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By skwirelygurli



Wobble, an Austin and Ally oneshot

I do not own Austin and Ally. This one is for Maddiegirl56. Prompts and reviews are always welcome!

This may not be the best plan they've ever hatched.

December twenty first, in line at the cafeteria. There's a tray of chicken nuggets in his left hand. Dez is in front of him, getting applesauce spooned onto his tray.

"Doesn't Ally look cute in her elf hat?" He's far enough away that not even those pointy ears can pick up on what he's said.

His best friend, on the other hand, does. "I thought you said you were over her."

Austin scoffs, handing over his tray. The applesauce tumbles onto his nuggets.

"I am." He studies the tainted nugget to buy time. "That doesn't mean I can't like her hat."

"Yeah, but you said Allylooks cute in her hat." Standing in front of the milk, he contemplates over chocolate versus white.

The silence kills him.

"Fine, I still like Ally. But she just wants to be friends."

"Dude, she totally loves you."

Setting a carton on his tray, he peeks over his shoulder. She's struggling to open a bag of carrots.

Wait, no, she got it. All over the floor, but she got it.

Aww, she looks so adorable. He wants to kiss that pout off her face. Only he knows that her feelings are platonic, and aren't going back above that.

Unless Dez is right.

"Prove it," he says, feeling daring. Preferably as soon as possible, because they're paying now, and when he reaches her and that pout of hers, he's going to feel urges. Ones he'd really like to act on.

He leans over conspiratorially, whispering in his ear.

This is where it begins.

(the page breaks here)

There's a hook on the ceiling by the doorway. The solar system used to hang there, back when this was Mr. Jenkin's classroom. Back then there were glow stars on the ceiling and posters of astronauts on the walls.

Mr. Jenkin was a bit obsessed with outer space.

When a pesky fly landed on Austin's shoulder, the teacher took great delight in altering the famous moon landing quote to suit his needs.

"This is one small step for fly, one giant step for fly-kind." He thought he was being clever, since the fly had landed on the Moon. Above all, he was being hurtful. That was because of the slap he got on his shoulder as he tried to kill the fly. Tried, failed, and tried again.

His shoulders had matching bruises that week.

Now that Mr. Jenkin retired, it's home to second period per-calculus. It's their first class of the day together, which is either a terrible mistake or brilliant decision on his part. Denied, he has to deal with the torture of seeing her the rest of the day. Accepted, he gets the joy of marking his territory for the rest of the day.

With invisible marks, because he does not need her father to find any love bites on her neck.

Not that he'll admit to any urge to do such a thing.


He pulls over the nearest desk. School is out for the day, but he doesn't want to get caught by whoever may be lingering in the hallway. His friends think he stayed after to get help in math.

The teacher, who excused himself to go to use the bathroom, and probably go flirt with the spanish teacher (their affair is a bit too obvious as he comes in tie loose, her red lip prints dancing as his neck vibrates from the rolling of his 'r's) hasn't come back yet. He gauges that he has another five minutes.

The desk wobbles. It's the one with the paper wedged under the fourth leg. Why had nobody fixed it?

He teeters. He totters.

Curse these high ceilings.

Curse Ally for not wanting to kiss him without a little Yuletide aid.

No, don't curse Ally. He'd never forgive himself for putting her in harm's way.

"Come on, get on the hook," he grunts. His heels lift from the desk.

Just like the rest of his body.

Thud. Hello there floor. When's the last time a janitor took the mop to you?

He lifts his head, wiping the dirt off his cheek. His shoulder is in pain. A quick trip to the nurse will tell him if it's broken or not.

Standing up, he flinches. Pain, lots of it.

The things he does for love.

(the page breaks here)

Three days prior to New Year's, he's standing on a ladder. His arm, which thankfully was subject to minor bruising and nothing more, was outstretched.

His mother, having seen the sale ad, had found the tallest tree in all of Miami and bought it.

"Don't fall sweetie."

