Anne Marie Cunningham (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
savethebullshit) wrote2012-12-20 02:41 pm
savethebullshit) wrote2012-12-20 02:41 pm
Endgame [ficlet]
So, this is a ficlet that came out of an idea that popped up while tagging a gorgeous thread with yardbird, and I ran with it. It was supposed to be a drabble, but it turned into a real doozy.
This is set after Anne leaves the Tranquility, so it's based in her![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxion canon, and it's mildly soul-crushing as usual.
After so much time on the Tranquility, waking up in her own bed was nothing short of disorienting. It wasn’t easy to get used to, not after weeks. Not after months. Though looking back on it, that time she’d spent on the ship was achingly brief, it was still difficult to realize she was back home when she opened her eyes each morning. There were no grav couches, no monthly jumps, no public showers. None of those things she could say she missed, but what she did miss, more sorely than she could have possibly imagined, was the people.
She’d expected and accepted after she’d gotten settled in on the Tranquility that she wouldn’t spend eternity there. She just hadn’t expected to be so unhappy with it. There were always those memories in the back of her mind, of Heather and Alex and their bongos, of the awkward conversations she’d had with them and various residents of the ship. Helping Henry find his way around, bickering with Netherlands, fighting off Nepeta’s curiosity… there were a million different daily interactions she’d taken for granted until it was gone. She’d had almost a family in that bunch of bizarre, mismatched people that she’d come to care for, and she missed the ridiculous conversations and the seemingly endless irritation. But what she missed the most, without a doubt, was waking up in the morning and seeing Murphy there.
It was easier not to even think of Murphy now, but it was easier said than done. She’d forgotten the ways a person could worm their way under her skin, become an undetachable part of her daily actions. Getting in the shower, she would think of the time she’d saved him from Nepeta’s artist session. Eating meals, she would remember the times they’d eaten breakfast together or the time he brought her quickly-forgotten sandwiches in bed. And more than anything, she’d go to bed and the space between the sheets would be cold and empty and she’d miss him, miss making love or holding him or just lying there talking. It was an ache that she couldn’t seem to shake, almost a physical one, when she’d get out of bed in the morning and think of how they’d been able to talk about anything and everything. Now, her world was largely silence.
As strange as it was to realize, after the things she had done and the lives she had ended, life was strangely normal. For the first week, Anne simply stayed in her house, waiting, wondering when she was going to have to flee the police. Then, she received a phone call from the warden asking if she was planning on coming back to work any time soon, and it dawned on her; she was off the hook, at least for now. Sewell’s murder hadn’t been tracked to her. It was nothing short of a miracle. It felt almost dirty to go back to work after she’d done something so damnable, but from the buzz among the other guards about the crime, there were no leads. And why would there be, Anne realized. She worked at a different prison hours away, and as far as the public knew, she’d only ever met Sewell when she went to Ryall to transfer the prisoners. And also as far as the public knew, she obviously had no reason to want to kill him. In the end, she was sure they would trace it back to her, but for now, it seemed to be simpler to keep her ears open for signs that they were catching on and continue on with her life. No use running until she had to.
It was a staggering thing to think, after all this, that she was almost disappointed, in some sick way, that she hadn’t woken at home to the cops swarming her one-bed one-bath fortress from the outside world. She wasn’t going to pay for what she’d done, at least for now, and that was always a ray of sunshine, but she always had the guilt tugging at the back of her mind. Now there was nothing to take her mind off of Frank, off of what had happened to him and what she’d done. As hard as it was to get up in the morning, it was infinitely harder when she’d had so many distractions for so long, had friendship and warmth and such an overwhelming amount of love. What made it easier, however, was checking her answering machine.
Since Anne had been back for about two weeks, when she was certain that releasing any sort of details as to her location wouldn’t be some sort of stupid stunt, she had begun visiting her father’s grave. It wasn’t only to pay her respects, but also to leave messages for Murphy. At first, she’d tried leaving letters, but then she found it simpler to just leave a quick message telling him her phone number on top of the grave. Those times she spent with Frank, at least once a week, were heavy for her, but necessary. Anne had always felt that it was something you had to do for the dead, and for her father, she would do it an infinite amount of times. She would sit and talk to him, tell him about her life (but never about Silent Hill. Never about killing Sewell).
