Oh hai guys
Heyyyy semi-active community! I have a hello-my-name-is sort of fanfiction offering; it's that ten songs challenge that basically has circulated every fandom ever. And, uh, it's kind of fluff? I feel like it's too much fluff. Oh well.
1. Space Oddity by David Bowie
Brock had told Hank it was because of a woman, and as he picks up the Zeppelin tape, there is a rush of her: her red hair framed by the lights, the roar of "All My Love" from the speaker system, and her mouth moving, mouthing the words, as if she knows it almost does count when you say it but no-one hears.
I am yours.
Fingering the tape, he frowns, telling himself it's a bad idea before caving, grabbing his headphones and lying back on his bed, eyes scrunched shut as he soaks in the memory of Molotov.
2. Technicolor Girls by Death Cab for Cutie
Hunter is in the right-hand corner of the stage, and Brock can't really look at him for fear of throwing up, but the Doc is seemingly oblivious, hands fumbling on a small stack of ones.
"C'mon Brock, have some fun, it's like a goddamn funeral in here with you," he tells his bodyguard, but Brock just ignores him, because
a) the Doc is drunk
b) Brock is kind of drunk
and c) it's the anniversary of the day he met her and somehow he can't bear to be unfaithful, just this one day, as if even looking at someone else will make her vanish like she was never there.
3. Genesis by Justice
Molotov drives too fast, the neon of Tokyo streaming past at an alarming speed. Brock smokes one of her cigarettes next to her, eyes glancing occasionally at his newly mended leg, wrapped tightly and professionally in gauze that she keeps in her trunk.
The windows are down, her hair streams into the nighttime, and he can't really read her expression, only the whiteness of her knuckles on the steering wheel and the way she chews her lip when she gazes at the bandage. Brock is vaguely reminded of his mother.
4. Sleeping In by The Postal Service
More often than she'll ever admit, she dreams of him. Usually, it's something menial, like waking up in her flat in Moscow to find him there, drinking coffee that's probably laced with vodka, polishing his knife or something equally domestic. Other times, he's waiting for her, in a restaurant or her home or outside the clothing store, the passenger door to his car already open, with him inside, holding out his hand.
When she wakes up from these dreams, she always rolls over, grasping at the remains of the fast-fading visions of them together. The idea persists, even in waking, however: always, he is waiting for her in some capacity.
5. Excuse Me Mr. by No Doubt
California is, by her Siberian-born standards, much too hot for any kind of rigorous activity, which is what she tells Samson when she lays down beside him on the the hotel bed, curling her hand into a relaxed fist, placing it upon his chest. Somehow, this is what stops him from protest; Brock shifts slightly, his arm sliding around her.
The L.A. traffic roars outside the window but she suddenly cannot hear it, already drifting to sleep.
6. Bluebells by Patrick Wolf
Too often her face is in his nightmares, his least favorite being the day he killed her father: Molotov is young, her face not yet made to its battle-hardened angles, and she drops to her knees, green eyes (eyes, plural) shimmering immediately with hot tears, the snow falling around her.
The moon had been full that night, it hadn't been difficult to lie in wait in the vast dark forests that Russia was famous for, and trigger explosives, running the car off the road. Brock had taken his time, seeing Hunter's face in his mind as he did it, only to be shaken awake when he hears her start to choke back sobs, hands that suddenly look frail and small trembling as they clutch at the bloodied uniform of her father.
"I hate you," she had spat at him, and it's this that haunts him.
The hurt and betrayal in her eyes was unfathomable.
7. Paris 2004 by Peter Bjorn & John
Brock wakes up in a Parisian hospital, hooked up to IVs with French nurses scuttling around the room, talking in hushed whispers about the stab wounds the American spy has recieved. On his lap is a star-shaped earring and a pack of his brand of cigarettes.
8. My Heart Is An Apple by The Arcade Fire
Molotov shoots to kill, stabs to kill and fights to kill, and Brock puts up a good fight but not good enough, for he's soon on the ground, pinned there, actually, with one of her knives all the way through his upper arm. She straddles him, slipping on a pair of brass knuckles, and when she slams her fist into his face, there's the dull crunch of his nose breaking, his jaw probably fractured, his eyes definitely going to be black. It feels like an eternity before something tells her to stop, and she stands up. Her brain is incapable of forming words; he's incapable of speaking because she's made his face a bloodied mess. Blue eyes gaze up at her, not hurt or accusing or angry, and she suddenly realizes he believes he deserved it.
Molotov runs.
9. We Were Born The Mutants Again With Leafling by Of Montreal
The next time, when he takes her eye, it's partially because they looked dead already from the grief.
At least the loss of half her sight was enough to bring a spark back to those (that, he corrects himself, 'that' implying singular) green eyes.
Even if it does mean she refuses to speak to him for six more years.
10. This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) by The Talking Heads
When the red Charger pulls up in front of Brock's usual camping spot, Molotov stands up, eyebrows raised, barely allowing herself to believe it really is him, even though she can hear Led Zeppelin blaring from the car and she's memorized his license plate.
It's not until they stand, face to face, him holding the note she had left in his shirt pocket months ago, that she allows herself to feel anything at all.
