First Kiss Goodbye
Title: First Kiss Goodbye
Prompt: Back to life
Rating: PG-13 ish?
Pairing: Ned/Chuck
Warning: Character death. Spoilers only if you don't know the basic concept of the show. Crappy title, but you knew that already.
Disclaimer: Characters contained herein are not mine, and I am not making any profit from them. Written out of deep love and respect for the show.
Summary: He had brought her back to life, in so many ways. This was the moment, he claims, that she returned the favor.
Author's notes: Contains speculation and assumptions certain to be jossed. My first finished fanfic, concrit very welcome. *is nervous* Mad props to
myemmie for help and encouragement.
Thirty-seven years. Thirty-seven years, and it came down to this.
Eyes wide, he stared down in shock. “Never thought of that,” he murmured. A shaking hand reaches out to touch the corpse that had gone down fighting, and woke up doing the same. They collapse together.
And she can’t catch him as he falls.
After so long, it’s second nature to avoid skin on skin.
Pull the thick plastic gloves from her bag. Tear strips off her skirt to staunch the wound, try to stop the bleeding. In the rush of the moment, her mind slows to a crawl, meandering along paths of yesterday.
At first, she was certain the enforced lack of contact would drive her insane. Crazy undead woman, crying to be held- and how would they explain that to the asylum, exactly? But they quickly found ways to deal with it. A cautious routine that played out like an elaborate dance, two partners ever circling and never touching.
Thank God for the miracle of plastic wrap.
The blood is everywhere. So much, and it won’t stop. Ever so carefully, he reaches out to grab her gloved hand. “Chuck,” he says, almost a whisper, “it’s okay.”
Wrenching her hand free, she screams into the night, hoping for someone, anyone, to hear. Knowing that they’re too far and help won’t be fast enough. Again he murmurs her name, and she is helpless to resist that call. Sitting down on her knees, she gathers his head into her lap. Runs her fingers through his graying hair, brushing it out of his eyes as he beams his crooked smile that he keeps only for her. How many times she wanted to know if that hair was as silky as it looked. To ruffle it back from his brow when he stumbled in to the kitchen for his first cup of coffee in the morning.
Plastic wrap can only do so much.
“It’s okay,” he repeats. “Doesn’t even hurt.”
But this, she knows, is not a good sign.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the physical barriers that first drove her away. There was so much joy in his presence, and a person truly can get used to anything. Even being undead.
Years passed. The laugh lines around his eyes grew deeper. Grey slowly began to infiltrate his thick dark hair. Families came to the Pie Hole, their children grew and left. And she remained the same, in some involuntary stasis. Ever young.
It was funny, she thought, that people spent millions of dollars every year on anti-aging products. Yet faced with the prospect of someone who actually didn’t age, they couldn’t deal with it. At first people remarked on how “well preserved” and fortunate she was. Eventually, the whispers grew to be too much, and she left. Traveled for a while. It went rather better than her first foray into the world.
He wanted to come with her, but she insisted that it was better this way. Even if she didn’t believe it herself. As deeply as it hurts to think of it, part of her hopes that if she’s gone he’ll find someone else. He deserves a real life. Someone he could have children with. He would make such a good father. Maybe children of his own could begin to heal the wounds of his own lonely childhood.
And so she wanders. Holds hands with a stranger on top of the Eiffel Tower, and imagines it’s him. Rides alone in a gondola on a moonlit night in Venice and pretends his arms enfold her. Tastes apple pie in Germany, and inevitably compares it to his.
Buys beautifully embroidered gloves in Spain.
Finally she can stand it no longer. Colors her hair, wears a floppy hat and big glasses. People are generally unobservant and customers are unlikely to recognize her now. Stomach churning as she imagines that he may indeed have moved on with his life.
Peering in the window of the Pie Hole, she is shocked by how much he has aged while she’s been gone. His face is etched in sorrow and pain that goes straight to her heart. Then he spots her, and the stack of plates he is carrying drops to the floor, shattering in a million directions. The joy in his eyes erases the years, and as he rushes out to her he looks just like the boy she loved. Loves.
She has come home. He had brought her back to life, in so many ways. This was the moment, he claims, that she returned the favor.
Ever since, there had never been any question. Together was where they belonged. Surely, it wasn't meant to end like this.
She won't let it end like this.
Tears stream down her face as through the layers between them she feels his breathing hitch, his heart beat grow shallow. She doesn’t want to live without him, but she knows exactly what she does want. Has always wanted. His eyes widen as she bends her head toward him, intentions clear on her face. “No,” he whispers, even as he unconsciously lifts his head to strain towards her.
Somehow it lasts for seconds that feel like hours, and she knows it was worth it. Their perfect very first, last kiss goodbye.