It was easy to talk about her time on the Tranquility to him, about her awkward friends, and about Murphy. Especially Murphy. Frank had known Murphy, would care about what she’d learned about him. She even liked to believe that he would be pleased that the two of them had been together for the time they were. Of course she left out the sordid details, but more or less, she summarized how things had been when they were together. It made missing him hurt just that much worse, but it felt cathartic at the same time. And at the end of those visits, she would leave a fresh, folded note with Murphy’s name written on the outside and a short message with her phone number inside, throw the old, usually rain-spotted one in the garbage cans at the cemetery gate.
There was no guarantee that Murphy would ever call. That he would ever even get the notes. But Anne couldn’t give up hope, not that easily. He’d told her once she hadn’t seemed like much of a wishful thinker, and in the end she wasn’t. But in this case, it was all she had, really, that slim hope. She was counting on how predictable Murphy was that he would find the notes if he ever ended up near Frank’s grave. Murphy was a creature of habit and even if he wasn’t constantly crippled by his guilt, he still had it, and he still felt that he owed Frank respect. Anne liked to hope that this was enough to make him want to visit Frank’s grave if he ever got the chance. It was a surprise to her, even after all the corruption she had witnessed, that she still loved her job. She worked harder than she ever had in the past and when she got home, those answering machine checks were all she had to look forward to. There were bill collectors and telemarketers, the occasional coworker calling to check up on her. But as the months went by, there was no Murphy. Grudgingly, Anne began to accept it. She was realistic woman. She had to stop living like a child.
It was heavy, gray day in November when Anne came home from work soaked in rain, cursing and kicking off her shoes. She was in the door just in time to hear the phone ringing, and with a sigh she closed the door behind her, and locked it out of habit. Waterspotted jeans were more uncomfortable than anything in the world to her, especially after Silent Hill, and she couldn’t wait to get out of them. For a moment, she considered letting the machine pick up, but thought better of it. There was no use being antisocial for no reason. Shrugging her damp jacket off onto the arm of the sofa, she lifted the phone from its cradle and brought it up to her ear.
“Hello?”
There was a brief pause on the other end, and Anne hear the sharp inhale of breath and then the sound of a throat being cleared. “Anne?”
There was a brief moment when time stood still, but in an almost terrifying way. Because by now, hearing that familiar voice that used to tell her good morning and goodnight and “I love you” every day coming through the phone against all odds made her wonder if she was legitimately losing her mind. Anne swallowed hard, and said nothing, actually backing up so she could rest her back against the wall.
“Anne?” he asked again, into the silence between whatever distance it was right now. “It’s uh… it’s Murphy.”
He sounded so real. So vivid. Maybe she wasn’t going crazy. Moistening her lips with her tongue, Anne took a moment to gather herself. It was difficult not to simply collapse right then, and she held herself together with some difficulty. “Murphy? Jesus Christ it’s…”
“Been a while. Yeah.”
He always had had a knack for knowing what she was thinking. For a time, Anne couldn’t say a word, and then it all exploded out at once, panic and tentative joy and relief, relief because even if he wasn’t here, he hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth. “Where are you? How did you… how did you know how to reach me? How long have you been… I… god dammit it’s… just good to hear the sound of your voice.”
“Was that note meant for some other Murphy?” he asked, and there was a joking lilt in his tone, but he sounded nervous. As nervous as she felt. “I’m around. At a pay phone, right now.”
“I’ll pick you up. Where—”
“I uh… look. Anne. I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” Anne could practically see him shifting his weight from one foot to another, looking distressed, shoulders hunched.
“And why the hell not?” she asked him, a bit more sharply than she meant to. Murphy paused. “After all this time, you really think you’re going to call me and I’m not going to want to see you?”
“No,” there was a soft sigh that accompanied it. “It’s just, it’s complicated, and you know it. I don’t wanna end up getting you caught up in all this. I’m still on the run, you know.”