When he envelops her in his arms and she smells cigarette smoke , soap and motor oil, she closes her eyes, feeling for the first time in years that she has come home.
1. Space Oddity by David Bowie
Brock had told Hank it was because of a woman, and as he picks up the Zeppelin tape, there is a rush of her: her red hair framed by the lights, the roar of "All My Love" from the speaker system, and her mouth moving, mouthing the words, as if she knows it almost does count when you say it but no-one hears.
I am yours.
Fingering the tape, he frowns, telling himself it's a bad idea before caving, grabbing his headphones and lying back on his bed, eyes scrunched shut as he soaks in the memory of Molotov.
2. Technicolor Girls by Death Cab for Cutie
Hunter is in the right-hand corner of the stage, and Brock can't really look at him for fear of throwing up, but the Doc is seemingly oblivious, hands fumbling on a small stack of ones.
"C'mon Brock, have some fun, it's like a goddamn funeral in here with you," he tells his bodyguard, but Brock just ignores him, because
a) the Doc is drunk
b) Brock is kind of drunk
and c) it's the anniversary of the day he met her and somehow he can't bear to be unfaithful, just this one day, as if even looking at someone else will make her vanish like she was never there.
3. Genesis by Justice
Molotov drives too fast, the neon of Tokyo streaming past at an alarming speed. Brock smokes one of her cigarettes next to her, eyes glancing occasionally at his newly mended leg, wrapped tightly and professionally in gauze that she keeps in her trunk.
The windows are down, her hair streams into the nighttime, and he can't really read her expression, only the whiteness of her knuckles on the steering wheel and the way she chews her lip when she gazes at the bandage. Brock is vaguely reminded of his mother.
4. Sleeping In by The Postal Service
More often than she'll ever admit, she dreams of him. Usually, it's something menial, like waking up in her flat in Moscow to find him there, drinking coffee that's probably laced with vodka, polishing his knife or something equally domestic. Other times, he's waiting for her, in a restaurant or her home or outside the clothing store, the passenger door to his car already open, with him inside, holding out his hand.
When she wakes up from these dreams, she always rolls over, grasping at the remains of the fast-fading visions of them together. The idea persists, even in waking, however: always, he is waiting for her in some capacity.
5. Excuse Me Mr. by No Doubt
California is, by her Siberian-born standards, much too hot for any kind of rigorous activity, which is what she tells Samson when she lays down beside him on the the hotel bed, curling her hand into a relaxed fist, placing it upon his chest. Somehow, this is what stops him from protest; Brock shifts slightly, his arm sliding around her.
The L.A. traffic roars outside the window but she suddenly cannot hear it, already drifting to sleep.
6. Bluebells by Patrick Wolf
Too often her face is in his nightmares, his least favorite being the day he killed her father: Molotov is young, her face not yet made to its battle-hardened angles, and she drops to her knees, green eyes (eyes, plural) shimmering immediately with hot tears, the snow falling around her.
The moon had been full that night, it hadn't been difficult to lie in wait in the vast dark forests that Russia was famous for, and trigger explosives, running the car off the road. Brock had taken his time, seeing Hunter's face in his mind as he did it, only to be shaken awake when he hears her start to choke back sobs, hands that suddenly look frail and small trembling as they clutch at the bloodied uniform of her father.
"I hate you," she had spat at him, and it's this that haunts him.
The hurt and betrayal in her eyes was unfathomable.
7. Paris 2004 by Peter Bjorn & John
Brock wakes up in a Parisian hospital, hooked up to IVs with French nurses scuttling around the room, talking in hushed whispers about the stab wounds the American spy has recieved. On his lap is a star-shaped earring and a pack of his brand of cigarettes.
8. My Heart Is An Apple by The Arcade Fire
Molotov shoots to kill, stabs to kill and fights to kill, and Brock puts up a good fight but not good enough, for he's soon on the ground, pinned there, actually, with one of her knives all the way through his upper arm. She straddles him, slipping on a pair of brass knuckles, and when she slams her fist into his face, there's the dull crunch of his nose breaking, his jaw probably fractured, his eyes definitely going to be black. It feels like an eternity before something tells her to stop, and she stands up. Her brain is incapable of forming words; he's incapable of speaking because she's made his face a bloodied mess. Blue eyes gaze up at her, not hurt or accusing or angry, and she suddenly realizes he believes he deserved it.
Molotov runs.
9. We Were Born The Mutants Again With Leafling by Of Montreal
The next time, when he takes her eye, it's partially because they looked dead already from the grief.
At least the loss of half her sight was enough to bring a spark back to those (that, he corrects himself, 'that' implying singular) green eyes.
Even if it does mean she refuses to speak to him for six more years.
10. This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) by The Talking Heads
When the red Charger pulls up in front of Brock's usual camping spot, Molotov stands up, eyebrows raised, barely allowing herself to believe it really is him, even though she can hear Led Zeppelin blaring from the car and she's memorized his license plate.
It's not until they stand, face to face, him holding the note she had left in his shirt pocket months ago, that she allows herself to feel anything at all.
When he envelops her in his arms and she smells cigarette smoke , soap and motor oil, she closes her eyes, feeling for the first time in years that she has come home.