(Untitled)

[gonna_live]

There are some nights in spring where it's warm, and there's just enough of a breeze to warrant long sleeves (and perhaps a stolen white shirt on the comfortable side of threadbare), and when it might be a little cold but it's impossible to resist the lure of bare feet on the lake shore with the grass in your toes and stars in the sky

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[path_unprepared]

He finishes the last paragraph of the last page of his book as he steps outside and the door leading back into the bar closes behind him. Closes it, with a small satisfied sigh.

And pauses.

He's returned. This time, he isn't near the greenhouse. He can see the greenhouse -- it's a short distance away, and it looks as if no one is around -- but a few feet in front of him is some kind of wooden swing. Handmade, by the look of it.

He takes a step toward it, and places a hand on the back of the swing.

[gonna_live]

A sudden breeze.

Maybe a second long-sleeved shirt isn't enough.

Maybe Kaylee should have stuck with a jacket.

[path_unprepared]

The moment his hand touches the swing

('she scares me, with what she does...somethin' 'bout that girl she's engaged to')

something clicks in his mind. Like a machine that has been lying dormant and forgotten, collecting dust, and has now been switched on and is somehow running

(that purple-haired bitch who goes around just gettin' engaged to people)

as if it had never been turned off at all.

(we ain't got no way to fix it)

In fact, it's running perfectly.

(wants to make her into a machine, doesn't want to fix her)

It always has been.

There was a book in his left hand a moment ago.

There is a candelabra in his left hand now.

The candles are not lit.

[gonna_live]

The reason that Kaylee loves the swing is because it reminds her of home -- what she knows as home. The white house that rambles just a bit out at the edge of town, with the stream off to the north and the roadhouse down the road and through the woods and the old hillock where they made a fort once upon a time and always sailed back to the house just in time for dinner and where they'd sit out on the swing just after dinner on spring nights just like this one with water with just a hint of mint in it and talk and laugh and tell stories.

When she was old enough, she painted the one at home, too.

The flowers on the swing aren't expertly painted by any means.

But they certainly match the ones on the walls of Serenity's kitchen.

(you can be me when I'm gone)

Weather has faded them.

[path_unprepared]

It will take him a while to sort out the information. Even a computer requires a certain amount of processing time.
The town, the pasture and the weed
But there is one thing he knows for certain, and it is that his research project has just gained an entirely new dimension he had never before considered.
The sacrifice that we denied
He had not thought that working backwards would be part of his final solution.
The marred foundations we forgot
Now, though, it seems so simple that it's a wonder he hadn't thought of it before.

Of sanctuary and choir

The blaze spreads remarkably quickly, for a fire begun without an accelerant.

It is a matter of moments, mere moments, before the wooden structure is entirely engulfed in a bright corona of flame. It might be mistaken for a bonfire, intentionally set to warm those who have ventured outdoors on this slightly cool spring evening.

[gonna_live]

Kaylee spins at the sound of the crackling, the feel of the heat.
which lies have I been hiding
Her mouth opens, just a little.
which echoes belong
Nothing comes out.
phone my family tell them I'm lost
There's no one can help her.
and no it's not okay
And no need to say it.

[path_unprepared]

The candelabra hangs loosely in his hand, and liquid white wax is rapidly dripping onto the ground by his feet.

'That sort of sacrifice is what is always demanded,' he whispers, and though the words will never reach her ears -- not over the roar of the flames -- he knows that somehow, she hears them.

The Rose Bride hears them.

(the eyes of a familiar compound ghost
Both intimate and unidentifiable)

His smile is small, the barest, faintly amused curve of his lips.

[gonna_live]

Saionji was right.

Kaylee doesn't want Saionji to be right.

Kaylee just wants to live in peace. Make a family. Love the family she's got.
The way things go
You get so low
Struggle to find your skin
Oh hey ho
Look out below
Your prayers will never be answered again
And that was what Mikage got her with, last time.

Wasn't it.
Phones still ring
And singers sing
Speakers are speaking in code
What now
Well anyhow
Our prayers will never be answered again
Tear-blinded.

"You -- you take that and -- "

Choked.

"You go to hell."
The way things get
You get so high
Funny how we make new friends
Oh hey ho
I gotta go
My prayers will never be answered again
It was her swing. Everybody's swing.
You know it's all beginning
To feel like it's ending
No love's as random
As God's love
I can't stand it
I can't stand it
'Symbol'. Noun. Here meaning an object infused with meaning it does not intrinsically have.

[path_unprepared]

Tears. Always tears. For a moment, he's reminded of another woman's tears.

But only for a moment.

('You sound as if you are yelling out, "Don't touch my precious memory!"')

He's doing her a favour, really. Memories are far more beautiful than the real thing.

The candles on the candelabra go out suddenly, extinguished by a sudden gust of wind which whips the blaze higher in the night sky. The candelabra makes a soft thud as it lands on the ground.

The young man who had been holding it is no longer there.

[gonna_live]

I dreamed about killing you again last night
And it felt all right to me
Dying on the banks of Embarcadero skies
I sat and watched you bleed

I rest my head on a pillowy star
And a cracked-door moon
That says I haven't gone too far

Kaylee waits until it's ashes.

Because if there's one thing she's learned these last months --

Somebody has to be there to see.

And then somebody has to do something.

And right now all she's going to do is go home.