Fic: Some Corner of a Foreign Field (1/1) (Spoiler for 3.13)
SPOILER! WARNING FOR SPOILER FOR 3.13
Title: Some Corner of a Foreign Field
Author: blankversesfic
Pairing: none
Characters: Jess, Corbett
Rating:PG-13
WARNING: SPOILER for 3.13 "Ghostfacers"
It was warm, that was the first thing he noticed.
The good kind of warm, the kind of warmth that spreads over your skin in the afternoon when you’ve curled up in a sliver of sunshine for a nap. It had been cold before, a biting into your bone marrow cold, but that was over now. Now it was nothing but this summertime, honeyed warmth, and if for that and nothing else he was grateful.
It was still here, too, but a kind of peaceful stillness, not the lonely kind. There was a sound, almost a humming, that ran though the quiet, the kind of live, electric sound that he associated with the best part of his childhood, long summers spent on his grandparents' farm in Western Maryland. Those long stretches of days where there wasn’t any homework to do, and no bullies to avoid, and no parents fighting in hushed voices when they thought he couldn’t hear. Nothing but him, and the grass and the trees and the old horses that his grandmother bought dirt cheap from the riding stable up the road after they’d reached the end of their tenure as lesson horses. He remembered mornings spent brushing them and carrying out their sweet-smelling feed to the fields where they spent the summer months, the morning hot but not nearly as humid as it would be at midday.
When he opened his eyes, he thought for a moment that he was back there, that he had somehow dreamed the last year of his life. That he had never left college, that he was still convinced that his parents would stay together, that his grandmother was still alive and living on the farm.
He was on the hill -- Robin’s Hill, he remembered after a moment - that overlooked the old farmhouse. Not quite sure what was going on, he picked himself up off the ground and shook himself off, freshly mown grass falling from his jeans and his t-shirt. The ground was warm under his bare feet, the grass spongy and softer than he had ever felt before, and he laughed a little, did a quick two-step on his way down the hill.
It wasn’t until he was half-way there that he saw the figure on the porch, sitting in one of the rocking chairs, wearing a thin white cotton dress. There was a pitcher of lemonade on the low wicker table next to her. She had one glass in her hand and another was still on the tray. He hesitated, and taking that for a sign that he had seen her, the figure raised her hand, a quick wave of greeting, before taking a sip from her glass.
He waved back and kept moving forward, although he was sure that he didn’t know her. But he hadn’t been here in close to two years, and who knew who owned the house now? At least she wasn’t freaking out about him on the property, and that was something good.
“Hi there,” she called out when he came within easy speaking distance. “You must be Alan.”
He smiled, blushing a little. “Most people call me Corbett,” he said, coming to a stop at the foot of the stairs.”
“Okay then. Corbett it is,” she said, smiling back at him. “Come on up here and sit with me for a while, would you?”
“Um, sure.”
A little uncertainty now, but the peace of the day, and the rightness of everything else, made him comfortable enough to climb the steps and plop down into the rocking chair on the other side of the table. The woman - not much more than a girl, really, and probably only a year or two older than he was - leaned over and poured the lemonade into the second glass. “Have some?”
“Yeah, thanks.” He took a sip, and it tasted just like his grandmother’s had. “It’s good.”
“I should hope so. I made it myself.”
“Then it’s great,” he replied, and then smiled at each other.
They sat together for a while, each rocking easily in their chairs. From time to time he felt like he should say something, ask her something. There was something important to ask her, he just wasn’t sure yet what it was. But he knew that it would come to him in time, so he was content to sit back for a while and let it work itself free.
Eventually the girl poured herself another glass or lemonade, and as though it were a signal he began to talk.
“You know, I remember - I remember that something bad happened. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know why I can’t remember, but it must be pretty bad if I can’t, right? I mean -" he said, shifting in his seat - “it’s got to be pretty bad if I repressed it.”
“It was,” she said, her voice still quiet, gentle.
“I wasn’t here before, I don’t think. I was somewhere else, somewhere - somewhere really cold.”
“You were.”
Corbett looked down at his hands. “It was a bad place.”
“It was a very bad place, Corbett, and I’m glad you’re not there any more.”
He fell silent again, not certain what to ask. Instead he just raised his eyes back up to the hill, felt the solidity of it even though it couldn’t be there - he couldn’t be there, this wasn’t where he had been yesterday.
“Something happened to me, didn’t it?”
It took the girl a moment to respond. “Yes.”
“It was -" a flash, and he saw again the tall man who had been tied to a chair, his face washed with horror, and for a second he felt something sharp and cold against press against his skin. He shivered, one hand moving involuntarily to the back of his neck.
