Glass angel, for bayloriffic
Title: Glass Angel
Author: alliecat8
Recipient: bayloriffic
Characters: Sawyer, Miles (friendship), surprise guest
Rating: PG
Warnings: Read it all before you get mad at me, ok? :)
Prompt: Cop!Sawyer. Sidways storyline. Hopeful ending.
A/N: This is a sideways version of the sideways verse, since I believe there are an infinite number of them out there. Who knows what exists beyond the church doors? Or in their collective unconscious as they wait for everyone to show up there?
Glass Angel
He stared at the display, not even noticing the kids playing around his legs, their harried parents so intent on last-minute Christmas shopping that they totally weren’t thinking about teaching their children manners…or protecting them from strangers with bad intentions. Still, he stood stock still and stared. Buy the damn thing and get it over with. He squared his shoulders, worked up his courage, and did just that.
“If I’d had you pegged for a sentimental fool I’d never have let you move in here,” Miles opened a beer and stared at him in that half-blank, half-incredulous look he got when he thought that his roommate had lost all his marbles. “What’re you gonna do with it, put it on the back porch so it can soak up the California sun?”
“It’s Christmas!” James said defensively. “You’re supposed to get one.”
Miles snorted. “You’re supposed to get one if you believe in Christmas and all the hoopla that goes with it. I’ll take a pass, thanks.”
“It’s no big deal,” James muttered. He felt like he’d walked into a surprise ambush, by Miles of all people. He’d feel like a fool if he explained that he needed it for a practical reason…or that because back in happier days there’d always been a tree.
“It’s not even real! If you got a real one at least it’d smell good.”
“And take up the whole damn living room.”
Annoyance hijacked Miles’ face. “If you’re determined to have that thing inside, you’re gonna have to take it to your own room.”
He sounded like what James imagined a disgruntled father would sound like. Would they have to fight about this? James wondered, then snorted... At least that was something he didn’t have to worry about, since James could beat him with one hand and one leg tied behind his back. He had hoped Miles would like it, that it would put them both in the holiday spirit somehow. Still, with slumped shoulders he moved the offending object a few feet toward his room. It’d look nice on his bedside table, right by the window where people outside could see it. A side benefit would be that they’d know someone was home for Christmas, so no break-ins. Even though they’d recently moved to a better neighborhood, it was automatic for James to think this way. Once a cop, always a cop.
“Just don’t expect any presents,” Miles said as James left the tree and headed for the kitchen and emerged with two beers. Miles put down his empty bottle and started to reach for one, but James headed down the hallway with them both, muttering, “You got yourself a deal, Mr. Grinch.”
The tree was tiny and scratchy but dense - about the height of the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas but full of sharp needles, and someone had sprayed it with some sort of fragrance that brought to mind the sharp scent of pine and what might be its spicy taste, if one were to take a bite - James shook himself out of his daze, because the thought of eating Christmas trees was too weird for his brain, even lately. The police psychologist he saw said that weird thoughts like these were just his brain’s subconscious way of remembering the past and he needed to let it stop preoccupying him, which was a dangerous mindset to have in the job he was in.
He picked up his badge, next to his key ring on the bedside table. Just for fun he hung it on the tree, where it glowed against the background of spray-on snow. He’d considered turning it in since the day he got it. He didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t earned it. Turning it in would be punishment for the things he’d done…but then on the other hand, hadn’t he been punished enough? When people asked him why he wanted to be a cop he always answered, “There was a time things could’ve gone one way, or another. I picked the other.”
So far, anyway, he’d picked the other. He never walked out the door in the morning with any confidence in his own willpower not to break down, though. He’d never forget that day, that innocent day when she went to deposit a check, and as fate would have it she’d run out of deposit slips and the ATM was down. Too late, she realized why it was down.
Instead of going through the drive-through she’d gone inside and found herself in a scene from a nightmare. Two people lay dead on the floor already, and he could imagine the terror she must have felt when three high-powered guns were turned on her. Later, on the witness stand, the bank patrons who’d been released had reported that the leader of the band of outlaws had told the bank manager coldly, “Give me box 815 or she’s the next to go.”
