Sword Crossed Lovers

Because I must protect you

Back in his chambers, Tybalt strips himself of his special black clothing and armor.  He looks down at his hands and feels the dried Montague blood, crusty and polluting his body, almost burning him.  He forces back his rage, still swimming in his belly, as he tosses his hand guards to the side of his body.
"Sir?"
"Not now, Peter," snaps Tybalt, turning his head towards the closed chamber doors.  He hears Peter shuffle his feet nervously.  "Sir, your uncle calls."
"Tell him I am busy."
"But sir, I implore you-"
"He can wait a few moments longer!" yowls the Prince of Cats, slamming his hands down on the bed post.  He hears Peter nervously clap his hands together and readjust his footing outside the door.

Tybalt bites his lower lip, removes his shirt and undoes his belt.  He plunges his stained knife into the face of the dummy which is home to his armor.  A rough Montague crest had been carved onto the forehead of the wood doll and Tybalt enjoyed stabbing it's face every time he needed to tell Peter to clean and resharpen his weapon.
"Sir?"
"Leave, Peter!" hisses Tybalt once more.  "Do not make me repeat myself!"
"Yes, sir," he huffs, scuffling away awkwardly as Tybalt puts his head in his hands.  The fools, all of them.  How could any of them understand?

"Tybalt Capulet?" comes a softer voice a few moments after Peter's distinct footsteps echoed down the hall.  Tybalt could not pick up on the light steps which approached his door.  Immediately, he knows who it is.  None other than his own blood could silence their footsteps and approach undetected.

"Leave me, Juliet!" Tybalt hisses back.  He hears he soft hand touch the door of his chambers.
"What is the matter?  Are you having one of your episodes again?" she coos.  Tybalt can picture her face now, her cheek gently pressing against the door as her fingertips trace images onto the door to keep her from worrying too much.

As a child she had unfortunately seen her cousin's rages, although rarely.  However, those images remained in her mind till this day and despite how many times she assures him that she's not afraid, he can see how she looks at him.  The warrior Capulet can see how his angel, the one thing he feels he needs to protect most, fears him.

"Tybalt?" she breathes.  Then comes a long pause.  "Tibbles?" she speaks again, her finger no longer tracing images on the door.  Now they are wrapped around the door handle, pleading Tybalt to unlock the latch which in turn prevents her from wrapping her arms around him and making him feel on top of the world.
"What is it my Juliet?" he mumbles back, his heart slowly relaxing as he walks towards the door.  With every step, he grows calmer, feeding off her energy.  Feeling guilty, he takes another step back and pauses, hoping not to pollute her pure energy with his own grime.

Juliet takes in a sharp breath.  "Speak to me, cousin.  What troubles you?" she asks, turning away from the door to take a seat outside in the hall, pressing her back against the door.  Tybalt feels her weight give into the door as he turns his back on it and leans his weight against it.  He sinks low against the door and sprawls his feet out in front of him, the door thudding as he relaxes his back into it's wood.
"Juliet?"
"Still here, Tybalt," she replies.  "Always will be," she adds too quietly for him to hear.

Moments go by as the two lean against the same door.  One an angel and the other a blood-covered demon.  Finally, Tybalt feels the rage and pain in his heart begin to subside.  Instead, water begins to leak from his eyes.  Shocked, his hand flies up to touch his face and he begins to make soft moaning sounds.  Not the pleasurable moans, hell, he would never shame his cousin's ears with the sounds he makes like that.  No.  These were the sounds of a weeping bird, hungry and looking for it's mother.  These were the sounds of a wounded soul finally coming up for air after so long.

As the night begins to progress as the two sit together, Juliet listening to her cousin's cries subside and he listening to her breathing, their common pain binds them closer than ever before.  Finally Tybalt Capulet speaks, his voice the truest in his life and bearing the most genuine feelings he has ever openly expressed, "Juliet, have you ever looked into a mirror?"  Slightly puzzled at this question but sensing his vulnerability, she replies, "Yes."
"In the mirror of life, I mean, the mirror of the soul.  I believe that you can look into a mirror which reflects your soul and your inner most feelings.  Have you ever felt like you could do that?"
"I do believe we can look internally and see ourselves."

"Well, in the mirrors of the many judgments, my hands are the color of blood.  I sometimes fancy myself an evil which exists to oppose other evils; and on that great day of which the prophets speak but in which they do not truly believe, one the day the world is utterly cleansed of evil, then I too will go down into darkness, swallowing curses."
"Tybalt, no!  You are pure of heart, your valor-"
"-means nothing when you kill and claim lives, Juliet.  I am a devil, cast down from thy Heaven.  I will and have always been as such," the Capulet warrior breathes heavily, his eyes still watery but no longer running rivers down his face.

"You have never been that to me, cousin."
"Because I have had to protect you.  Everything I have done for this family, this House, this feud, has been to keep you safe.  The stars know how I should have died along side my parents.  Something kept me alive, cousin, something I cannot explain.  However, as long as you are alive, I have something to live for and something to protect because you are my heart.  Until the day you breathe your last, I will not wash my hands nor let them hang useless.  I must protect you, Juliet," he says, his tone casting chills up her spine.  The way he looks at her now, the way his hand reaches out and touches her cheek and softly caresses her skin, now does she see.  Now she sees her cousin for what he is to her: her soul mate.