Ghosts long gone (they always come back)
Title: Ghosts long gone (they always come back)
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Richard
Rating: PG
Summary: Maybe it's never enough but he'll always, always come back. Alex is gone, but not forgotten.
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to 4x09; implied relationship with a minor.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for thequillstation's Spooky Lost Fic Battle; prompt Alex/Richard, apparition. Originally posted here.
----
She's subtle, insubstantial -- more shadows than anything, slipping with quick, quiet steps along darkened slats of ground, twisting around corners and almost out of view.
He shouldn't be here, he knows; there's nothing here, nothing left (the rusted swing set creaks in the wind, more yellow paint flakes and flutters off one sagging wall, home boarded up and long-forgotten). He shouldn't be here but she is, and that's reason enough -- his eyes flutter shut and please, he thinks, please.
There's a weight of warmth in his arms -- her small, thin frame pressed against his, tangle of dark hair between fingers, bony wrists looped around and moulded into his ribs. Take me with you, Richard. Firm, insistent, muffled into the fabric of his shirt. I don't like it here.
The curve of her spine under his hand, it's just so palpable and solid and true; he could almost swear -- "I can't. You know I can't." (Misery twists, hard and fast, in his gut; it's not enough, fleeting glimpses and stolen seconds away from camp -- it's never enough.)
Her eyes turn dark -- black on black; for a flash of a moment he sees Ben and Richard barely feels the cold anymore but he shivers anyway -- and she bleeds back into the deep swell of darkness. Pads across the grass, barefoot, curls spiralling behind her, and disappears (for now, because maybe it's never enough but he'll always, always come back).
He raises his hand and can almost pretend it's in farewell.
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Richard
Rating: PG
Summary: Maybe it's never enough but he'll always, always come back. Alex is gone, but not forgotten.
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to 4x09; implied relationship with a minor.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for thequillstation's Spooky Lost Fic Battle; prompt Alex/Richard, apparition. Originally posted here.
----
She's subtle, insubstantial -- more shadows than anything, slipping with quick, quiet steps along darkened slats of ground, twisting around corners and almost out of view.
He shouldn't be here, he knows; there's nothing here, nothing left (the rusted swing set creaks in the wind, more yellow paint flakes and flutters off one sagging wall, home boarded up and long-forgotten). He shouldn't be here but she is, and that's reason enough -- his eyes flutter shut and please, he thinks, please.
There's a weight of warmth in his arms -- her small, thin frame pressed against his, tangle of dark hair between fingers, bony wrists looped around and moulded into his ribs. Take me with you, Richard. Firm, insistent, muffled into the fabric of his shirt. I don't like it here.
The curve of her spine under his hand, it's just so palpable and solid and true; he could almost swear -- "I can't. You know I can't." (Misery twists, hard and fast, in his gut; it's not enough, fleeting glimpses and stolen seconds away from camp -- it's never enough.)
Her eyes turn dark -- black on black; for a flash of a moment he sees Ben and Richard barely feels the cold anymore but he shivers anyway -- and she bleeds back into the deep swell of darkness. Pads across the grass, barefoot, curls spiralling behind her, and disappears (for now, because maybe it's never enough but he'll always, always come back).
He raises his hand and can almost pretend it's in farewell.