Ficlet: Hint
Title: Hint
Fandom: DWP
Words: 483 words
Notes: Based on the three word prompt from punky_96 which was: Three words, six fingers, and nine difficult turning points.
All it took was the whispering of three words, softly hanging in the air, for everything to change. An unbidden confession meant for no one to ever hear or remember, instead spilled outwards like a pool of hot coffee, staining everything within reach and leaving an indelible mark. More than one pair of eyes widened in shock even as the gates fell forward and the bland expression reappeared.
Those same words echoed and bounced within the compartment that was everything not related to Work. These days, she, rarely if ever, thought much beyond work -- everything and all her thoughts were consumed by Work and more importantly -- Her. She had accepted this fate and had stopped trying to justify it to the few that still challenged her dedication. Justifications were beginning to sound like excuses and those served no purpose beyond providing more targets for scorn.
It would be a very long time before thought would be given to the very few occasions where they had actually touched. Each time it was both electric and scintillating all in one sharp moment. Hindsight would prove a much better memory than any other remembrance each could have mentioned. Occasions where a look proved more incendiary than an match lit flame, it was always a careful dance across wide open spaces; more than enough to exchange nods in propriety but not so far as to miss those minute changes in expression that spoke even more than the few words uttered.
The turning points were rarely recognized of their importance until long after memories had faded, and the guard changed again and again once more. Even now, there might have been a bit of doubt as to the significance (or the lack thereof) of that runaway taxi, or whether it was even important at all, when the truth of the decision had already been known before that morning.
She had turned and walked away, and the sting of abandonment had not been assuaged until years later with the truth that had not presented itself in Paris. She had been been in every corner of her mind except for the small box that was ‘not-Work.’ It had taken more than a year before she could even say Her name without the accompanying wince.
Much to their mutual dismay, it would be some years before they met again. This time, much closer to equals (in power and influence) and their age disparity was no longer an object of scorn; cradle-robbing was much more difficult to pin upon someone in their mid-thirties than that of a fresh-faced assistant. With some amusement, their orbits intersected again without the trepidation that had first coloured their working relationship. Even the gossip-mongers were loath to point out the beginnings of this relationship -- retirement had not meant the waning of influence, nor was it solely held by one half of the pair.
Fandom: DWP
Words: 483 words
Notes: Based on the three word prompt from punky_96 which was: Three words, six fingers, and nine difficult turning points.
All it took was the whispering of three words, softly hanging in the air, for everything to change. An unbidden confession meant for no one to ever hear or remember, instead spilled outwards like a pool of hot coffee, staining everything within reach and leaving an indelible mark. More than one pair of eyes widened in shock even as the gates fell forward and the bland expression reappeared.
Those same words echoed and bounced within the compartment that was everything not related to Work. These days, she, rarely if ever, thought much beyond work -- everything and all her thoughts were consumed by Work and more importantly -- Her. She had accepted this fate and had stopped trying to justify it to the few that still challenged her dedication. Justifications were beginning to sound like excuses and those served no purpose beyond providing more targets for scorn.
It would be a very long time before thought would be given to the very few occasions where they had actually touched. Each time it was both electric and scintillating all in one sharp moment. Hindsight would prove a much better memory than any other remembrance each could have mentioned. Occasions where a look proved more incendiary than an match lit flame, it was always a careful dance across wide open spaces; more than enough to exchange nods in propriety but not so far as to miss those minute changes in expression that spoke even more than the few words uttered.
The turning points were rarely recognized of their importance until long after memories had faded, and the guard changed again and again once more. Even now, there might have been a bit of doubt as to the significance (or the lack thereof) of that runaway taxi, or whether it was even important at all, when the truth of the decision had already been known before that morning.
She had turned and walked away, and the sting of abandonment had not been assuaged until years later with the truth that had not presented itself in Paris. She had been been in every corner of her mind except for the small box that was ‘not-Work.’ It had taken more than a year before she could even say Her name without the accompanying wince.
Much to their mutual dismay, it would be some years before they met again. This time, much closer to equals (in power and influence) and their age disparity was no longer an object of scorn; cradle-robbing was much more difficult to pin upon someone in their mid-thirties than that of a fresh-faced assistant. With some amusement, their orbits intersected again without the trepidation that had first coloured their working relationship. Even the gossip-mongers were loath to point out the beginnings of this relationship -- retirement had not meant the waning of influence, nor was it solely held by one half of the pair.