Middleman: Just Like We Used to Do

Apr 12, 2011 07:36

Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,187 (ran a little long- don't worry, no charge)
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: For mosellegreen on the help_japan auction. Yay for it not taking three months!
Summary: Post-"Doomsday Armageddon Apocalypse," [SPOILER] sends herself on one last mission. This is another multimedia fic- just open the link in a separate tab/window when you come to it. You know, if you want to.
Spoilers: WALL TO WALL spoilers for "Doomsday Armageddon Apocalypse." DO NOT READ if you haven't also read the comic book and/or watched the Comic Con table read.

Raveena Rao has nothing but time. Consequence of being dead, she supposes. She fills it up well enough, swapping war stories with her countless Middle-counterparts in the underworld. But it’ll never compare. All of the Middle-spirits know that. It’s behind their eyes as they recount feat after daring feat. It’s not in them to be inert, obsolete, forgotten. Of course they all know the inadvisability of the dead trying to take an active part in the world of the living, but their great stand against Manservant Neville and his pineal-powered doomsday device has them all itchier than ever. And Raveena Rao decides that if she can, she will accomplish one more mission.

***

Lacey Thornfield fiddles with the plastic cup of punch sitting on her knee and swivels back and forth in her chair. Overall she’s happy with the party. It’s the first she and Wendy have thrown since things went south with Perfect Warren. Lacey feels the clouds descend again as she recalls the break-up. She feels crappy about it, but she just couldn’t pretend anymore. Now if only she could say what it would take not to pretend... It’s gone, as close and as distant as a dream come morning.

She glances over at Wendy’s boss half a second before he looks away. Lacey sighs and tries to climb back out of her funk. She invited him to help celebrate Wendy’s first show at the Gate (sans plagiaristic intervention from Pip), she shouldn’t sit here wallowing in the dumps. Not with Wendy and Tyler upstairs playing a bootleg video game and everyone else gone home. Lacey stands, and wanders over to the iPod sitting in its dock, pumping music through the speakers. The playlist long ago transitioned from tunes to get people up and dancing into something softer to wind things down.

She goes into the iPod’s artist library and starts scrolling through the thousands upon thousands of names. As she does, her eyes lose focus, and something not quite under her control stops her when she hits the “P”s. “You’re a country guy, right?” she asks Wendy’s boss.

“I- uh, excuse me?” he sounds confused.

“Wendy’s told me you like to play country music, when you go to meetings.” That’s a nice way of describing her roommate’s vociferous complaints about “the twang” her boss subjects her to.

“Yes. I... find the melodies very appealing.”

Lacey hums her agreement. In certain cases (none she’d ever admit to Dub-Dub), she can appreciate the twang as much as anyone. A couple more clicks on the iPod bring her to one such case. A plangent slide guitar and rolling rhythm ease into the air. Patsy Cline’s strong but sad voice follows, “I go out walkin’, after midnight, out in the moonlight, just like we used to do. I’m always walkin’, after midnight, searchin’ for you...”

Lacey turns to grin at Wendy’s boss but finds him staring at her like she’s flashed him or something. “You know this one?” she offers.

He blinks. “Yes,” he sounds half-choked, “Very well.”

Lacey rocks to the beat, “I love it. Hey, wanna dance?” She didn’t really mean to ask that. Too much punch, she supposes.

Again Wendy’s boss looks almost scared. Lacey thinks she actually sees him swallow. “I, ah...”

“Come on, I won’t bite.” She walks towards him and wraps her hands around one surprisingly wide bicep. Why hasn’t she noticed how built Wendy’s boss is before? Speaking of, maybe that’s what’s bothering him... “Don’t worry about Wendy. It’s fine. It’s just a dance.”

“Lacey- Miss Thornfield,” he mumbles, but he’s already on his feet, following her gentle tug to the middle of the room.

And then they’re dancing. And it feels like a dream, just before morning. “I stop to see a weepin’ willow, cryin’ on his pillow, maybe he’s cryin’ for me,” sings Patsy, “And as the skies turn gloomy, night winds whisper to me. I’m lonesome as I can be...” The song wraps around them, pulling them closer. “... I go out walkin’, after midnight, out in the starlight, just hopin’ you may be somewhere a-walkin’, after midnight, searchin’ for me.”

As the final notes fade, Lacey finds her cheek pressed to Wendy’s boss’ shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. She doesn’t want him to let go. “Hey, Wendy’s... I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Clarence.”

She smiles. Of course it is. “Clarence. You should come over more often.”

He pulls away and she reluctantly does the same. The smile on his face defeats even the hint of her pout. “I... I would like that... Lacey.”

“Okay.” She stuffs her hands in her back pockets, rocking on her feet, “You know, I didn’t want to assume, just because you like country music, but...”

“Yes?”

“But... if you like westerns too, there’s this theater I know that plays, like, all the greats-”

Clarence’s eyes light up, like a little boy’s, “The neighborhood revival theater, the twilight matinee, yes, I... well, I try to go as often as I can.”

“Yeah, you know, I feel like I’ve gone, I just... can’t quite remember.” She laughs, “Guess there’s only one way to fix that.”

“You want to go... sometime?”

“Sure!” she recoils awkwardly, “I mean, if you’re ever heading that way, or something.”

“If the... fates allow. Now, I have to go. I didn’t really intend to stay so long. I’m sure you’re tired...”

Lacey nods, giving him the out, “Sure. Um, do you want my cell number?”

“Oh, I already have it.”

She frowns, “You do?”

“As... part of Dubby’s profile- uh, application. She put you as an emergency contact, a-after her mother, of course.”

“Oh, okay.”

Clarence says his goodbyes, calling one up to Wendy, who returns it faintly. Then with a grin for Lacey that’s boyish but also somewhat confused, he leaves.

***

Ida’s not happy about the extra work, but Clarence just has to know. In much less time than the android claimed, the pineal blockers are ready. He puts them on, and casts a glance around the MiddleHQ. “I’ll be darned,” he says with half a smile.

The ghost of Raveena Rao stands with a cocked hip and a raised eyebrow. She pulls a notebook and pencil from her pocket and scribbles something down. She holds it up for Clarence to read: Go get her, tiger.

“What about the power of Chac-Mol? I don’t understand.”

She frowns at him, then flips the page on her notebook and scribbles some more: Haven’t you heard? The power of Chac-Mol can’t stop true love, all it can do is delay it for a while.

He looks at her. She looks back. No more words are needed. What is he going to do, give up yet another chance at happiness? Not if Raveena has anything to say about it.

“Message received, boss,” Clarence says, “Thank you.”

She nods, satisfied, and even if he can’t hear the words, he knows the shape of “I love you, Clarence Colton.”

“And I you, Raveena Rao. Goodbye.” He draws himself to attention and delivers a crisp salute.

She fades away with a smile.

middleman, fic, tv

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