Even with two dead, the manager seemed to have a hard time believing that a female would shoot another female. The woman in charge of the robbery was an incongruously pretty, harmless-looking brunette they called Maggie. Maybe he’d thought the two would sit down and start talking girl-talk. Maggie would notice girly-things and she’d ask about the engagement ring: she’d want to know his name and what he did for a living and if he was cute. One pretty girl would never blow another pretty girl’s brains out, not in real life.
Maggie proved them wrong.
After the shooting James stood at a crossroads. He could have gone the revenge route and sworn to kill the heartless, freckled-face brunette he saw in court every day. Or he could’ve taken his vendetta in another direction. He was a private detective already and it wasn’t more than a hop, skip, and a jump to the police academy, where he’d become a Distinguished Graduate. He’d never been more than a “C” student in his life until now; now, when there was no one to be proud of him. So, for the time being, he supposed his badge deserved to gleam against his chest, not rest uselessly on his Christmas tree. Carefully, he took it down.
He poured the bag of stuff he’d gotten to decorate with onto the bed and went to work. First he wrapped the tree in twinkling white lights that looked like stars. Then the miniature gold and silver balls that the shopkeeper had insisted no tree would do without. And the dancer ornament with all her Nutcracker cohorts. “Too girly,” he’d muttered at the tree and all its pink accents.
He added Rudolph, Santa and the sleigh, Frosty, and a few candy canes. He stood back and looked at it and was disappointed. It all just looked so…conventional. He needed a garland of some kind. He reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out exactly what he needed. It was time-consuming, but in the end he had a garland of purple condoms, the rolled and tied ends making perfect little rosettes along the way. It took a lot of time and almost more dexterity than he had, but somehow it was symbolic. She’d think it was funny. And maybe a little bit sad. He hadn’t used a condom since she’d been shot. Hadn’t needed one.
And then, the finishing touch. He’d hooked one of the lights to the top of the highest branch, and when he placed the little weightless angel on top the light shone through right where her heart would be. Her dress was long and flowered and floating and her feet were bare, kind of like a flower child angel. She had painted-on blue eyes and long blond hair made of wispy baby chicken feathers, giving her an ethereal look. Using tweezers because they were the safest thing he could think of, he painstakingly peeled off her gold tinsel halo, careful not to pull out her hair. Where the halo had been he carefully glued the top of a daisy. Then he started pulling the petals off of it.“ One for love, two for marriage.” He got marriage at the end. He tried not to let it hurt him. He hoped that in heaven - for the shooting had made him think long and hard about an afterlife - she’d wear a daisy chain halo, for daisies were her favorite flower.
Christmas came and went. The flower wilted, turned brown and began to crumble. He spent New Years sitting on his bed with his memories, getting drunk on champagne. Miles tried to drag him out to some party and James had responded, snidely, “Nobody can see me. I’m the ghost of Christmas past. Nobody can even hear me besides you, you freak.”
“You’re the freak,” was Mile’s response.
James answered, “I don’t kiss strangers at midnight or share beer bottles with hookers, you disease-ridden rotgut-swilling Christmas-hating slope,” ensuring that their squad car and apartment would be a most unpleasant place for weeks to come. Miles left in a huff but James didn’t care; all that was important to him was that he left.
Carefully, he untrimmed the tree. He saved her for the very last, but eventually she had to go back into her bubble wrap, and into the little slot that protected her from banging against the other ornaments. He never would’ve admitted it to Miles, or to anyone, that he fought back a lump in his throat as he did it. She was just a damn Christmas ornament, after all. And yet she wasn’t. “See ya next year, Blondie.” he said, a faint smile breaking through the threatening tears.
Just then the phone rang. It was one of the nurses, calling to tell him that Juliet had moved her arms and legs tonight. (“Almost like she was trying to dance in the New Year,” the woman had chuckled.) That meant that, against all odds, she hadn’t been paralyzed by the stranger’s bullet, but best of all, the nurse told him that she’d said his name. Juliet was waking up. He looked at his Christmas ornament and wondered if she was magic. There was truth inside that little glass body, he was sure of it. And that truth was that Juliet would never leave him just as long as he never lost faith. He picked her up and he sprinted for the door, bringing the little angel’s magic to her namesake, knowing that on this New Year’s Eve they’d been granted one wish - a new beginning.