The girl smiled sadly. “You were very brave.”
Corbett laughed. “I’ve never been brave.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. What you did -- what you did for the ones that you loved - that was brave.”
He saw it all then, remembered for a moment what it had felt like to die, but the sensation passed. He gasped, and turned wide eyes towards the girl.
“It goes away,” she said, reaching out a hand to touch his arm gently. “Trust me, after a little while you won’t remember the pain at all.”
“I - he - the thing, it - it killed me -"
“It did.”
“And then I - I was stuck, it was like he kept killing me, over and over again and there was no where to go, no way to get out of it, and that was all it was going to be, dying over and over again forever, and then -"
He took a moment, and she let him. A deep breath, another sip of the lemonade. “And then Ed was there, and it was better.”
“He gave you an anchor,” she said, eyes not focused on him now, but looking off, as though fixed on something only she could see. “Something to hold onto, to pull you back.”
“He did. He - he saved me.”
“And then you saved them.”
He nodded, remembering, now - the other ghost had been so strong, but he had somehow known what to do. “I - I saved them.”
“Yes, you did.” And she stood up, moving to stand in front of him. He looked up at her wonderingly as she leaned down, kissed his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice deep and rough. “Thank you for saving them, Corbett, for saving all of them.”
When she leaned back, it looked for a second as though she had tears in her eyes, but it could have just been the sun.
“What do I do now?”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “Just - just rest here for a bit, get your sense of yourself together, and strong. You’ll need it.” A frown flickered across her face. “There’s a storm coming, and for those of us who love someone, who have someone left down there who we need to protect, it’s going to be hard.”
She watched him for a moment, her gaze searching, and he felt something inside him stir. He had saved them once, he had felt that - that joy, of knowing that the ones that he loved - the one that he loved, would be safe after he had done what he had to do. He had never thought that he had it in him. He sat up a little straighter.
“I’ll be ready.”
She smiled, and it was a radiant thing, a joyful thing. “Good.”
There seemed to be nothing more to say, and after a moment she turned and made her way back down the steps. He watched her go, tall and lean in her white cotton dress, blonde hair gleaming in the sun as she picked her way back up the hill. She paused at the top, a distant figure now, and he raised a hand to her in farewell. She waved back, and a moment later she was gone.
Corbett leaned over and poured himself another glass of lemonade, took a sip and settled back in his chair to wait.
Title: Some Corner of a Foreign Field
Author: blankversesfic
Pairing: none
Characters: Jess, Corbett
Rating:PG-13
WARNING: SPOILER for 3.13 "Ghostfacers"
It was warm, that was the first thing he noticed.
The good kind of warm, the kind of warmth that spreads over your skin in the afternoon when you’ve curled up in a sliver of sunshine for a nap. It had been cold before, a biting into your bone marrow cold, but that was over now. Now it was nothing but this summertime, honeyed warmth, and if for that and nothing else he was grateful.
It was still here, too, but a kind of peaceful stillness, not the lonely kind. There was a sound, almost a humming, that ran though the quiet, the kind of live, electric sound that he associated with the best part of his childhood, long summers spent on his grandparents' farm in Western Maryland. Those long stretches of days where there wasn’t any homework to do, and no bullies to avoid, and no parents fighting in hushed voices when they thought he couldn’t hear. Nothing but him, and the grass and the trees and the old horses that his grandmother bought dirt cheap from the riding stable up the road after they’d reached the end of their tenure as lesson horses. He remembered mornings spent brushing them and carrying out their sweet-smelling feed to the fields where they spent the summer months, the morning hot but not nearly as humid as it would be at midday.
When he opened his eyes, he thought for a moment that he was back there, that he had somehow dreamed the last year of his life. That he had never left college, that he was still convinced that his parents would stay together, that his grandmother was still alive and living on the farm.
He was on the hill -- Robin’s Hill, he remembered after a moment - that overlooked the old farmhouse. Not quite sure what was going on, he picked himself up off the ground and shook himself off, freshly mown grass falling from his jeans and his t-shirt. The ground was warm under his bare feet, the grass spongy and softer than he had ever felt before, and he laughed a little, did a quick two-step on his way down the hill.
It wasn’t until he was half-way there that he saw the figure on the porch, sitting in one of the rocking chairs, wearing a thin white cotton dress. There was a pitcher of lemonade on the low wicker table next to her. She had one glass in her hand and another was still on the tray. He hesitated, and taking that for a sign that he had seen her, the figure raised her hand, a quick wave of greeting, before taking a sip from her glass.