“I’m already caught up in it. I killed Sewell, remember? Don’t think for one minute that you can sit there and tell me you’re not going to let me see you. You think I’ve gone ten minutes without missing you since we last saw each other?”
“It’s not a good idea, Anne,” Murphy told her again, and he didn’t sound as firm as he probably wanted to. There was a weakness there. “Back on the Tranquility, things were… it was different. Like a second chance. But now that that’s over, it’s back to the way it was and…”
“And nothing,” Anne cut him off. “I’m not naïve, Murphy. I know how this kind of thing works. You’re a wanted fugitive and things could never be simple with us, but I can live with that. No, let me finish,” she could tell he was going to cut in, and she didn’t want any of it. “I don’t care how it has to be, or how long it’s been or how many factors are sitting in the way. I love you. That’s not going to change. Ever.”
There was a desperation to her voice, because after all this time apart, after having him slip through her fingers, he was here in her ear and she was terrified of losing him again, of not being able to see him again. Just the sound of his voice stirred up warmth and memories and the need to be close to him again. Only you, he’d said to her once, and she recalled all those times when they were so close to each other, all those times when they pushed back and backpeddaled and when they were friends and then lovers, when things were awkward and perfect and sweet. It was something she ached for now, deeper than anything she could have imagined before just now. And in the back of her mind she know despite all the factors at play here that nothing between them was any different than it had been.
“Anne…” he breathed, and for a moment it was hard to believe that he wasn’t in the room with her. His voice sounded so close, to soothingly familiar. There was a long silence. “I love you,” he said finally, and there was almost a guilt to his words, and Anne could already tell he was going over all the reasons he should be just hanging up the phone right now for her benefit.
“That’s all that matters,” she reminded him, and despite her earlier assurance she felt a little naïve saying it. “We’ll figure out anything else later.”
“I don’t know how this is going to work…”
“We’ll make it work.” Anne had never felt more sure of anything, and never sounded more sure, more firm than she did saying that. Because to hell with everything else, she would run and hide and rearrange her life to be with this man, regardless of how unwise it might be. It had been that way for a long time, and didn’t show any signs of stopping. “I’ll come and get you. Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there. I can’t handle not seeing you. I can’t… give up what we had, just because things are harder now.”
There was a silence in which she could hear him breathe. “Well, twist my arm why don’t you?” Murphy said, and she could hear the smile in his voice , the lighthearted tone as he tried to make the mood less serious. “Anne. I want. To see you too. I’ll come to you, okay? I don’t wanna stay in one place too long. Just let me grab something to jot down your address. Okay?”
“Okay,” Anne said with a kind of heaviness to her everything about her, an intensity at the thought of seeing him again. She recited the familiar address to him, and as they hung up, Murphy stopped her.
“I’ll see you soon, Anne.”
“I hope so.”
The rain wasn’t falling anymore when the doorbell rang. It was morning, three days after the momentous phone call, and Anne was jittery beyond all words. When she heard the bing of the bell, she jumped in her seat and scrambled to answer it, though she caught herself just before the door so she wouldn’t fling it open with too much eagerness and knock him backward. She was only wearing a t-shit and jeans but somehow, with Murphy it didn’t feel underdressed even for a special occasion.
And of course, he was still Murphy. He stood on her doorstep with his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders rolled slightly forward, and his posture giving away that he was just as nervous as she was. When their eyes met, though, a smile crept onto his face, and there was a tug somewhere in her chest.
“Anne,” he said simply, and the sound of him saying her name made the tug turn into a full-on explosion of feeling, one that she couldn’t contain in the shaky smile she gave him back, almost embarrassed to be holding back tears. He looked just the way she remembered him, sounded just the way she remembered him, and for a moment she wondered if she was dreaming. If he could really be standing here with her right now, and the world could not be splitting in two.
