The Changes Time Brings (Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade).
Title: The Changes Time Brings.
Fandom: Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade.
Author Note: I write fic for this show for an audience of... me ;P Clearing out fic I wrote on my phone. 1,394 words.
--
The sun begins to set as they walk out of the theatre, streaking the sky with reds and oranges and purples, burning the edges of the clouds that still linger. It's beautiful and she takes a minute to admire it, imprints the image in her mind and wishes for a camera. She's gained an appreciation for the simple things in life over the last few months, but then she suspects that nearly dying at the hands of an conniving ex-boyfriend would do that to anyone.
Slade stops when he realises she's no longer beside him, turning to look at her, waiting patiently while she stares up at the sky. She appreciates him more than she did before too, appreciates his loyalty and trustworthiness, the way he puts her well-being ahead of his own and never fails to watch out for her.
She sighs and reluctantly steps out of the moment, catches up to him in a few steps; shifts closer as they begin to walk and waits for him to take her hand in his. He does and she thinks that this, this is what she's been wanting, the comfort of touch, of connection, of... whatever it is that they're slowly becoming. She thinks that maybe they've been becoming this the entire time they've known each other.
"Want to get a drink?" he suggests, his voice quiet and his thumb brushing gently across her skin, his hand warm in her own. "It's early yet."
She nods then shakes her head. She doesn't want the evening to be over but she's not in the mood for the bar. She's unwilling to be around so many people, unwilling to let the noise of other people's idle conversations interrupt the peaceful quiet that seems to have settled over them.
"Is that a yes or a no?" he asks, gentle amusement in his voice.
"Both," she says, exhaling on a sigh. "I have wine back at the flat."
He nods, changes direction, and they wander along the streets, the sound of the night time traffic somehow muted. His hand in hers is an anchor, keeping her here when her mind tries to take her away, back to the events of a few months ago, when she was so wrong about someone else she thought she could trust. She knows she isn't wrong about Slade, that he really is the man she thinks he is, but Alex's betrayal left her uncertain of everything, froze her in more ways than the obvious, and sometimes she thinks that the cold lives on inside her.
"You're quiet," Slade says softly, his voice still loud in the silence that lingers between them. "Everything all right?"
"I'm just thinking," she says, equally softly. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good company tonight."
She hasn't been good company for weeks, if not months, but she doesn't want to go there. After the first week, where she secluded herself away from everything, including him, they went back to spending a lot of time together, but it still feels as though their every interaction is tainted by the ice that seems to have settled in her heart.
"You're always good company," he says lightly, turns his head to kiss her cheek, and she smiles at him as best she can, the action foreign where it used to feel natural.
This is the legacy Alex has left her with. Even in death he's destroying her life.
They turn left on to her street and she tenses as they approach her flat. Every time they walk back from the theatre it reminds her of the beginning of that nightmare, and she half expects Chapman to leap out from the shadows shouting her name.
Slade glances sideways at her as she speeds up the pace, wanting to get inside, away from the memories, and then stops dead, using their joined hands to bring her to a stop as well. She frowns and tries to get away, confused by his actions, but he wordlessly pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her as they stand on the corner of the street. She relaxes into the contact, twists her fingers into the fabric of his jacket and buries her face in his shoulder.
Faintly, she thinks she can still hear Chapman's voice.
"It's over, Holly," Slade says softly, his voice gentle and his breath warm as it ghosts across her skin. "It's all in the past, and not one we'll be revisiting any time soon."
"I know," she says, the words muffled, and intellectually she does know, just like she knows her fears are irrational. It doesn't take them away.
But the longer they stand there, the easier she finds it to breathe and believe that nothing bad is about to happen, that it's just her and Slade and they're safe, no manipulative ex-boyfriends lurking in the shadows. She wants to kiss him, she's wanted to kiss him for a while, but she's afraid at the same time.
She lifts her head to look at him, thinks of how difficult she's been to deal with over the last few months, how hard he's had to work to reach her through the defences she kept building against her will, and asks, "Why do you even bother with me?"
"What are you talking about?" he frowns, genuinely confused by the question.
