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mmexlibris) wrote2010-10-07 01:41 pm
mmexlibris) wrote2010-10-07 01:41 pm
[meme fic] Fiona Glenanne / Four Times Fiona Lived & One Time She Didn't
From yesterday's DE.
Prompt from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fightingthecage :
† Fiona: Ten years in the future
She heard the feet running and the shrill squeal of her daughter's voice echoing down the hall way, a gruff voice growling as he chased behind her. Fiona pulled the covers over her head, laughing, groaning as she realised further sleep was useless. The thundering stampede erupted into the bedroom and the bed lurched, a tangle of bony elbows and knees clamouring over the top of her.
"Mamãe! Papai vai me comer!" There's a ferocious snarl and another burst of shrieking giggles, and Fiona finds she's smiling so broadly, her face hurts.
"Not again," she groans.
~~~
The hard plastic of the sights was cool against the orbit of her eye, and the range finder's red gold readout flickered. She banged her hand against it and the resolution cleared. "Fucking dust gets into everything here."
"Tell me about it. I haven't had a shower in a week."
She glances across at him, admiring the stubble on his jaw. "And you say I never take you any place fun."
He scoffs, lighting another cigarette. "How many?"
"Just the six. Almost not worth the effort. Hand me the other magazine, will you?" She holds out a hand without looking away. He complies, watching her set it where she can reach it easily.
"You need more than one magazine?"
"I'm not as young as I used to be."
The report of the Barrett was mind numbing, but at the speed she was firing, the targets would be on the ground by the time the sound caught up with the projectiles.
He glanced through the binos, frowning as he counted. Impressive. She was already packed and moving by the time he got to his feet.
~~~
The atmosphere was perfect. Candelabras on every table. A string quartet playing softly in the corner of the patio. Someone hawking roses along the boulevard just a few feet away. The ribbon of light that marked the Seine a few yards away.
"I know I waited too long to ask this," he started.
She gaped at the ring box he put on the table top.
"I should have done this ten years ago, before we ever left Miami."
She gaped at the smug, self-satisfied look on his face.
"But better late than never. Fiona Glenanne, will you do me the --"
He never got the rest of the sentence out. She threw her champagne in his face and stalked off, tearing her long skirt deliberately so she could step over the fence and head off into the Parisian night.
Of all the nerve.
~~~
They cut off all her hair, hosed her off with ice cold water, and shoved a set of grey overalls at her. The guards leered as she put them on but she didn't even raise her eyes. Her feet were still bloody from the last time, two toes swollen, and twisted at awkward angles.
One of them leaned in close, opening his foul mouth to lick at her cheek. She turned just enough, pulled back and nutted him, putting him down like a sack of grain. The next one got a chunk bitten out of his face, and the one that tackled her to the ground would probably never walk right again.
By the time they got her subdued, none of them were willing to take their 'privileges' with her. They were too afraid she'd hidden razor blades in her cunt.
She didn't count the days. She didn't feel the cold stone against her back or the way her side twinged when she breathed. She closed her swollen eyes and disappeared down the rabbit hole, where Cristal ran free and the chill she felt around her neck was diamonds and rubies, where his gravelled voice warmed the shell of her ear.
She'd whispered, I have a lot to lose.
His answer echoed still. Then hold onto it.
~~~
Michael Westen had never been back to Dublin since that first time. But Seamus had insisted, begged really. And when he was honest with himself, he didn't give in because of any crude sense of obligation. The truth was that he wasn't ready to let her go yet.
He watched the dark mahogany coffin roll down the gangway from the plane, watched as they loaded it into the back of the lorry. He noticed the smallest details about it. The lack of brass handles, and the smooth complete surface of the lid. No, that door was closed, and would never be opened again.
Some one took his arm and guided him to the car waiting a few feet away. The striking woman in the back seat must have been in her seventies, but she had that same sharp gaze he knew so well. His face was a mask until he saw those eyes and something in his chest snapped. "I'm sorry."