“Murphy,” she responded, and it shook. The tremble to her voice, she was sure, gave away more than words and expressions ever could. All at once he was in her arms, and she wasn’t even sure which one of them had moved. Maybe both, because they were halfway in the doorway and her back pressed up against the doorframe as he held her close, and the things he was saying now didn’t make sense. Not even really words, just failed attempts at speech. Words didn’t really seem important right now, anyway. It seemed far more important to just hold him, to feel him and smell him and hear him, let him squeeze her and legitimately struggle not to cry. Maybe he was too, she couldn’t tell. His face was out of sight, buried in the crook of her neck.
When he kissed her, Anne was completely sure that any risk involved in keeping him here with her, any consequences that might come of it, were worth it. There was still the same warm passion to it as he cupped her face with one hand, still holding her with the other.
“I missed you so much,” she confessed then, and Murphy just nodded in reply, and what was in his eyes told her he returned the sentiment just as strongly. It was easy to forget about everything else when they were kissing like this, when Anne was pulling him in from the doorway and kicking the door closed behind them. Running her fingers through his hair, touching his cheek, all seemed like things she had taken for granted until now. As she let her thumb run across the familiar line of the scar on his cheek, she pulled him as close as possible, and the way the angles of their bodies still fit together perfectly made her chest fill with a warmth she hadn’t felt since coming back home.
“Come with me,” she said, breaking away just enough to be able to take his hand and pull him out of the entryway, into the living room. “There are things we have to talk about. Things we have to catch up on. You’re not getting away from me this time, alright? I don’t care what I have to go through to keep you around. I’m making that decision right now. And don’t even say ‘but’, because I’m not listening.”
For a moment, Murphy looked like he wanted to argue. But met with Anne’s unwavering stare, he faltered. And then stopped altogether. There was a silence, and they eyes met. Anne was aware all over again of that blinding electricity between them, that chemistry that she couldn’t fight if she tried. All at once, everything felt clearer than it had in months, and Murphy’s hand touched her face. There was some sort of promise in it, though she couldn’t be entirely sure what, and then as he leaned in to kiss her, the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
“Yes ma’am.”
yardbird, and I ran with it. It was supposed to be a drabble, but it turned into a real doozy. This is set after Anne leaves the Tranquility, so it's based in her
ataraxion canon, and it's mildly soul-crushing as usual.After so much time on the Tranquility, waking up in her own bed was nothing short of disorienting. It wasn’t easy to get used to, not after weeks. Not after months. Though looking back on it, that time she’d spent on the ship was achingly brief, it was still difficult to realize she was back home when she opened her eyes each morning. There were no grav couches, no monthly jumps, no public showers. None of those things she could say she missed, but what she did miss, more sorely than she could have possibly imagined, was the people.
She’d expected and accepted after she’d gotten settled in on the Tranquility that she wouldn’t spend eternity there. She just hadn’t expected to be so unhappy with it. There were always those memories in the back of her mind, of Heather and Alex and their bongos, of the awkward conversations she’d had with them and various residents of the ship. Helping Henry find his way around, bickering with Netherlands, fighting off Nepeta’s curiosity… there were a million different daily interactions she’d taken for granted until it was gone. She’d had almost a family in that bunch of bizarre, mismatched people that she’d come to care for, and she missed the ridiculous conversations and the seemingly endless irritation. But what she missed the most, without a doubt, was waking up in the morning and seeing Murphy there.
It was easier not to even think of Murphy now, but it was easier said than done. She’d forgotten the ways a person could worm their way under her skin, become an undetachable part of her daily actions. Getting in the shower, she would think of the time she’d saved him from Nepeta’s artist session. Eating meals, she would remember the times they’d eaten breakfast together or the time he brought her quickly-forgotten sandwiches in bed. And more than anything, she’d go to bed and the space between the sheets would be cold and empty and she’d miss him, miss making love or holding him or just lying there talking. It was an ache that she couldn’t seem to shake, almost a physical one, when she’d get out of bed in the morning and think of how they’d been able to talk about anything and everything. Now, her world was largely silence.
