lady_bols: (s1 work it out)
 She crawled out of the tent on her hands and knees, gritting her teeth.  The ground was hard packed dirt, and the air smelled clean and fresh. It was dark, and they were under a brilliant desert night sky.

"Oh, Ichabod.  Look."
lady_bols: (s1 work it out)
 [ cont'd from here ]

She held tight to his hand as they swept through the door, the eerie light chasing them out into a gargantuan space.  The door clapped shut with a boom behind them. Beneath their feet, she felt rough stone floors and the air was humid and thick.  They weren't outside, because she could hear the echoes of the door ringing high above them.  There was an unidentified light source emanating from somewhere overhead.

"Well, this isn't Miliways."

Alex was still walking backwards when she turned to speak to Ichabod.  And it's a good thing he was close.  One foot kicked back into empty air and she almost fell over the edge of the cliff into pitch blackness.  She scrabbled for his arm, and caught herself before she overbalanced.

"Bloody hell..."

There was an ominous clicking sound.  And then there was a noise like boulders being slid across steel plates.  Beneath their feet, the floor began to shift.




lady_bols: (s1 soft smile)
The evening had passed quietly, with no more talk of promises or commitment, or anything of consequence, really.

She'd tried to fall asleep, but only succeeded in dozing lightly off and on.  Every time he shifted or exhaled too sharply, she'd found herself wide awake.  Hypervigilance, she thought.  Her mind was fixated on the thought that she might miss saying goodbye. He wouldn't dare sneak out on her.  He was a bastard sometimes, but he wasn't exactly heartless.

Well, most of the time.

When the first light of dawn hit the windows, she was already awake, listening to the sound of his breathing.  She debated getting up and laying out his suit for him, but that would mean leaving the warmth of the bed.

'Love?  It's time.'

She knows he's anxious to get back.  A part of her understands, remembering how hard it was those first few days and weeks in Fenchurch, waiting to wake up from the nightmare.  At least he has the option to go home.

lady_bols: (s3 6620)
He was supposed to nip down for another bottle of wine.  But he wasn't back yet, and she'd fallen asleep on the couch while she waited.

When she woke up, she heard the faint patter of raindrops against the window.  There was a presence in the room with her, one she recognised instantaneously. 

She was alone.  There was a shadow of a figure in the reflection in the window.  Dark clouds mirrored her shift in mood, and she could see the outline of his uniform coat as clear as crystal.  She never thought she'd see this visage of him again. She thought, somehow, she'd laid him to rest.  Again, she was wrong.

His smooth face was impassive, his one good eye so young.  She just looked at him, and thought her heart was breaking right then and there.  He'd been called back to Fenchurch, without taking her ring, without so much as a kiss.  And the only way she knew was the reflection of his ghost, half his face a dark, gaping wound.

He was gone, and this was all the goodbye she was going to get.

She blinked and the ghost was gone.  And she felt her knees give way.

She sat on the floor, tears streaming down her face, staring at her hands, her useless bloody hands.  She didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually she collected herself and set about straightening the room.  She knew he'd have to go back some time, she just always thought she'd know ahead of time.  This is probably for the best, she thinks.  A quick break, and when he comes back, because he is coming back, she'll be all the more happy to see him.

She's chewing on her lip, sitting at the table making a list, when she hears the door open.

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