Being Human fic: Hopeful Travellers
Title: Hopeful Tavellers
Fandom: Being Human
Characters: Alex/Hal/Tom
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1000
Trope Bingo Square: Road Trip
Continuing my Trope Bingo forays into different fandoms. This is already on the A03 but I thought I might as well have a copy here - just in case!
*
Hopeful Travellers
The kitchen table was covered by a large map anchored with a trio of glasses and a pottery jug filled with Sangria. A simple app would have worked with less fuss but both Hal and Tom were old-fashioned in this respect and Alex didn’t care how they plotted their route as long as a route was plotted and it led off Barry Island.
They were going on holiday. That’s what you did when you were alive. Of course, there was work to be sorted, and planning for the future, and ensuring that the always intermittent boiler at Honolulu Heights was serviced in time for winter, but all these could wait.
A holiday could not.
Alex had never really had a holiday that did not involve looking after her brothers, and while Tom and McNair had led an itinerant lifestyle it was not one based on the concept of having fun. Alex had been abroad exactly twice on school trips to France and to Germany. Tom had never been abroad. That left Hal. Hal had done a lot of travelling over his five hundred years but Hal’s past was one of those subjects that were generally best avoided.
For reasons such as this.
“God Almighty, Hal, is there any place in Europe where you haven’t killed someone?” Alex threw up her hands in frustration.
“Hyperbole renders your reasoning redundant,” countered Hal, avoiding her gaze by leaning closer over the map. A flush across the small portion of cheek left visible showed that the words had stung.
“It’s not hyperbole when you’ve vetoed the last six towns I suggested. No one could be that hungry. You must have been killing for fun.”
“That’s not fair, Alex, Hal couldn’t help being a vampire,” said Tom, reproachfully. He didn’t like it when they argued.
“He didn’t have to be so bloody good at it though,” snapped Alex and then giggled as the irony of her phrasing hit her. Hal laughed too, a trifle uneasily, and was joined a moment later by Tom. These were the things that both bound them together and separated them. They had been arguing a lot recently.
Alex wondered if she would ever come to terms with Hal’s past. On rare analytical moments she suspected that Hal would neither accept nor want her understanding. That did not stop her trying. It was easier with Tom. He had been a killer, too. But his killing was motivated by instinct, not cruelty. Tom and Hal understood each other. She was the outsider. Neither knew how it felt to be dead.
“I think here and here and here are all good,” said Hal, tracing a somewhat circuitous route with his finger. Alex obligingly wrote the names down. They were going on a ferry - Tom and Hal shared a boyish enthusiasm for boats - and driving across France and down into Spain with the ultimate aim of reaching Benidorm. McNair had once been on holiday there and it had been Tom’s secret and treasured ambition to recreate his dad’s trip as described through bedtime stories. Benidorm! But neither Alex nor Hal had the heart to tread on Tom’s childhood dream.
Hal would be right at home amongst the pensioners and would probably strike up a conversation with a fellow Radio 4 addict within minutes of arrival. Alex, at least, would be sure to get a nice tan. While she hadn’t been dead for long it had been time enough to desperately miss taste, smell and touch. Walking through objects and a bit of telekinesis was not much compensation for the loss of chocolate. Alex still couldn’t bite into a biscuit without consciously relishing the crumbling texture against her tongue. Now she wanted to paddle barefoot in the Mediterranean Sea and feel the warmth of the sun on her back. And to buy a nice bikini. She’d had enough of wearing the same outfit all the time.
It was great to be alive.
She slung her arms around Tom and Hal and embraced them both. They were an unlikely trio but a trio they were. She wanted to rub suncream into the naked skin of their backs and be taken by them and to watch them take each other. She wanted to fall asleep wrapped in two sets of arms and dream only of the future.
Hal watched her with indulgence. “You’ll be able to flirt with waiters and drink cocktails.”
“I can do that here,” Alex replied. “Although the fruit in the Sangria will probably be better. Those lemons I cut up felt as hard and dry as walnuts,” She shivered in delicious anticipation. “Can’t you just imagine it? Lovely juicy lemons and oranges all ripe and ready to eat.”
Hal and Tom obediently tried to imagine. Alex watched their faces with their matching unconvincing expressions of pleasure. Yes, it was great to be alive. But not for the first time she wondered whether being human felt a poor second-best to her companions with their senses muffled and slow and painfully reduced.
“Fantastic!” said Hal, with overdone enthusiasm.
“Great!” echoed Tom, bouncing just a little too much.
Alex smiled at their efforts.
“Trust me,” she said. “You two get us to Benidorm and I will make sure we have a good time.”
They turned once more to the maps. Hal visibly relaxed as he totted up mileages and possible stopping places, marking each place with a matchstick. The second half of their route was more direct. Hal seemed to have killed fewer people in Spain. Or maybe he’d killed the same number but in fewer locations. Tom sipped his tea and looked happy. Alex flicked through TripAdvisor searching for hotels that would allow three adults to share a room.
Hal wanted to visit museums. Tom would appreciate the waterpark. She wanted to go clubbing. They would all enjoy the beach and the markets and the tapas bars. They would argue. They would make up.
Nothing was ever perfect. They would travel hopefully. That was enough.
*