He waved back and kept moving forward, although he was sure that he didn’t know her. But he hadn’t been here in close to two years, and who knew who owned the house now? At least she wasn’t freaking out about him on the property, and that was something good.
“Hi there,” she called out when he came within easy speaking distance. “You must be Alan.”
He smiled, blushing a little. “Most people call me Corbett,” he said, coming to a stop at the foot of the stairs.”
“Okay then. Corbett it is,” she said, smiling back at him. “Come on up here and sit with me for a while, would you?”
“Um, sure.”
A little uncertainty now, but the peace of the day, and the rightness of everything else, made him comfortable enough to climb the steps and plop down into the rocking chair on the other side of the table. The woman - not much more than a girl, really, and probably only a year or two older than he was - leaned over and poured the lemonade into the second glass. “Have some?”
“Yeah, thanks.” He took a sip, and it tasted just like his grandmother’s had. “It’s good.”
“I should hope so. I made it myself.”
“Then it’s great,” he replied, and then smiled at each other.
They sat together for a while, each rocking easily in their chairs. From time to time he felt like he should say something, ask her something. There was something important to ask her, he just wasn’t sure yet what it was. But he knew that it would come to him in time, so he was content to sit back for a while and let it work itself free.
Eventually the girl poured herself another glass or lemonade, and as though it were a signal he began to talk.
“You know, I remember - I remember that something bad happened. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know why I can’t remember, but it must be pretty bad if I can’t, right? I mean -" he said, shifting in his seat - “it’s got to be pretty bad if I repressed it.”
“It was,” she said, her voice still quiet, gentle.
“I wasn’t here before, I don’t think. I was somewhere else, somewhere - somewhere really cold.”
“You were.”
Corbett looked down at his hands. “It was a bad place.”
“It was a very bad place, Corbett, and I’m glad you’re not there any more.”
He fell silent again, not certain what to ask. Instead he just raised his eyes back up to the hill, felt the solidity of it even though it couldn’t be there - he couldn’t be there, this wasn’t where he had been yesterday.
“Something happened to me, didn’t it?”
It took the girl a moment to respond. “Yes.”
“It was -" a flash, and he saw again the tall man who had been tied to a chair, his face washed with horror, and for a second he felt something sharp and cold against press against his skin. He shivered, one hand moving involuntarily to the back of his neck.
The girl smiled sadly. “You were very brave.”
Corbett laughed. “I’ve never been brave.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. What you did -- what you did for the ones that you loved - that was brave.”
He saw it all then, remembered for a moment what it had felt like to die, but the sensation passed. He gasped, and turned wide eyes towards the girl.
“It goes away,” she said, reaching out a hand to touch his arm gently. “Trust me, after a little while you won’t remember the pain at all.”
“I - he - the thing, it - it killed me -"
“It did.”
“And then I - I was stuck, it was like he kept killing me, over and over again and there was no where to go, no way to get out of it, and that was all it was going to be, dying over and over again forever, and then -"
He took a moment, and she let him. A deep breath, another sip of the lemonade. “And then Ed was there, and it was better.”
“He gave you an anchor,” she said, eyes not focused on him now, but looking off, as though fixed on something only she could see. “Something to hold onto, to pull you back.”
“He did. He - he saved me.”
“And then you saved them.”
He nodded, remembering, now - the other ghost had been so strong, but he had somehow known what to do. “I - I saved them.”
“Yes, you did.” And she stood up, moving to stand in front of him. He looked up at her wonderingly as she leaned down, kissed his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice deep and rough. “Thank you for saving them, Corbett, for saving all of them.”
When she leaned back, it looked for a second as though she had tears in her eyes, but it could have just been the sun.
“What do I do now?”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “Just - just rest here for a bit, get your sense of yourself together, and strong. You’ll need it.” A frown flickered across her face. “There’s a storm coming, and for those of us who love someone, who have someone left down there who we need to protect, it’s going to be hard.”
She watched him for a moment, her gaze searching, and he felt something inside him stir. He had saved them once, he had felt that - that joy, of knowing that the ones that he loved - the one that he loved, would be safe after he had done what he had to do. He had never thought that he had it in him. He sat up a little straighter.
“I’ll be ready.”
She smiled, and it was a radiant thing, a joyful thing. “Good.”
There seemed to be nothing more to say, and after a moment she turned and made her way back down the steps. He watched her go, tall and lean in her white cotton dress, blonde hair gleaming in the sun as she picked her way back up the hill. She paused at the top, a distant figure now, and he raised a hand to her in farewell. She waved back, and a moment later she was gone.
Corbett leaned over and poured himself another glass of lemonade, took a sip and settled back in his chair to wait.