Prompt: Back to life
Rating: PG-13 ish?
Pairing: Ned/Chuck
Warning: Character death. Spoilers only if you don't know the basic concept of the show. Crappy title, but you knew that already.
Disclaimer: Characters contained herein are not mine, and I am not making any profit from them. Written out of deep love and respect for the show.
Summary: He had brought her back to life, in so many ways. This was the moment, he claims, that she returned the favor.
Author's notes: Contains speculation and assumptions certain to be jossed. My first finished fanfic, concrit very welcome. *is nervous* Mad props to
myemmie for help and encouragement.
Thirty-seven years. Thirty-seven years, and it came down to this.
Eyes wide, he stared down in shock. “Never thought of that,” he murmured. A shaking hand reaches out to touch the corpse that had gone down fighting, and woke up doing the same. They collapse together.
And she can’t catch him as he falls.
After so long, it’s second nature to avoid skin on skin.
Pull the thick plastic gloves from her bag. Tear strips off her skirt to staunch the wound, try to stop the bleeding. In the rush of the moment, her mind slows to a crawl, meandering along paths of yesterday.
At first, she was certain the enforced lack of contact would drive her insane. Crazy undead woman, crying to be held- and how would they explain that to the asylum, exactly? But they quickly found ways to deal with it. A cautious routine that played out like an elaborate dance, two partners ever circling and never touching.
Thank God for the miracle of plastic wrap.
The blood is everywhere. So much, and it won’t stop. Ever so carefully, he reaches out to grab her gloved hand. “Chuck,” he says, almost a whisper, “it’s okay.”
Wrenching her hand free, she screams into the night, hoping for someone, anyone, to hear. Knowing that they’re too far and help won’t be fast enough. Again he murmurs her name, and she is helpless to resist that call. Sitting down on her knees, she gathers his head into her lap. Runs her fingers through his graying hair, brushing it out of his eyes as he beams his crooked smile that he keeps only for her. How many times she wanted to know if that hair was as silky as it looked. To ruffle it back from his brow when he stumbled in to the kitchen for his first cup of coffee in the morning.
Plastic wrap can only do so much.
“It’s okay,” he repeats. “Doesn’t even hurt.”
But this, she knows, is not a good sign.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the physical barriers that first drove her away. There was so much joy in his presence, and a person truly can get used to anything. Even being undead.
Years passed. The laugh lines around his eyes grew deeper. Grey slowly began to infiltrate his thick dark hair. Families came to the Pie Hole, their children grew and left. And she remained the same, in some involuntary stasis. Ever young.
It was funny, she thought, that people spent millions of dollars every year on anti-aging products. Yet faced with the prospect of someone who actually didn’t age, they couldn’t deal with it. At first people remarked on how “well preserved” and fortunate she was. Eventually, the whispers grew to be too much, and she left. Traveled for a while. It went rather better than her first foray into the world.
He wanted to come with her, but she insisted that it was better this way. Even if she didn’t believe it herself. As deeply as it hurts to think of it, part of her hopes that if she’s gone he’ll find someone else. He deserves a real life. Someone he could have children with. He would make such a good father. Maybe children of his own could begin to heal the wounds of his own lonely childhood.
And so she wanders. Holds hands with a stranger on top of the Eiffel Tower, and imagines it’s him. Rides alone in a gondola on a moonlit night in Venice and pretends his arms enfold her. Tastes apple pie in Germany, and inevitably compares it to his.
Buys beautifully embroidered gloves in Spain.
Finally she can stand it no longer. Colors her hair, wears a floppy hat and big glasses. People are generally unobservant and customers are unlikely to recognize her now. Stomach churning as she imagines that he may indeed have moved on with his life.
Peering in the window of the Pie Hole, she is shocked by how much he has aged while she’s been gone. His face is etched in sorrow and pain that goes straight to her heart. Then he spots her, and the stack of plates he is carrying drops to the floor, shattering in a million directions. The joy in his eyes erases the years, and as he rushes out to her he looks just like the boy she loved. Loves.
She has come home. He had brought her back to life, in so many ways. This was the moment, he claims, that she returned the favor.
Ever since, there had never been any question. Together was where they belonged. Surely, it wasn't meant to end like this.
She won't let it end like this.
Tears stream down her face as through the layers between them she feels his breathing hitch, his heart beat grow shallow. She doesn’t want to live without him, but she knows exactly what she does want. Has always wanted. His eyes widen as she bends her head toward him, intentions clear on her face. “No,” he whispers, even as he unconsciously lifts his head to strain towards her.
Somehow it lasts for seconds that feel like hours, and she knows it was worth it. Their perfect very first, last kiss goodbye.