Slow Dancing in a Burning Room [for Alec]

[windsorblueno17]

Ally wasn't resting.

Well, no, that was a lie. She had rested. She'd conked out, twins curled up next to her, right after she'd gotten to Alec's room, but she kept waking up every five, four, three, two, one minute. All the waking and rewaking was giving her a headache.

Which wasn't exactly remedied when she started crying again.

Can you blame her

Comments

[smart_alec494]

Alec used to believe that funerals were for the living. And still they mostly are. But after meeting John he realised that sometimes the dead need it to. To lay them to rest. So he guessed funnerals were about acceptance. Not about moving on or past, because how could you do that? But about moving forward. Taking what they gave you and continuing to live. And letting them continue on to where ever it was they needed to go.

He was even learning to live with the fact that a peice of him died with ever person he lost. The hollow ache was a part of who he was.

He looked down at the watch on his wrist. It John's and it had been 3:46 for well over a week now. He thought that John would want them to make it past the lump in their throats to 3:47.

He quietly opened the door to his room. To their apartment.

[windsorblueno17]

Ally had always hated plaid. It reminded her of catholic school, and field hockey, and everything that sucked about being the poor orphan girl in highschool. The lines were too stark and too plain and too plaid and she hated it.

But then she'd met John, and suddenly she was surrounded by flannel. Shirts, pants, there was a hat that one time, and she didn't hate it. Flannel was all soft lines, soft feel, soft everything and she loved it. It was safety incarnate in a too big shirt because she was always too small and tiny for it to fit right.

She liked them big. So big they brushed her knees because she barely reached his chin. So big that when she was huddled up on the bed she could wrap the whole thing around herself and try to disappear into everything soft.

She couldn't. She never could. But it was okay. Everything was okay.

She didn't look up when Alec came in. She wouldn't have even heard him if the entire place wasn't as silent as a grave. "I hate salt," she said randomly.

[smart_alec494]

He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a gentle hand over Colt's head. "It drove John nuts that you wouldn't salt the bedroom." Because they couldn't not talk about him.

[windsorblueno17]

"He always hated those little salt one packs at McDonalds. 'What's the point if they're that damn small'." She laughed into the flannel, but it sounded like a sob. A weak pitiful sob, like she'd been crying so much it became second nature to cry instead of laugh. "It just smelled so damn bad," she said, the words muffled by the overlarge shirt.