Fic: One Sided Conversation
Title: One Sided Conversation
Author: pucca_fan
Characters / Pairing: Chris / Jal.
Spoilers: All of Season 2
Summary: A continuation of Jal’s last scene.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine.
A/N: Because apparently my muse finds depressing stuff inspiring. Apologies to all. But I have got a happy fic in the works - which would be posted sooner if unfortunately I wasn’t in Germany and didn’t have an absolute ton of homework to do on my one free day of holiday the day after I get back.
Not absolutely certain about this one … I liked the idea, I hope I did it justice.
Un-beta’d so all mistakes are mine, as are any lapses in quality.
Chris wasn’t really one for flowers. They had given him hay fever when he was young, and then, when your older brother dies, flowers become symbols of everything that’s fucked up with the world.
That’s what they had since become to Jal.
As the rain poured down, she sat on the ground and stared, watching as the raindrops pelted the delicate petals, and the ink of the attached condolence notes ran.
Good fucking riddance to them.
How could you wish condolence with a note?
Jal thought of her own piece of paper, nestled against her breast, where it was tucked into her bra. It felt safe there.
And unlike the fucking, printed notes it didn’t hold any words. None but two.
His name and hers.
And his shitty little stick figures that meant more than a florally decorated card from Hallmark ever could.
The paper felt warm and smooth against her skin, it had been trapped there all day after all, and again Jal felt a desperate longing to get it out and make the sure the creases hadn’t worn through. To check that it was still there, and to have just another look, just one more.
But the rain hammering down above her ensured that she couldn’t.
Instead she gripped the metal handle of her umbrella tighter, and smiled weakly at the spot of earth that had closed him up forever.
“ Did you like my speech Chris? I remembered it all - everything you told me. I didn’t even have to Wikipedia it. “
Jal stopped. The smile fell off her face, as silence and rain filled the void of an anticipated reply.
“ No.”
Eyes dropping down to her lap Jal shook her head fiercely.
“ No. I don’t like the pauses. “
Teeth gritted she looked up, and earnestly addressed him, ignoring the waver in her voice. “ I’ve got to keep talking Chris, I’ve got to - because if I don’t then I can hear that you’re gone and you really are just a body and arms and legs buried under 10 metres of fucking earth -”
Jal broke off and covered her eyes with her hands. She groaned as she pushed back and forth on the ground, as if sitting in a rocking chair.
“ No, fuck it - I’m not gonna do this. “
Jal looked up again, wiping a hand under her nose as she took a breath, then exhaling harshly as she realized what she was doing. She blinked, and bemusedly held up a snotty sleeve.
“ You’re the one who should be doing this. “ she stated out loud to the gravestone. “ You’re my human hanky. “
The earth stayed quiet and Jal’s arm fell to her lap slowly.
And her mouth set in a grim, resolved line.
“ You know what? I know what I’m gonna do. “ Jal nodded, an affirmation to herself. “I’ll do your parts too. Like -”
Jal swallowed, and her eyes settled once more on the ground, as she struck up an absurdly conversational tone.
“ So, how’s things down under?”
Dropping the tone, Jal pointed at the empty patch of earth.
“ And then you’d say - “
Mouth twitching upwards, she adopted a comically, lower voice, and sighed wearily.
“ Jal, I’m not in fucking Australia. “
“ And then I’d say, Yeah, but you always wanted to do didn’t you?”
Jal hiccupped and snorted at the same time, as she transitioned back into the lower voice.
“ And, and then you’d say - Fuck yeah! Have you seen those kangaroos? Fucking crazy man, - I mean, they carry their young right, in these flaps in their bellies. And then they just go hopping round in the desert with these big fuck off ears like demented versions of Tigger. That’s insane!”
Jal took a breath and Chris continued.
“ And, I always wanted one of them hats - the ones with the corks on? Yeah, they’re fucking ace. Except, I was thinking, I could tie all my pill packets on instead. ‘Cos it’s practically the same thing, right babe?”
Quietly the smile slipped off Jal’s face.
“ Yeah, except alcohol doesn’t fucking kill you, you wanker. “
“ Ah, ah, ah Jal. “ lectured Chris. “Not true! Alcohol, in the long term, lays waste to the liver. Which is a very important organ. So cut down on that Smirnoff Ice you big heavyweight. “
Jal drew a shaky breath, and gripped her umbrella handle righter.
“ I love you.”