"I've been a nightmare to be around," she says, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat and trying to ignore the tears that sting her eyes, threatening to fall. "And you've never given up trying to reach me, even when I kept pushing you away. It can't be because of the machine, we've hardly used it since then."
At first she thought that seeing what happened to Alex, seeing him sucked into the loop of infinity, had scared Slade away from time travel, but he's still happy to use the machine when he's struggling to solve a crime, he's just used it less. It's what she wanted from him, for him to solve the simpler crimes on his own and save the machine for the big ones, but she never expected him to take that on board the way he has.
"Holly," he sighs, and she tenses again, waiting for the blow to come, for him to say something that'll hurt, even though she knows he won't. "I'm never going to give up on you, machine or no machine. You're my best friend."
He's hers too, but what she feels for him goes beyond just friendship. She used to be certain that his feelings for her were the same but she's not sure anymore, and she suspects that if she wants to find out, she'll have to be the one to make the first move; he won't push before he's sure she's ready to go there.
She looks up at him, at the warmth in his eyes, and the ice around her heart seems to thaw a little as she takes a shaky breath. She closes her eyes and kisses him, tentative and uncertain, and he kisses her back without hesitation. She presses closer, slides her arms around his neck and loses herself in the feeling of being wanted by someone she wants in return, the bad memories kept at bay by the new ones they're making together.
She's flushed when the kiss ends, cheeks warm, body wanting, and she smiles at him, half-shy, half-delighted. He smiles back at her and kisses her again, softly, briefly, before he steps back and takes her hands in his. The sky has darkened to deep indigo and navy and there's a chill in the air, but she doesn't feel cold.
"I'm glad you didn't give up on me," she whispers, tightening her grip on his hands. "I didn't want you to."
"I'll never give up on you," he says, and she takes it for the promise he intends it to be, feels the words settle somewhere inside her, dissolving any lingering chill.
They aren't perfect people, no one is, but they are perfect for each other, and as they cross the street, hand in hand, towards her flat, she thinks that no time she could exist in will ever be as good as this, and that the future, while unwritten and uncertain, is looking better and better.
Fandom: Crime Traveller, Holly/Slade.
Author Note: I write fic for this show for an audience of... me ;P Clearing out fic I wrote on my phone. 1,394 words.
--
The sun begins to set as they walk out of the theatre, streaking the sky with reds and oranges and purples, burning the edges of the clouds that still linger. It's beautiful and she takes a minute to admire it, imprints the image in her mind and wishes for a camera. She's gained an appreciation for the simple things in life over the last few months, but then she suspects that nearly dying at the hands of an conniving ex-boyfriend would do that to anyone.
Slade stops when he realises she's no longer beside him, turning to look at her, waiting patiently while she stares up at the sky. She appreciates him more than she did before too, appreciates his loyalty and trustworthiness, the way he puts her well-being ahead of his own and never fails to watch out for her.
She sighs and reluctantly steps out of the moment, catches up to him in a few steps; shifts closer as they begin to walk and waits for him to take her hand in his. He does and she thinks that this, this is what she's been wanting, the comfort of touch, of connection, of... whatever it is that they're slowly becoming. She thinks that maybe they've been becoming this the entire time they've known each other.
"Want to get a drink?" he suggests, his voice quiet and his thumb brushing gently across her skin, his hand warm in her own. "It's early yet."
She nods then shakes her head. She doesn't want the evening to be over but she's not in the mood for the bar. She's unwilling to be around so many people, unwilling to let the noise of other people's idle conversations interrupt the peaceful quiet that seems to have settled over them.
"Is that a yes or a no?" he asks, gentle amusement in his voice.
"Both," she says, exhaling on a sigh. "I have wine back at the flat."
He nods, changes direction, and they wander along the streets, the sound of the night time traffic somehow muted. His hand in hers is an anchor, keeping her here when her mind tries to take her away, back to the events of a few months ago, when she was so wrong about someone else she thought she could trust. She knows she isn't wrong about Slade, that he really is the man she thinks he is, but Alex's betrayal left her uncertain of everything, froze her in more ways than the obvious, and sometimes she thinks that the cold lives on inside her.
