he could never tease her about her dancing after the heartfelt performance she'd given during the final battle with the Raven.

For her part, not only was Ahiru distracted, but every time Fakir touched her, or even brushed against her, all her nervousness about what she'd resolved to do at the end of class seemed to swallow her up. How would she survive until then? How would she survive afterwards?
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After the last stragglers had trailed out of the practice room, Ahiru turned to Fakir, but all the possible words she'd decided on fled her as she faced him. Fakir, really beginning to worry that something might be wrong now, started to ask her if she felt sick when finally, she clutched the little book he'd returned to her, opened to the page marked by the feather, tore it out, handed it to him, and sprinted out of the room.

Well, he mused, that was bizarre even by her standards. Then he looked down at the page she had left in his hands and his heart seemed to seize.

"Not in a Silver Casket" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Not in a silver casket cool with pearls
Or rich with red corundum or with blue,
Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls
Have given their loves, I give my love to you;
Not in a lover's-knot, not in a ring
Worked in such a fashion, and the legend plain:
Semper fidelis,—where a secret spring
Kennels a drop of mischief for the brain.
Love in the open hand, no thing but that,
Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,
As one should bring you cowslips in a hat
Swung from the hand or apples in her skirt
I bring you, calling out as children do:
"Look what I have! And these are all for you."

Was he understanding her right? Was his hope mere wishful thinking? Did she—? Could she perhaps—? The thoughts were too fraught with a painful hope for him to even complete. And yet not really knowing was worse. He chased after her.
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For all her petite build, Ahiru was a good runner. When he at last caught up with her, Fakir was out of breath. He was also at a loss for words. At last, as if in desperation, he put his hands on her shoulders and said, "I love you," his face angled down, his eyes shadowed.

He didn't see her eyes widen in surprise and relief, but he felt her hand as she reached up and touched his cheek. He looked down into her face at last and whispered, "Do you love me?"

"Yes," she said as she threw her arms around him. "Yes" she repeated into his chest.

Fakir couldn't believe it. It had to be a dream or a lie or…something. He could not grasp happiness. It was not, was never meant, to be his. "But, but what about Mytho?" he asked, trying to dismantle this daydream that was so painful because it taunted him with all his longings and reinstate the harsh truths of reality.

"Huh?" Ahiru responded eloquently. "Mytho, what does he have to do with anything?"

That slightly puzzled look on her face made Fakir want to kiss her. But the thought in itself was too painful to entertain. "You loved him. Princess Tutu would have vanished for his sake," he said at last. "How could you possibly love someone like me?"

Ahiru finally pulled herself away from him and looked up in pure surprise this time. "I didn't—that was a crush really. Really, I loved the idea of Mytho. I don't think I ever knew who he really was until much too late. But you, I know you. Your flaws. Your kindness. This," she said, touching his face again gently, "this is love."

That was all Fakir needed to hear. His arms tightened around her waist as he bent his head slightly and kissed her.

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Until next time...