As strange as it was to realize, after the things she had done and the lives she had ended, life was strangely normal. For the first week, Anne simply stayed in her house, waiting, wondering when she was going to have to flee the police. Then, she received a phone call from the warden asking if she was planning on coming back to work any time soon, and it dawned on her; she was off the hook, at least for now. Sewell’s murder hadn’t been tracked to her. It was nothing short of a miracle. It felt almost dirty to go back to work after she’d done something so damnable, but from the buzz among the other guards about the crime, there were no leads. And why would there be, Anne realized. She worked at a different prison hours away, and as far as the public knew, she’d only ever met Sewell when she went to Ryall to transfer the prisoners. And also as far as the public knew, she obviously had no reason to want to kill him. In the end, she was sure they would trace it back to her, but for now, it seemed to be simpler to keep her ears open for signs that they were catching on and continue on with her life. No use running until she had to.
It was a staggering thing to think, after all this, that she was almost disappointed, in some sick way, that she hadn’t woken at home to the cops swarming her one-bed one-bath fortress from the outside world. She wasn’t going to pay for what she’d done, at least for now, and that was always a ray of sunshine, but she always had the guilt tugging at the back of her mind. Now there was nothing to take her mind off of Frank, off of what had happened to him and what she’d done. As hard as it was to get up in the morning, it was infinitely harder when she’d had so many distractions for so long, had friendship and warmth and such an overwhelming amount of love. What made it easier, however, was checking her answering machine.
Since Anne had been back for about two weeks, when she was certain that releasing any sort of details as to her location wouldn’t be some sort of stupid stunt, she had begun visiting her father’s grave. It wasn’t only to pay her respects, but also to leave messages for Murphy. At first, she’d tried leaving letters, but then she found it simpler to just leave a quick message telling him her phone number on top of the grave. Those times she spent with Frank, at least once a week, were heavy for her, but necessary. Anne had always felt that it was something you had to do for the dead, and for her father, she would do it an infinite amount of times. She would sit and talk to him, tell him about her life (but never about Silent Hill. Never about killing Sewell).
It was easy to talk about her time on the Tranquility to him, about her awkward friends, and about Murphy. Especially Murphy. Frank had known Murphy, would care about what she’d learned about him. She even liked to believe that he would be pleased that the two of them had been together for the time they were. Of course she left out the sordid details, but more or less, she summarized how things had been when they were together. It made missing him hurt just that much worse, but it felt cathartic at the same time. And at the end of those visits, she would leave a fresh, folded note with Murphy’s name written on the outside and a short message with her phone number inside, throw the old, usually rain-spotted one in the garbage cans at the cemetery gate.
There was no guarantee that Murphy would ever call. That he would ever even get the notes. But Anne couldn’t give up hope, not that easily. He’d told her once she hadn’t seemed like much of a wishful thinker, and in the end she wasn’t. But in this case, it was all she had, really, that slim hope. She was counting on how predictable Murphy was that he would find the notes if he ever ended up near Frank’s grave. Murphy was a creature of habit and even if he wasn’t constantly crippled by his guilt, he still had it, and he still felt that he owed Frank respect. Anne liked to hope that this was enough to make him want to visit Frank’s grave if he ever got the chance. It was a surprise to her, even after all the corruption she had witnessed, that she still loved her job. She worked harder than she ever had in the past and when she got home, those answering machine checks were all she had to look forward to. There were bill collectors and telemarketers, the occasional coworker calling to check up on her. But as the months went by, there was no Murphy. Grudgingly, Anne began to accept it. She was realistic woman. She had to stop living like a child.
It was heavy, gray day in November when Anne came home from work soaked in rain, cursing and kicking off her shoes. She was in the door just in time to hear the phone ringing, and with a sigh she closed the door behind her, and locked it out of habit. Waterspotted jeans were more uncomfortable than anything in the world to her, especially after Silent Hill, and she couldn’t wait to get out of them. For a moment, she considered letting the machine pick up, but thought better of it. There was no use being antisocial for no reason. Shrugging her damp jacket off onto the arm of the sofa, she lifted the phone from its cradle and brought it up to her ear.
“Hello?”