End
Author: alliecat8
Recipient: bayloriffic
Characters: Sawyer, Miles (friendship), surprise guest
Rating: PG
Warnings: Read it all before you get mad at me, ok? :)
Prompt: Cop!Sawyer. Sidways storyline. Hopeful ending.
A/N: This is a sideways version of the sideways verse, since I believe there are an infinite number of them out there. Who knows what exists beyond the church doors? Or in their collective unconscious as they wait for everyone to show up there?
Glass Angel
He stared at the display, not even noticing the kids playing around his legs, their harried parents so intent on last-minute Christmas shopping that they totally weren’t thinking about teaching their children manners…or protecting them from strangers with bad intentions. Still, he stood stock still and stared. Buy the damn thing and get it over with. He squared his shoulders, worked up his courage, and did just that.
“If I’d had you pegged for a sentimental fool I’d never have let you move in here,” Miles opened a beer and stared at him in that half-blank, half-incredulous look he got when he thought that his roommate had lost all his marbles. “What’re you gonna do with it, put it on the back porch so it can soak up the California sun?”
“It’s Christmas!” James said defensively. “You’re supposed to get one.”
Miles snorted. “You’re supposed to get one if you believe in Christmas and all the hoopla that goes with it. I’ll take a pass, thanks.”
“It’s no big deal,” James muttered. He felt like he’d walked into a surprise ambush, by Miles of all people. He’d feel like a fool if he explained that he needed it for a practical reason…or that because back in happier days there’d always been a tree.
“It’s not even real! If you got a real one at least it’d smell good.”
“And take up the whole damn living room.”
Annoyance hijacked Miles’ face. “If you’re determined to have that thing inside, you’re gonna have to take it to your own room.”
He sounded like what James imagined a disgruntled father would sound like. Would they have to fight about this? James wondered, then snorted... At least that was something he didn’t have to worry about, since James could beat him with one hand and one leg tied behind his back. He had hoped Miles would like it, that it would put them both in the holiday spirit somehow. Still, with slumped shoulders he moved the offending object a few feet toward his room. It’d look nice on his bedside table, right by the window where people outside could see it. A side benefit would be that they’d know someone was home for Christmas, so no break-ins. Even though they’d recently moved to a better neighborhood, it was automatic for James to think this way. Once a cop, always a cop.
“Just don’t expect any presents,” Miles said as James left the tree and headed for the kitchen and emerged with two beers. Miles put down his empty bottle and started to reach for one, but James headed down the hallway with them both, muttering, “You got yourself a deal, Mr. Grinch.”
The tree was tiny and scratchy but dense - about the height of the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas but full of sharp needles, and someone had sprayed it with some sort of fragrance that brought to mind the sharp scent of pine and what might be its spicy taste, if one were to take a bite - James shook himself out of his daze, because the thought of eating Christmas trees was too weird for his brain, even lately. The police psychologist he saw said that weird thoughts like these were just his brain’s subconscious way of remembering the past and he needed to let it stop preoccupying him, which was a dangerous mindset to have in the job he was in.
He picked up his badge, next to his key ring on the bedside table. Just for fun he hung it on the tree, where it glowed against the background of spray-on snow. He’d considered turning it in since the day he got it. He didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t earned it. Turning it in would be punishment for the things he’d done…but then on the other hand, hadn’t he been punished enough? When people asked him why he wanted to be a cop he always answered, “There was a time things could’ve gone one way, or another. I picked the other.”
So far, anyway, he’d picked the other. He never walked out the door in the morning with any confidence in his own willpower not to break down, though. He’d never forget that day, that innocent day when she went to deposit a check, and as fate would have it she’d run out of deposit slips and the ATM was down. Too late, she realized why it was down.
Instead of going through the drive-through she’d gone inside and found herself in a scene from a nightmare. Two people lay dead on the floor already, and he could imagine the terror she must have felt when three high-powered guns were turned on her. Later, on the witness stand, the bank patrons who’d been released had reported that the leader of the band of outlaws had told the bank manager coldly, “Give me box 815 or she’s the next to go.”
