Potc | Beckett/Anamaria
title: buried alive
pairing: anamaria/beckett
rating: r
originally posted here
Buried Alive (Beckett/Anamaria)
Anamaria is dead. It happened suddenly, like the last flicker of a candle before darkness, and she never would have thought it could happen to her but now she's lying on the silk sheets, sweat cooling on her brows, limp, lifeless, beautiful. Beckett presses a last strangely soft kiss against her collarbone and locks the door on her.
Once upon a lifetime ago she had the blood of a tiger running through her veins, teeth viciously flashed in the dark when she was captured, two men died of her venom. The cancerous fire never dimmed in her eyes and the first time Beckett dared touch her he nearly lost an eye. She used to scream and growl like a cornered beast, claws ready to tear skin, sink through flesh right to the bone and she could often hear Beckett's wife demand him to get rid of his newest whore because the cries made the child in her belly kick in protest. It made her resistance glow brighter in the cold, airless house, not knowing that it just fueled Beckett's need to possess her.
Now she's lying there unmoving, limbs at awkward angles, ashen eyes not following the hesitant movement of the dark figure and she doesn't flinch when a warm hand caresses her cheek. She knows those fingers but has no strength left to acknowledge the welcome presence.
Eli. Beautiful, tired, never frightened Eli.
"Can you stand?" she asks, determination lacing every word. "There's a carriage waiting. We have no time to lose. If he notices I'm gone..."
But Anamaria doesn't move, her mind barely registers the words, she just keeps looking at her brave Eli, whose fire never died even in a house like this, carrying a madman's brute. The screams had been deafening the night the wretched creature broke free of its mother's prison, the doctors had been certain she wouldn't survive but now here she is, still weak from the strain of giving birth, but ready to take their lives back. But when Ana doesn't move she hoist up her nightgown to her knees and lies down on the bed, pulling the obscenely soft sheets around their shivering bodies.
Beckett finds them in the morning, wrapped around each other, peacefully awaiting their fate.
He doesn't speak. A nod to Mercer is enough.
Two shots make a newborn child cry out in fear.
pairing: anamaria/beckett
rating: r
originally posted here
Buried Alive (Beckett/Anamaria)
Anamaria is dead. It happened suddenly, like the last flicker of a candle before darkness, and she never would have thought it could happen to her but now she's lying on the silk sheets, sweat cooling on her brows, limp, lifeless, beautiful. Beckett presses a last strangely soft kiss against her collarbone and locks the door on her.
Once upon a lifetime ago she had the blood of a tiger running through her veins, teeth viciously flashed in the dark when she was captured, two men died of her venom. The cancerous fire never dimmed in her eyes and the first time Beckett dared touch her he nearly lost an eye. She used to scream and growl like a cornered beast, claws ready to tear skin, sink through flesh right to the bone and she could often hear Beckett's wife demand him to get rid of his newest whore because the cries made the child in her belly kick in protest. It made her resistance glow brighter in the cold, airless house, not knowing that it just fueled Beckett's need to possess her.
Now she's lying there unmoving, limbs at awkward angles, ashen eyes not following the hesitant movement of the dark figure and she doesn't flinch when a warm hand caresses her cheek. She knows those fingers but has no strength left to acknowledge the welcome presence.
Eli. Beautiful, tired, never frightened Eli.
"Can you stand?" she asks, determination lacing every word. "There's a carriage waiting. We have no time to lose. If he notices I'm gone..."
But Anamaria doesn't move, her mind barely registers the words, she just keeps looking at her brave Eli, whose fire never died even in a house like this, carrying a madman's brute. The screams had been deafening the night the wretched creature broke free of its mother's prison, the doctors had been certain she wouldn't survive but now here she is, still weak from the strain of giving birth, but ready to take their lives back. But when Ana doesn't move she hoist up her nightgown to her knees and lies down on the bed, pulling the obscenely soft sheets around their shivering bodies.
Beckett finds them in the morning, wrapped around each other, peacefully awaiting their fate.
He doesn't speak. A nod to Mercer is enough.
Two shots make a newborn child cry out in fear.