There was a brief pause on the other end, and Anne hear the sharp inhale of breath and then the sound of a throat being cleared. “Anne?”
There was a brief moment when time stood still, but in an almost terrifying way. Because by now, hearing that familiar voice that used to tell her good morning and goodnight and “I love you” every day coming through the phone against all odds made her wonder if she was legitimately losing her mind. Anne swallowed hard, and said nothing, actually backing up so she could rest her back against the wall.
“Anne?” he asked again, into the silence between whatever distance it was right now. “It’s uh… it’s Murphy.”
He sounded so real. So vivid. Maybe she wasn’t going crazy. Moistening her lips with her tongue, Anne took a moment to gather herself. It was difficult not to simply collapse right then, and she held herself together with some difficulty. “Murphy? Jesus Christ it’s…”
“Been a while. Yeah.”
He always had had a knack for knowing what she was thinking. For a time, Anne couldn’t say a word, and then it all exploded out at once, panic and tentative joy and relief, relief because even if he wasn’t here, he hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth. “Where are you? How did you… how did you know how to reach me? How long have you been… I… god dammit it’s… just good to hear the sound of your voice.”
“Was that note meant for some other Murphy?” he asked, and there was a joking lilt in his tone, but he sounded nervous. As nervous as she felt. “I’m around. At a pay phone, right now.”
“I’ll pick you up. Where—”
“I uh… look. Anne. I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” Anne could practically see him shifting his weight from one foot to another, looking distressed, shoulders hunched.
“And why the hell not?” she asked him, a bit more sharply than she meant to. Murphy paused. “After all this time, you really think you’re going to call me and I’m not going to want to see you?”
“No,” there was a soft sigh that accompanied it. “It’s just, it’s complicated, and you know it. I don’t wanna end up getting you caught up in all this. I’m still on the run, you know.”
“I’m already caught up in it. I killed Sewell, remember? Don’t think for one minute that you can sit there and tell me you’re not going to let me see you. You think I’ve gone ten minutes without missing you since we last saw each other?”
“It’s not a good idea, Anne,” Murphy told her again, and he didn’t sound as firm as he probably wanted to. There was a weakness there. “Back on the Tranquility, things were… it was different. Like a second chance. But now that that’s over, it’s back to the way it was and…”
“And nothing,” Anne cut him off. “I’m not naïve, Murphy. I know how this kind of thing works. You’re a wanted fugitive and things could never be simple with us, but I can live with that. No, let me finish,” she could tell he was going to cut in, and she didn’t want any of it. “I don’t care how it has to be, or how long it’s been or how many factors are sitting in the way. I love you. That’s not going to change. Ever.”
There was a desperation to her voice, because after all this time apart, after having him slip through her fingers, he was here in her ear and she was terrified of losing him again, of not being able to see him again. Just the sound of his voice stirred up warmth and memories and the need to be close to him again. Only you, he’d said to her once, and she recalled all those times when they were so close to each other, all those times when they pushed back and backpeddaled and when they were friends and then lovers, when things were awkward and perfect and sweet. It was something she ached for now, deeper than anything she could have imagined before just now. And in the back of her mind she know despite all the factors at play here that nothing between them was any different than it had been.
“Anne…” he breathed, and for a moment it was hard to believe that he wasn’t in the room with her. His voice sounded so close, to soothingly familiar. There was a long silence. “I love you,” he said finally, and there was almost a guilt to his words, and Anne could already tell he was going over all the reasons he should be just hanging up the phone right now for her benefit.
“That’s all that matters,” she reminded him, and despite her earlier assurance she felt a little naïve saying it. “We’ll figure out anything else later.”
“I don’t know how this is going to work…”
“We’ll make it work.” Anne had never felt more sure of anything, and never sounded more sure, more firm than she did saying that. Because to hell with everything else, she would run and hide and rearrange her life to be with this man, regardless of how unwise it might be. It had been that way for a long time, and didn’t show any signs of stopping. “I’ll come and get you. Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there. I can’t handle not seeing you. I can’t… give up what we had, just because things are harder now.”