"S'alright, Michael," she murmured, a soft and sympathetic smile on her face. "She told me long ago that I'd get to meet you, one way or another. We're just grateful it was you who brought her home to us."
Prompt from
fightingthecage : † Fiona: Ten years in the future
She heard the feet running and the shrill squeal of her daughter's voice echoing down the hall way, a gruff voice growling as he chased behind her. Fiona pulled the covers over her head, laughing, groaning as she realised further sleep was useless. The thundering stampede erupted into the bedroom and the bed lurched, a tangle of bony elbows and knees clamouring over the top of her.
"Mamãe! Papai vai me comer!" There's a ferocious snarl and another burst of shrieking giggles, and Fiona finds she's smiling so broadly, her face hurts.
"Not again," she groans.
~~~
The hard plastic of the sights was cool against the orbit of her eye, and the range finder's red gold readout flickered. She banged her hand against it and the resolution cleared. "Fucking dust gets into everything here."
"Tell me about it. I haven't had a shower in a week."
She glances across at him, admiring the stubble on his jaw. "And you say I never take you any place fun."
He scoffs, lighting another cigarette. "How many?"
"Just the six. Almost not worth the effort. Hand me the other magazine, will you?" She holds out a hand without looking away. He complies, watching her set it where she can reach it easily.
"You need more than one magazine?"
"I'm not as young as I used to be."
The report of the Barrett was mind numbing, but at the speed she was firing, the targets would be on the ground by the time the sound caught up with the projectiles.
He glanced through the binos, frowning as he counted. Impressive. She was already packed and moving by the time he got to his feet.
~~~
The atmosphere was perfect. Candelabras on every table. A string quartet playing softly in the corner of the patio. Someone hawking roses along the boulevard just a few feet away. The ribbon of light that marked the Seine a few yards away.
"I know I waited too long to ask this," he started.
She gaped at the ring box he put on the table top.
"I should have done this ten years ago, before we ever left Miami."
She gaped at the smug, self-satisfied look on his face.
"But better late than never. Fiona Glenanne, will you do me the --"
He never got the rest of the sentence out. She threw her champagne in his face and stalked off, tearing her long skirt deliberately so she could step over the fence and head off into the Parisian night.
Of all the nerve.
~~~
They cut off all her hair, hosed her off with ice cold water, and shoved a set of grey overalls at her. The guards leered as she put them on but she didn't even raise her eyes. Her feet were still bloody from the last time, two toes swollen, and twisted at awkward angles.
One of them leaned in close, opening his foul mouth to lick at her cheek. She turned just enough, pulled back and nutted him, putting him down like a sack of grain. The next one got a chunk bitten out of his face, and the one that tackled her to the ground would probably never walk right again.
By the time they got her subdued, none of them were willing to take their 'privileges' with her. They were too afraid she'd hidden razor blades in her cunt.
She didn't count the days. She didn't feel the cold stone against her back or the way her side twinged when she breathed. She closed her swollen eyes and disappeared down the rabbit hole, where Cristal ran free and the chill she felt around her neck was diamonds and rubies, where his gravelled voice warmed the shell of her ear.
She'd whispered, I have a lot to lose.
His answer echoed still. Then hold onto it.
~~~
Michael Westen had never been back to Dublin since that first time. But Seamus had insisted, begged really. And when he was honest with himself, he didn't give in because of any crude sense of obligation. The truth was that he wasn't ready to let her go yet.
He watched the dark mahogany coffin roll down the gangway from the plane, watched as they loaded it into the back of the lorry. He noticed the smallest details about it. The lack of brass handles, and the smooth complete surface of the lid. No, that door was closed, and would never be opened again.
Some one took his arm and guided him to the car waiting a few feet away. The striking woman in the back seat must have been in her seventies, but she had that same sharp gaze he knew so well. His face was a mask until he saw those eyes and something in his chest snapped. "I'm sorry."
"S'alright, Michael," she murmured, a soft and sympathetic smile on her face. "She told me long ago that I'd get to meet you, one way or another. We're just grateful it was you who brought her home to us."