"You're quiet," Slade says softly, his voice still loud in the silence that lingers between them. "Everything all right?"
"I'm just thinking," she says, equally softly. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good company tonight."
She hasn't been good company for weeks, if not months, but she doesn't want to go there. After the first week, where she secluded herself away from everything, including him, they went back to spending a lot of time together, but it still feels as though their every interaction is tainted by the ice that seems to have settled in her heart.
"You're always good company," he says lightly, turns his head to kiss her cheek, and she smiles at him as best she can, the action foreign where it used to feel natural.
This is the legacy Alex has left her with. Even in death he's destroying her life.
They turn left on to her street and she tenses as they approach her flat. Every time they walk back from the theatre it reminds her of the beginning of that nightmare, and she half expects Chapman to leap out from the shadows shouting her name.
Slade glances sideways at her as she speeds up the pace, wanting to get inside, away from the memories, and then stops dead, using their joined hands to bring her to a stop as well. She frowns and tries to get away, confused by his actions, but he wordlessly pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her as they stand on the corner of the street. She relaxes into the contact, twists her fingers into the fabric of his jacket and buries her face in his shoulder.
Faintly, she thinks she can still hear Chapman's voice.
"It's over, Holly," Slade says softly, his voice gentle and his breath warm as it ghosts across her skin. "It's all in the past, and not one we'll be revisiting any time soon."
"I know," she says, the words muffled, and intellectually she does know, just like she knows her fears are irrational. It doesn't take them away.
But the longer they stand there, the easier she finds it to breathe and believe that nothing bad is about to happen, that it's just her and Slade and they're safe, no manipulative ex-boyfriends lurking in the shadows. She wants to kiss him, she's wanted to kiss him for a while, but she's afraid at the same time.
She lifts her head to look at him, thinks of how difficult she's been to deal with over the last few months, how hard he's had to work to reach her through the defences she kept building against her will, and asks, "Why do you even bother with me?"
"What are you talking about?" he frowns, genuinely confused by the question.
"I've been a nightmare to be around," she says, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat and trying to ignore the tears that sting her eyes, threatening to fall. "And you've never given up trying to reach me, even when I kept pushing you away. It can't be because of the machine, we've hardly used it since then."
At first she thought that seeing what happened to Alex, seeing him sucked into the loop of infinity, had scared Slade away from time travel, but he's still happy to use the machine when he's struggling to solve a crime, he's just used it less. It's what she wanted from him, for him to solve the simpler crimes on his own and save the machine for the big ones, but she never expected him to take that on board the way he has.
"Holly," he sighs, and she tenses again, waiting for the blow to come, for him to say something that'll hurt, even though she knows he won't. "I'm never going to give up on you, machine or no machine. You're my best friend."
He's hers too, but what she feels for him goes beyond just friendship. She used to be certain that his feelings for her were the same but she's not sure anymore, and she suspects that if she wants to find out, she'll have to be the one to make the first move; he won't push before he's sure she's ready to go there.
She looks up at him, at the warmth in his eyes, and the ice around her heart seems to thaw a little as she takes a shaky breath. She closes her eyes and kisses him, tentative and uncertain, and he kisses her back without hesitation. She presses closer, slides her arms around his neck and loses herself in the feeling of being wanted by someone she wants in return, the bad memories kept at bay by the new ones they're making together.
She's flushed when the kiss ends, cheeks warm, body wanting, and she smiles at him, half-shy, half-delighted. He smiles back at her and kisses her again, softly, briefly, before he steps back and takes her hands in his. The sky has darkened to deep indigo and navy and there's a chill in the air, but she doesn't feel cold.
"I'm glad you didn't give up on me," she whispers, tightening her grip on his hands. "I didn't want you to."
"I'll never give up on you," he says, and she takes it for the promise he intends it to be, feels the words settle somewhere inside her, dissolving any lingering chill.
They aren't perfect people, no one is, but they are perfect for each other, and as they cross the street, hand in hand, towards her flat, she thinks that no time she could exist in will ever be as good as this, and that the future, while unwritten and uncertain, is looking better and better.