molly graham (test run) -- red dragon -- barways

[yelling_muse]

Molly Graham is a tough cookie.

(She survived.)

She's been through enough that she isn't the same person as she was.

(She's divorced, for one.)

But she tries to lead a life as close to normal as she can manage.

(She does it for Josh.)

So when a bar appears instead of the laundry room, she doesn't look nearly as surprised as she might have a few months

Comments

[eidetiker]

"--Mollly."

Will watches the wall where his door ought to be like a hawk, as a matter of course. There's little conscious thought to the action by now.

It still takes him seconds to process that Molly just walked in and Molly is here and Molly, and then the door behind her closes and is gone again.

It doesn't matter. He's on his feet crossing the bar towards her.

"Molly!"

[justshoothim]

She knows his voice.

(Remembers it, anyway.)

It's a sequence of surprise, relief, confusion, and defensiveness.

But the surprise came first, and it gets the better of her.

"Will?"

The laundry basket is fumbled with, and then re-secured. There's a pained edge to her voice as she speaks, 'I don't understand,' lacing every word.

"What are you -- what's going on?"

[eidetiker]

He starts to reach to steady the basket, automatically.

The defensiveness in her face pulls him up short. He summons up a smile nevertheless; it's easy, because Molly is home and home is Molly and Milliways is neither, and he's missed her.

"That's a very long story. I'll explain, I -- Molly, the door you came in through, can you see it?"

Please, please say yes.

[justshoothim]

(He looks so hopeful.)

"I'm sorry, I -- it disappeared as soon as I got here. Wherever this is."

[eidetiker]

"Dammit. No, it's okay, it's not your fault. That -- happens."

Another smile, this one tenser, caught between rueful and welcoming and blank frustration. "Welcome to Milliways."

[justshoothim]

Both of her eyebrows go up. Doors disappearing becoming a regular occurrence is news to her.

She opens her mouth to speak, seems to think better of it, and then goes ahead anyway.

"Milliways."

[eidetiker]

"It's a bar at the end of the universe."

He reaches out again and touches her hand, light.

(Hesitant. He hasn't seen her in a long time and he wants to kiss her, refresh the memory of how she smells, but there's something in the way. God damn it.)

"Come sit down? I'll do my best to explain it."

[justshoothim]

She doesn't jerk away. He seems, on all counts, sincere.

(It's a comfort.)

"Al-alright."

[eidetiker]

He half-smiles, reassuring, and touches her wrist again, this time to guide her towards -- a couch is too informal, a table too businesslike -- a booth, out of the way and, as ever, with a good view of the bar as a whole.

That includes a good view of the Observation Window.

He could protect her from it. (He could. This, if nothing else, he could.)

He won't.

[justshoothim]

She'd bent down to put the laundry basket by the booth. Put one foot under the table in preparation of sitting down.

But looking up, looking where she's going, means looking straight at the Window.

There's a sharp inhalation of breath, and a brief twitch of her eyebrows in momentary concern. But it doesn't seem to be worrying anyone else.

(Not Will, anyway.)

"What is that?"

[eidetiker]

"The end of the universe. We're safe from it in here."

He sits across from her, glancing at the Window. "I don't know what the mechanism is, but it's -- on loop."

[justshoothim]

She doesn't look at it anymore.

She doesn't think she will, if she has any say in it.

"Why -- why am I here?"

[eidetiker]

"I don't know. People just get pulled in here, from -- different times, different worlds, even. First time I came in was through the shed. About . . ."

He trails off. It was months ago in Milliways, but not so long in Sugarloaf.

"About a month ago."

[justshoothim]

What strikes her is the part about times.

About a month ago.

She clears her throat (her left hand goes to her right -- the wedding band isn't there anymore. Instead, it takes place of pride on her dresser.

It's.. easier without the ring. The fewer times people ask, the fewer times she has to explain why).

"What was happening, before you arrived here?"

[eidetiker]

His glance flickers to the motion of her hand, automatically.

Oh.

No.

He clears his throat, an echo, and so his voice isn't as tight as it might be when he says, "I'd been out of the hospital for a few weeks."

[justshoothim]

She can see the realization on his face.

"Oh."

Quickly, she runs her tongue over her (now dry) lips.

(There's nothing she can say to make it any better.)