He had been so intent on falling. Way to spoil his plans. Now he's going to have to stay up here, or climb down like a sane person.

She opens the door for Ally. They make small talk, and then there's that giggle. He loses focus, and suddenly, the ladder isn't so stable.

Neither is he.

He's falling, he's falling, there's screaming, he's falling.

Couch cushions. How intuitive of them.

"What happened?" Ally asks. His mother has this look in her eye, because she told him not to fall.

She should have told her not to giggle. He won't blame her though. "I guess I just lost my balance."

Sitting up, his back cracks. Hands on the bottom of the ladder to brace himself, he yanks himself up. His foot touches the bottom step.

"Don't. I'll have your father get the angel down later. You go rest."

This sucks. Now he can't give Ally a hug, or he'll experience a whole new level of back pain.

Frozen peas. Ice the sore, and then hug her. He won't feel the pain if he's numb.

Physically. Emotionally, he'll be singing hallelujah.

(the page breaks here)

They're riding up the roller coaster when a mechanical noise is heard.

"What was that?" she asks, looking over to him.

"I don't -" their cart stops. "know."

Her hair hangs, flowing in the wind.

This would be a whole lot better if they weren't upside down right now.

"I wonder where Dez and Trish got stuck." They'd been in the car behind them.

"Noooooo!" Trish wails, elongating the word. He twists in his seat to find them right side up.

In line, Ally had been scared. It was the largest roller coaster she'd ever been on, and the track was old and rickety. She should have gone with her gut.

Her gut had not been telling her to let Austin convince her he'd keep her safe.

Fantastic job he was doing, no? There were upside down, and he was rocking the cart. Security is one of the last things she is feeling.

"How long do you think we're going to be hanging here?"

"Not long."

Not long equates to an hour and seventeen minutes.

Seventy seven minutes filled with her constant worries.

'What if the safety bar unhinges?'

'What if I slip out and break my neck?'

He had a question of his own. 'What if I die tonight, and never get to say I love you?'

He keeps his thoughts to himself.

(the page breaks here)

They're at his breakfast table after a late night of song writing. He pours more syrup onto his pancakes.

"The plane went down at four thirty this morning. So far three have been found dead, others injured." He mutes the television. The pictures flash on the screen and he turns it off.

Their European tour starts in five days.

He needs to take a plane to cross the ocean.

In the past year, he's developed a small fear of heights. Fear being a word that should be replaced, with something more fitting, like 'dislike' or 'active avoidance.' There were the two injuries back in December, and then that roller coaster incident back in March.

Last month, Ally was standing on a ladder in Sonic Boom. She was hanging a banner, advertising their big promotion. Her ladder wobbled.

He sprung off the counter, running to her side.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

Heights were an evil thing. You could trip and fall, scraping your elbows. Or you could fall from five feet up, crack your spine or skull. And now you could plummet to the ground and die.

He licks his fork, turns to her. "Maybe we should pack life preservers."

"They landed on ground, not the water. Besides, we'll be fine."

She smiles, and he tries to believe her.

Sometimes trying can be so hard.

(the page breaks here)

Aboard the plane, he takes her hand.



"I love you."

She blinks, slipping her fingers into his. "I love you too."

"We're going to be okay, right?" It takes her a minute to realize he's talking about the plane and not about their relationship. She knows that they're going to be fine.

To prove it, she kisses his cheek.

"I promise."

He grins, and then his mouth is on her cheek. A man with wide hips bumps her side, and her body jerks. Her head is turned to the right, and all he has to do is reach out and grab it.

So he does.

They're flying to Paris, and if he's lucky to land, he's going to take her to dinner, on a date. He'll let her pick anything off the menu she wants, except for the escargot. He's not kissing snail breath.

Yes, he's going to kiss her again tonight. And tomorrow, and the night after and after and after.

Maybe heights aren't so bad.

He leans back in his seat, hand still in hers. He's no longer scared, but he loves having her fingers between his.

That's where they belong.

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