Flash Fic Friday #3
Another part of that fic I mentioned once. Connected with this one. This part I wrote this morning after my exam and after I heard some clock app sound with the dialogue. I knew instantly who would say it and who it would be said to. @nortaeventcouncil. It's kinda all the prompts smashed together? A lil bit of this and lil bit of that. đ¤ˇđźââď¸
It was cold, bitter and biting cold. Normally, he would hate it, and would have taken precautions to make sure he stayed warmer. Doing that meant taking one of Calâs jackets though, and he was not about to do that. He was not about to wear something that smelled like him or even remotely reminded him of his brother.
Blowing warm air into his cold hands, he stared out across the little space around the cabin. It was tucked away safely in this place that he refused to call majestic. No matter that it had taken his breath away when he had stood on the jetway and seen those mountains dusted with snow and cutting the bluest sky he had ever seen to ribbons. He refused to admit that he liked it here and that the peace and quiet had settled over him, leaving him feeling oddly stifled and quiet.
The porch door creaked and then slammed shut. He twisted his lips, deciding that as long as he kept his back to the door that neither of them would bother him. Maybe they would just see he wasnât doing anything but sitting and staring out at the trees that were slowly growing nightmarish shadows as the sun dipped behind the mountain range.
The steps that approached him sounded more like someone hopping from one foot to the other, and it was a little body that dropped down onto the step next to him. He observed her out of the corner of his eye, already shying away as she started to swing her little booted feet so the heels struck the wood in an off-kilter rhythm.
He didnât hate children. This one though, he wanted to hate her with a earnest that sometimes made him wonder how he couldnât.
She watched the trees with him, not speaking. She was quiet, Maven had learned that about her very quickly. Sh observed everything around her, and she had observing him more than he would like. He knew Mare had told her to stay away, to never speak to him. He had seen the way those little pink lips had twisted, and how her eyes had sparked in such a familiar way after that warning, and deep down had known she would eventually find a way to go behind her motherâs back. He knew why he believed that, but he refused to admit it. It meant thinking about the past, about growing up, and his brother. Who conveniently had to go back to the city early yesterday to handle something. He was surprised Mare had let him go, given it meant she would be alone to deal with him and watch the child next to him.
Slowly he unfurled from his crunched state as she continued to sit and not speak but just kick her feet. He blew more warm air into his hands before glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. Her boots werenât tied, and her brightly colored blue jacket wasnât zipped, but she was at least wearing proper pants. He didnât care. He told himself he didnât care if she was cold. He was a Burner, and he had a feeling she was too. He had overheard Mare and Cal talking about it quietly one night while they carried her to bed. She wasn't showing signs yet though. So while it was freezing, it was this ridiculous child's decision to sit out here with him.
âShe always looks at you like sheâs mad.â
He froze, his blood going cold at the sound of her voice. Slowly he glanced down at her. Her little lips were pursed tightly and her brows were scrunched tightly together. She wrinkled her damn nose the same was he used to. He snapped his head forward again, ignoring her completely.
âDoes everyone look at you like that?â The direction of her voice had changed. It wasnât forward anymore, it was directly at him. He tried to avoid looking at her. He always avoided looking directly at her. He didnât like being hurt, he didnât like it when he did things that made him ache, but he also had come to realize over the course of his life that he had a hard time avoid it. This time was no different. He looked down at her.
His heart stuttered and his body heated unintentionally as she set those uncanny fucking eyes on him. Fucking Irisâs gods. They had given her Calâs eyes. Those were his eyes, with the same earnest need to understand with the intetion to aid, to mend, and to heal. He wanted to claw them out of her head, wanted to remove them forever. Cal had always looked at him with those eyes, and it had always reminded him of the sucking, gaping hole in his heart and head where his love for his brother used to be.
She had his hair, his eyes, and she had that sweet face that he had faint memories of from when he used to run after Cal though the hall of Whitestone. Before Cal had gone to the front, before he had come back a yonng man and not a child anymore. Before his mother had ripped any connection to Cal out of him by the root and stem.
But she was not him, even though the first time he had seen her he had almost mistaken her for him in a strange flash of dĂŠjĂ vu. She had peeked around the doorway as Mare had paced in front of him, setting the boundaries that he had thought were laughable. Now he wished she had set more, wished she had left her daughter with her parents in the city. He wished that this girl had not been born, that she didnât exist. But she did, and in his deepest heart⌠he didnât hate that. It meant--he didn't want to admit to it. Twisting his lips, he finally let the words form, but not leave him. It meant he had subverted his mother's meddling, and had found a way to love his brother again. Even if it was just loving the strange mirage of him that his daughter was.
It took longer than he liked to put himself together just enough and put the mask back in place and shrug as if that question was inconsequential.
She continued to watch him, even though he had started to turn away from her.
He felt the moment she slipped her little hand in his. It was warm, warmer than he thought it would be. Maybe she was a Burner after all.
His entire body locked, and he whipped his head over his shoulder, wondering why Irisâs gods had not send Mare out here yet. He didn't smell ozone, or hear the tell tale crackle of lightening waiting to scorch through him.
âIâm not mad at you.â She said, leaning toward him as if she could push those words though his cold exterior and embed them in his heart. His throat locked up against his will, and he had to take a short, shallow breath and swallow multiple times. It wouldnât dislodge. If he looked at her, he knew he would not see her. He would see his brother, he would see the Harbor Bay room. He would see that look that Cal had given him over his shoulder before slipping out. So he continued to stare out at the advancing shadows, keeping his eyes on the tree line, but he didnât let go of her hand either.