Even with two dead, the manager seemed to have a hard time believing that a female would shoot another female. The woman in charge of the robbery was an incongruously pretty, harmless-looking brunette they called Maggie. Maybe he’d thought the two would sit down and start talking girl-talk. Maggie would notice girly-things and she’d ask about the engagement ring: she’d want to know his name and what he did for a living and if he was cute. One pretty girl would never blow another pretty girl’s brains out, not in real life.
Maggie proved them wrong.
After the shooting James stood at a crossroads. He could have gone the revenge route and sworn to kill the heartless, freckled-face brunette he saw in court every day. Or he could’ve taken his vendetta in another direction. He was a private detective already and it wasn’t more than a hop, skip, and a jump to the police academy, where he’d become a Distinguished Graduate. He’d never been more than a “C” student in his life until now; now, when there was no one to be proud of him. So, for the time being, he supposed his badge deserved to gleam against his chest, not rest uselessly on his Christmas tree. Carefully, he took it down.
He poured the bag of stuff he’d gotten to decorate with onto the bed and went to work. First he wrapped the tree in twinkling white lights that looked like stars. Then the miniature gold and silver balls that the shopkeeper had insisted no tree would do without. And the dancer ornament with all her Nutcracker cohorts. “Too girly,” he’d muttered at the tree and all its pink accents.
He added Rudolph, Santa and the sleigh, Frosty, and a few candy canes. He stood back and looked at it and was disappointed. It all just looked so…conventional. He needed a garland of some kind. He reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out exactly what he needed. It was time-consuming, but in the end he had a garland of purple condoms, the rolled and tied ends making perfect little rosettes along the way. It took a lot of time and almost more dexterity than he had, but somehow it was symbolic. She’d think it was funny. And maybe a little bit sad. He hadn’t used a condom since she’d been shot. Hadn’t needed one.
And then, the finishing touch. He’d hooked one of the lights to the top of the highest branch, and when he placed the little weightless angel on top the light shone through right where her heart would be. Her dress was long and flowered and floating and her feet were bare, kind of like a flower child angel. She had painted-on blue eyes and long blond hair made of wispy baby chicken feathers, giving her an ethereal look. Using tweezers because they were the safest thing he could think of, he painstakingly peeled off her gold tinsel halo, careful not to pull out her hair. Where the halo had been he carefully glued the top of a daisy. Then he started pulling the petals off of it.“ One for love, two for marriage.” He got marriage at the end. He tried not to let it hurt him. He hoped that in heaven - for the shooting had made him think long and hard about an afterlife - she’d wear a daisy chain halo, for daisies were her favorite flower.
Christmas came and went. The flower wilted, turned brown and began to crumble. He spent New Years sitting on his bed with his memories, getting drunk on champagne. Miles tried to drag him out to some party and James had responded, snidely, “Nobody can see me. I’m the ghost of Christmas past. Nobody can even hear me besides you, you freak.”
“You’re the freak,” was Mile’s response.
James answered, “I don’t kiss strangers at midnight or share beer bottles with hookers, you disease-ridden rotgut-swilling Christmas-hating slope,” ensuring that their squad car and apartment would be a most unpleasant place for weeks to come. Miles left in a huff but James didn’t care; all that was important to him was that he left.
Carefully, he untrimmed the tree. He saved her for the very last, but eventually she had to go back into her bubble wrap, and into the little slot that protected her from banging against the other ornaments. He never would’ve admitted it to Miles, or to anyone, that he fought back a lump in his throat as he did it. She was just a damn Christmas ornament, after all. And yet she wasn’t. “See ya next year, Blondie.” he said, a faint smile breaking through the threatening tears.
Just then the phone rang. It was one of the nurses, calling to tell him that Juliet had moved her arms and legs tonight. (“Almost like she was trying to dance in the New Year,” the woman had chuckled.) That meant that, against all odds, she hadn’t been paralyzed by the stranger’s bullet, but best of all, the nurse told him that she’d said his name. Juliet was waking up. He looked at his Christmas ornament and wondered if she was magic. There was truth inside that little glass body, he was sure of it. And that truth was that Juliet would never leave him just as long as he never lost faith. He picked her up and he sprinted for the door, bringing the little angel’s magic to her namesake, knowing that on this New Year’s Eve they’d been granted one wish - a new beginning.
End