(no subject)
Date: Late Winter 2005/Early Winter 2006
Characters: Candice Wilmer, Lance Alvers
Summary: Running into an old acquaintance, Candice decides to take some time out of her busy schedule to catch up. Things don't go as planned.
Status: Complete
Private
She didn't have an assignment but Thompson did say she had a lot to learn. Study be observation, he'd told her on the phone and hung up before she could complain about being rung up at eight thirty in the morning and sent off to waste her time. If he hadn't phrased it the way he had, she wouldn't even have been curious enough to get dressed and get a move on. As it was, she was a slave to the man's whims, walking down the street in three inch heels and and Italian suit she'd never actually bought.
New York was home, end of story. Busy streets and noisy traffic and rudeness, it was home to her and nothing could change that; not even the man she'd left behind in Texas. Resolved not to think about him more than necessary, she allowed herself to take in the slight details, the sea of faces. For a while after the bomb, everyone used to look like Jimmy and for a while after that, everyone used to look like Lance Alvers, but she was above hallucinating, wasn't she?
If she was, then why did she see Lance Alvers not fifty feet away, alive and not even limping? Her hallucinations used to be faithful to the last image she'd had of him.
Fuck.. me. That's really him.
Characters: Candice Wilmer, Lance Alvers
Summary: Running into an old acquaintance, Candice decides to take some time out of her busy schedule to catch up. Things don't go as planned.
Status: Complete
Private
She didn't have an assignment but Thompson did say she had a lot to learn. Study be observation, he'd told her on the phone and hung up before she could complain about being rung up at eight thirty in the morning and sent off to waste her time. If he hadn't phrased it the way he had, she wouldn't even have been curious enough to get dressed and get a move on. As it was, she was a slave to the man's whims, walking down the street in three inch heels and and Italian suit she'd never actually bought.
New York was home, end of story. Busy streets and noisy traffic and rudeness, it was home to her and nothing could change that; not even the man she'd left behind in Texas. Resolved not to think about him more than necessary, she allowed herself to take in the slight details, the sea of faces. For a while after the bomb, everyone used to look like Jimmy and for a while after that, everyone used to look like Lance Alvers, but she was above hallucinating, wasn't she?
If she was, then why did she see Lance Alvers not fifty feet away, alive and not even limping? Her hallucinations used to be faithful to the last image she'd had of him.
Fuck.. me. That's really him.