First to Fall (Dr. Horrible, PG)
Disclaimer: I don't own Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.
A/N: Yes, too much angst. Might not be that great writing but now that Going Against the Grain is finished I need something to do!
It was her birthday today.
He knew because, months that seemed like decades ago, he had looked her up online. He had gotten a copy of her birth certificate, her phone number and address, her social security number….
It wasn’t creepy! Really! He just wanted to make sure she was safe. And anyway, it wasn’t like he followed her home… except that one time. But that didn’t count-he was making sure Captain Cheesy didn’t try anything weird. He was keeping an eye on his nemesis, that’s all. He had come with his stun rays, just in case. Not that he ever got to use them when it counted.
But, her birthday. Right.
He got her some flowers. Took them to her grave. That sort of thing. Normal, normal. Plus a cup of frozen yogurt-in a paper cup, not its usual Styrofoam. Biodegradable. She’d have liked that.
He brought some for himself too, and he spent the better part of an hour sitting by the tombstone, spooning-er, sporking-frozen yogurt into his mouth. He tried to say something to the bare patch of ground, still devoid of any grass or weeds. But he didn’t find the right words, he never had, so he just stayed cross-legged, stuffing his face in silence.
The League was probably watching him. He didn’t care anymore. She was dead; what more did they want from him?
Hammer wasn’t there. It’s not like the superhero’d have even cared enough to find out her birthday. Or maybe he had seen Horrible at the grave and was scared off. Good. Horrible knew it was selfish but he wanted the day all to himself, to mourn her. And maybe he was mourning himself, too; he knew he could never be the same as he had been before. But it was still about Penny. It had always been.
He looked at the tombstone and sighed. It wasn’t her fault. Nothing was her fault. She was the only one of the three of them-her, him, and Hammer-who was completely innocent. She was also the only one to die.
But, as he looked at the cemetery, he found himself somehow morbidly glad for it. She was the only one to die. But she was also the only one who never knew. She was naïve to the last. So maybe it was a good thing she had left, for her own sake.
Because he knew that, if she was still alive, she’d be like him. And like Hammer. And like the rest of the world. Broken.
He left the rest of the yogurt there to melt.
A/N: Yes, too much angst. Might not be that great writing but now that Going Against the Grain is finished I need something to do!
It was her birthday today.
He knew because, months that seemed like decades ago, he had looked her up online. He had gotten a copy of her birth certificate, her phone number and address, her social security number….
It wasn’t creepy! Really! He just wanted to make sure she was safe. And anyway, it wasn’t like he followed her home… except that one time. But that didn’t count-he was making sure Captain Cheesy didn’t try anything weird. He was keeping an eye on his nemesis, that’s all. He had come with his stun rays, just in case. Not that he ever got to use them when it counted.
But, her birthday. Right.
He got her some flowers. Took them to her grave. That sort of thing. Normal, normal. Plus a cup of frozen yogurt-in a paper cup, not its usual Styrofoam. Biodegradable. She’d have liked that.
He brought some for himself too, and he spent the better part of an hour sitting by the tombstone, spooning-er, sporking-frozen yogurt into his mouth. He tried to say something to the bare patch of ground, still devoid of any grass or weeds. But he didn’t find the right words, he never had, so he just stayed cross-legged, stuffing his face in silence.
The League was probably watching him. He didn’t care anymore. She was dead; what more did they want from him?
Hammer wasn’t there. It’s not like the superhero’d have even cared enough to find out her birthday. Or maybe he had seen Horrible at the grave and was scared off. Good. Horrible knew it was selfish but he wanted the day all to himself, to mourn her. And maybe he was mourning himself, too; he knew he could never be the same as he had been before. But it was still about Penny. It had always been.
He looked at the tombstone and sighed. It wasn’t her fault. Nothing was her fault. She was the only one of the three of them-her, him, and Hammer-who was completely innocent. She was also the only one to die.
But, as he looked at the cemetery, he found himself somehow morbidly glad for it. She was the only one to die. But she was also the only one who never knew. She was naïve to the last. So maybe it was a good thing she had left, for her own sake.
Because he knew that, if she was still alive, she’d be like him. And like Hammer. And like the rest of the world. Broken.
He left the rest of the yogurt there to melt.