fic: the teethmarks of time; lost; richard/alex; pg13
the teethmarks of time, pg13
lost, alex/richard, 469 words
written for the lostsquee fic battle, here
written as a follow-up to one day we'll be reborn (a little ripped and torn)
also for my fc_smorgasbord table, prompt #23, counting years
PLEASE READ IT HERE
She could sleep for a year, or drown and come back to life, or do all of the things that young people learn to fear when they start having babies. But instead, Alex lives this quiet life with Richard, walks along the river in winter, bundled like newborn babes. Protected. Shielded. Safe.
And it's not at all bad.
Alex can look at him, his kind eyes that will always be older than hers, but never any older than they are right now, and admit that she's happy.
But there's this thing in the back of her mind, a choice that was taken from her that she can never get back, and it feels like a violation of some kind, but she can't bring herself to blame him. Never him. His choice was taken from him too. She knows it, even though he never says it. She can feel it when his callused fingers brush over her hips, scars from another lifetime. He tells stories, brings her to bed, makes her feel less alone. And that's worth something.
(Isn't it?)
-
She asks questions that worry Richard. She can see it on his face, hear it in his answers. She says words like ability and foresight and immortality, and she gets this look in her eyes like she might try flying. She grows restless and reckless and does stupid things.
One night Richard takes her into the kitchen, angry. He asks her to trust him, kisses her lips, pulls a knife from the drawer. He slices her hand with the sharp blade over the basin. It's a shallow cut, but enough to bring tears to the corners of her eyes.
"It hurts?" he asks.
Alex nods, grimacing and wrapping a towel over the wound.
"It will hurt. Just as it would a mortal. And it will heal. Eventually. And you will live. But you are not a superhero. Remember that."
-
Alex swallows years two at a time and still she hasn't lived as much life as some of those around her, and there will come a day when she will know far more life than they ever will. They will die, decompose, be forgotten. And she will go on. She is lucky, she supposes. Yet still, she feels this pull at her feet.
Walk. Go. Be.
It's years since that first pull when she scrawls words on paper.
"I'm going," they read.
She tapes the note to the mirror while Richard sleeps. It will give him some time. He'll wake, yawn, stretch, scratch. He'll think she's still there for just a few minutes longer. Maybe she's gone to the store or maybe she's in the kitchen... It won't be until he finds his way to the bathroom that he'll know.
But then, she suspects, he's probably known all along.
-fin
lost, alex/richard, 469 words
written for the lostsquee fic battle, here
written as a follow-up to one day we'll be reborn (a little ripped and torn)
also for my fc_smorgasbord table, prompt #23, counting years
PLEASE READ IT HERE
She could sleep for a year, or drown and come back to life, or do all of the things that young people learn to fear when they start having babies. But instead, Alex lives this quiet life with Richard, walks along the river in winter, bundled like newborn babes. Protected. Shielded. Safe.
And it's not at all bad.
Alex can look at him, his kind eyes that will always be older than hers, but never any older than they are right now, and admit that she's happy.
But there's this thing in the back of her mind, a choice that was taken from her that she can never get back, and it feels like a violation of some kind, but she can't bring herself to blame him. Never him. His choice was taken from him too. She knows it, even though he never says it. She can feel it when his callused fingers brush over her hips, scars from another lifetime. He tells stories, brings her to bed, makes her feel less alone. And that's worth something.
(Isn't it?)
-
She asks questions that worry Richard. She can see it on his face, hear it in his answers. She says words like ability and foresight and immortality, and she gets this look in her eyes like she might try flying. She grows restless and reckless and does stupid things.
One night Richard takes her into the kitchen, angry. He asks her to trust him, kisses her lips, pulls a knife from the drawer. He slices her hand with the sharp blade over the basin. It's a shallow cut, but enough to bring tears to the corners of her eyes.
"It hurts?" he asks.
Alex nods, grimacing and wrapping a towel over the wound.
"It will hurt. Just as it would a mortal. And it will heal. Eventually. And you will live. But you are not a superhero. Remember that."
-
Alex swallows years two at a time and still she hasn't lived as much life as some of those around her, and there will come a day when she will know far more life than they ever will. They will die, decompose, be forgotten. And she will go on. She is lucky, she supposes. Yet still, she feels this pull at her feet.
Walk. Go. Be.
It's years since that first pull when she scrawls words on paper.
"I'm going," they read.
She tapes the note to the mirror while Richard sleeps. It will give him some time. He'll wake, yawn, stretch, scratch. He'll think she's still there for just a few minutes longer. Maybe she's gone to the store or maybe she's in the kitchen... It won't be until he finds his way to the bathroom that he'll know.
But then, she suspects, he's probably known all along.
-fin