“ Damn straight! “
And then -
“I love you too babe. “
Jal’s teeth clamped down roughly on her lip, as the lump in her throat swelled dangerously.
And the earth stayed quiet, and the rain pattered away and no reply came.
And there was only the sound of her ungraceful sniffing and the loud clearing of her throat, till she spoke again, her voice boldly ringing out next to the freshly dug grave.
“ And then you’d say, now are you going to put those pucking flowers on my grave or sit there and cry like a pussy all night?”
A throaty laugh escaped Jal, scratchy through lack of use, but most assuredly honest, genuine for the first time in weeks.
…
On the top of the hill - where she and her friends had stood only a few hours ago - a lone figure with an umbrella and the name Miles, stood watching an unknown girl keep vigil over his son’s grave, her shaking back bowed under an umbrella.
He stood and watched her till she stilled.
Rain battered down on his own umbrella. The drumming sound above his head rushed up in his ears as feelings of guilt threatened to overwhelm him.
This girl, this stranger, with no obligations had loved his son more than he ever could.
Ever would.
The worse thing might have been, that he felt sadder about that, than he did about the death of his own son.
He should have at least invited her to the funeral.
Swallowing, the man put down his umbrella and let the rain fall freely down his face, as he turned and walked away.
He had relatives waiting after all. Uncle Derek couldn’t be sent off on his own - and Birmingham was no mean distance.
…
Back at her boyfriend’s grave Jal was oblivious to everything. Unaware of the man leaving behind her, unconcerned about the rain running in rivulets down her back, not even caring about the mud soaking through the seat of her dress.
She was staring at the cross over Chris’s grave.
It’s presence seemed bemusing somehow, considering the wholly unrestricted life below.
But at the same time, as she mused, Jal noted it’s relevance. Once more she cleared her throat, ready now to make her own confession.
“ Chris. “
Her voice was solemn, smaller than it had been all night.
“ I’m sorry I had an abortion.
Tear tracks, and snot, and raindrops ran down her chin.
“Really fucking sorry. “
And although she didn’t speak, and fuck knows no-one else did, Jalander Frazer heard his voice, rounded out with a laugh and the hand in hers that should have been.
“ ‘s alright babe. Fuck it. “
Author: pucca_fan
Characters / Pairing: Chris / Jal.
Spoilers: All of Season 2
Summary: A continuation of Jal’s last scene.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine.
A/N: Because apparently my muse finds depressing stuff inspiring. Apologies to all. But I have got a happy fic in the works - which would be posted sooner if unfortunately I wasn’t in Germany and didn’t have an absolute ton of homework to do on my one free day of holiday the day after I get back.
Not absolutely certain about this one … I liked the idea, I hope I did it justice.
Un-beta’d so all mistakes are mine, as are any lapses in quality.
Chris wasn’t really one for flowers. They had given him hay fever when he was young, and then, when your older brother dies, flowers become symbols of everything that’s fucked up with the world.
That’s what they had since become to Jal.
As the rain poured down, she sat on the ground and stared, watching as the raindrops pelted the delicate petals, and the ink of the attached condolence notes ran.
Good fucking riddance to them.
How could you wish condolence with a note?
Jal thought of her own piece of paper, nestled against her breast, where it was tucked into her bra. It felt safe there.
And unlike the fucking, printed notes it didn’t hold any words. None but two.
His name and hers.
And his shitty little stick figures that meant more than a florally decorated card from Hallmark ever could.
The paper felt warm and smooth against her skin, it had been trapped there all day after all, and again Jal felt a desperate longing to get it out and make the sure the creases hadn’t worn through. To check that it was still there, and to have just another look, just one more.
But the rain hammering down above her ensured that she couldn’t.
Instead she gripped the metal handle of her umbrella tighter, and smiled weakly at the spot of earth that had closed him up forever.
“ Did you like my speech Chris? I remembered it all - everything you told me. I didn’t even have to Wikipedia it. “
Jal stopped. The smile fell off her face, as silence and rain filled the void of an anticipated reply.
“ No.”
Eyes dropping down to her lap Jal shook her head fiercely.
“ No. I don’t like the pauses. “
Teeth gritted she looked up, and earnestly addressed him, ignoring the waver in her voice. “ I’ve got to keep talking Chris, I’ve got to - because if I don’t then I can hear that you’re gone and you really are just a body and arms and legs buried under 10 metres of fucking earth -”
Jal broke off and covered her eyes with her hands. She groaned as she pushed back and forth on the ground, as if sitting in a rocking chair.
