The Easy Part- Whotopia 1.9.1
"I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all. I'm not afraid, but it seems as if I should be homesick for you even in heaven." Louisa May Alcott - Little Women - Spoken by Beth to Jo.
The gun was there on the floor, right there where the Doctor had made Francine Jones drop it.
Right there.
How easy it would be, should be, for Lucy to bend and retrieve it, silent in her red silk. Nobody was watching her; why would they, after all? She'd played her part well, hadn't given them anything to notice. And now, this was the final move.
'If worst comes to worst, darling, I want you to kill me,' Harry had said, all those months ago. 'Shh, hush, don’t speak. I want you to kill me- preferably not too messily, I am rather fond of this particular regeneration- but then, my lovely Lucy, you will bring me back. With this. It’s biometrically linked to me, and if you do exactly as I say, then I’ll return.'
And she'd laughed. '‘Till death do we part has nothing on you, does it, Harry?'
'Never.'
It should be easy now- it's not as if she ever had a problem hurting him, after all- but she couldn't help but think of all the ways this could go wrong. If she couldn't get to his ring, or his computations hadn't been exactly right, or- a thousand ors, all of them flickering through her head with frantic fear. What she would do in this world without Harry by her side. Knowing forever what she had had once, and by her own hand, would never have again. At her sides, her hands clenched into fists, red-painted nails digging white circles into her palms as she attempted to master herself. The fear was a disgustingly human weakness, and now was not the time for it. For months she'd been strong and unafraid; that all would come to nothing if she wavered now.
Except that then, the Doctor spoke. Someone to care for, he said, and all the fear in Lucy's head and blood reconfigured itself into a much more comfortable fury. The sanctimonious prick. He could care for Harry's dead body, and nothing more, whilst she and her husband laughed together, vicious and victorious.
Her face blank, she stooped to pick up the gun. For a moment, the entire room jumped with shock, and then Harry met her eyes as he stumbled backwards.
Lucy very nearly smiled.
Muse: Lucy Saxon
Word Count: 379
Journal Link
The gun was there on the floor, right there where the Doctor had made Francine Jones drop it.
Right there.
How easy it would be, should be, for Lucy to bend and retrieve it, silent in her red silk. Nobody was watching her; why would they, after all? She'd played her part well, hadn't given them anything to notice. And now, this was the final move.
'If worst comes to worst, darling, I want you to kill me,' Harry had said, all those months ago. 'Shh, hush, don’t speak. I want you to kill me- preferably not too messily, I am rather fond of this particular regeneration- but then, my lovely Lucy, you will bring me back. With this. It’s biometrically linked to me, and if you do exactly as I say, then I’ll return.'
And she'd laughed. '‘Till death do we part has nothing on you, does it, Harry?'
'Never.'
It should be easy now- it's not as if she ever had a problem hurting him, after all- but she couldn't help but think of all the ways this could go wrong. If she couldn't get to his ring, or his computations hadn't been exactly right, or- a thousand ors, all of them flickering through her head with frantic fear. What she would do in this world without Harry by her side. Knowing forever what she had had once, and by her own hand, would never have again. At her sides, her hands clenched into fists, red-painted nails digging white circles into her palms as she attempted to master herself. The fear was a disgustingly human weakness, and now was not the time for it. For months she'd been strong and unafraid; that all would come to nothing if she wavered now.
Except that then, the Doctor spoke. Someone to care for, he said, and all the fear in Lucy's head and blood reconfigured itself into a much more comfortable fury. The sanctimonious prick. He could care for Harry's dead body, and nothing more, whilst she and her husband laughed together, vicious and victorious.
Her face blank, she stooped to pick up the gun. For a moment, the entire room jumped with shock, and then Harry met her eyes as he stumbled backwards.
Lucy very nearly smiled.
Muse: Lucy Saxon
Word Count: 379
Journal Link