“ No, fuck it - I’m not gonna do this. “
Jal looked up again, wiping a hand under her nose as she took a breath, then exhaling harshly as she realized what she was doing. She blinked, and bemusedly held up a snotty sleeve.
“ You’re the one who should be doing this. “ she stated out loud to the gravestone. “ You’re my human hanky. “
The earth stayed quiet and Jal’s arm fell to her lap slowly.
And her mouth set in a grim, resolved line.
“ You know what? I know what I’m gonna do. “ Jal nodded, an affirmation to herself. “I’ll do your parts too. Like -”
Jal swallowed, and her eyes settled once more on the ground, as she struck up an absurdly conversational tone.
“ So, how’s things down under?”
Dropping the tone, Jal pointed at the empty patch of earth.
“ And then you’d say - “
Mouth twitching upwards, she adopted a comically, lower voice, and sighed wearily.
“ Jal, I’m not in fucking Australia. “
“ And then I’d say, Yeah, but you always wanted to do didn’t you?”
Jal hiccupped and snorted at the same time, as she transitioned back into the lower voice.
“ And, and then you’d say - Fuck yeah! Have you seen those kangaroos? Fucking crazy man, - I mean, they carry their young right, in these flaps in their bellies. And then they just go hopping round in the desert with these big fuck off ears like demented versions of Tigger. That’s insane!”
Jal took a breath and Chris continued.
“ And, I always wanted one of them hats - the ones with the corks on? Yeah, they’re fucking ace. Except, I was thinking, I could tie all my pill packets on instead. ‘Cos it’s practically the same thing, right babe?”
Quietly the smile slipped off Jal’s face.
“ Yeah, except alcohol doesn’t fucking kill you, you wanker. “
“ Ah, ah, ah Jal. “ lectured Chris. “Not true! Alcohol, in the long term, lays waste to the liver. Which is a very important organ. So cut down on that Smirnoff Ice you big heavyweight. “
Jal drew a shaky breath, and gripped her umbrella handle righter.
“ I love you.”
“ Damn straight! “
And then -
“I love you too babe. “
Jal’s teeth clamped down roughly on her lip, as the lump in her throat swelled dangerously.
And the earth stayed quiet, and the rain pattered away and no reply came.
And there was only the sound of her ungraceful sniffing and the loud clearing of her throat, till she spoke again, her voice boldly ringing out next to the freshly dug grave.
“ And then you’d say, now are you going to put those pucking flowers on my grave or sit there and cry like a pussy all night?”
A throaty laugh escaped Jal, scratchy through lack of use, but most assuredly honest, genuine for the first time in weeks.
…
On the top of the hill - where she and her friends had stood only a few hours ago - a lone figure with an umbrella and the name Miles, stood watching an unknown girl keep vigil over his son’s grave, her shaking back bowed under an umbrella.
He stood and watched her till she stilled.
Rain battered down on his own umbrella. The drumming sound above his head rushed up in his ears as feelings of guilt threatened to overwhelm him.
This girl, this stranger, with no obligations had loved his son more than he ever could.
Ever would.
The worse thing might have been, that he felt sadder about that, than he did about the death of his own son.
He should have at least invited her to the funeral.
Swallowing, the man put down his umbrella and let the rain fall freely down his face, as he turned and walked away.
He had relatives waiting after all. Uncle Derek couldn’t be sent off on his own - and Birmingham was no mean distance.
…
Back at her boyfriend’s grave Jal was oblivious to everything. Unaware of the man leaving behind her, unconcerned about the rain running in rivulets down her back, not even caring about the mud soaking through the seat of her dress.
She was staring at the cross over Chris’s grave.
It’s presence seemed bemusing somehow, considering the wholly unrestricted life below.
But at the same time, as she mused, Jal noted it’s relevance. Once more she cleared her throat, ready now to make her own confession.
“ Chris. “
Her voice was solemn, smaller than it had been all night.
“ I’m sorry I had an abortion.
Tear tracks, and snot, and raindrops ran down her chin.
“Really fucking sorry. “
And although she didn’t speak, and fuck knows no-one else did, Jalander Frazer heard his voice, rounded out with a laugh and the hand in hers that should have been.
“ ‘s alright babe. Fuck it. “