There was a silence in which she could hear him breathe. “Well, twist my arm why don’t you?” Murphy said, and she could hear the smile in his voice , the lighthearted tone as he tried to make the mood less serious. “Anne. I want. To see you too. I’ll come to you, okay? I don’t wanna stay in one place too long. Just let me grab something to jot down your address. Okay?”
“Okay,” Anne said with a kind of heaviness to her everything about her, an intensity at the thought of seeing him again. She recited the familiar address to him, and as they hung up, Murphy stopped her.
“I’ll see you soon, Anne.”
“I hope so.”
The rain wasn’t falling anymore when the doorbell rang. It was morning, three days after the momentous phone call, and Anne was jittery beyond all words. When she heard the bing of the bell, she jumped in her seat and scrambled to answer it, though she caught herself just before the door so she wouldn’t fling it open with too much eagerness and knock him backward. She was only wearing a t-shit and jeans but somehow, with Murphy it didn’t feel underdressed even for a special occasion.
And of course, he was still Murphy. He stood on her doorstep with his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders rolled slightly forward, and his posture giving away that he was just as nervous as she was. When their eyes met, though, a smile crept onto his face, and there was a tug somewhere in her chest.
“Anne,” he said simply, and the sound of him saying her name made the tug turn into a full-on explosion of feeling, one that she couldn’t contain in the shaky smile she gave him back, almost embarrassed to be holding back tears. He looked just the way she remembered him, sounded just the way she remembered him, and for a moment she wondered if she was dreaming. If he could really be standing here with her right now, and the world could not be splitting in two.
“Murphy,” she responded, and it shook. The tremble to her voice, she was sure, gave away more than words and expressions ever could. All at once he was in her arms, and she wasn’t even sure which one of them had moved. Maybe both, because they were halfway in the doorway and her back pressed up against the doorframe as he held her close, and the things he was saying now didn’t make sense. Not even really words, just failed attempts at speech. Words didn’t really seem important right now, anyway. It seemed far more important to just hold him, to feel him and smell him and hear him, let him squeeze her and legitimately struggle not to cry. Maybe he was too, she couldn’t tell. His face was out of sight, buried in the crook of her neck.
When he kissed her, Anne was completely sure that any risk involved in keeping him here with her, any consequences that might come of it, were worth it. There was still the same warm passion to it as he cupped her face with one hand, still holding her with the other.
“I missed you so much,” she confessed then, and Murphy just nodded in reply, and what was in his eyes told her he returned the sentiment just as strongly. It was easy to forget about everything else when they were kissing like this, when Anne was pulling him in from the doorway and kicking the door closed behind them. Running her fingers through his hair, touching his cheek, all seemed like things she had taken for granted until now. As she let her thumb run across the familiar line of the scar on his cheek, she pulled him as close as possible, and the way the angles of their bodies still fit together perfectly made her chest fill with a warmth she hadn’t felt since coming back home.
“Come with me,” she said, breaking away just enough to be able to take his hand and pull him out of the entryway, into the living room. “There are things we have to talk about. Things we have to catch up on. You’re not getting away from me this time, alright? I don’t care what I have to go through to keep you around. I’m making that decision right now. And don’t even say ‘but’, because I’m not listening.”
For a moment, Murphy looked like he wanted to argue. But met with Anne’s unwavering stare, he faltered. And then stopped altogether. There was a silence, and they eyes met. Anne was aware all over again of that blinding electricity between them, that chemistry that she couldn’t fight if she tried. All at once, everything felt clearer than it had in months, and Murphy’s hand touched her face. There was some sort of promise in it, though she couldn’t be entirely sure what, and then as he leaned in to kiss her, the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
“Yes ma’am.”
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But seriously, it's lovely. No matter what kind of ending that happens at Ax, I'll at least have this cute little AU concept to turn to and make things feel all happy again. I kind of love seeing all of the little Ax references come into play as well.
Just. Yes. Lovely. <3
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Asghlk I'm so happy you like it XD regardless of how AX ends up ending, this will always be my secret headcanon for what goes down after. I mean... assuming neither of them are dead, and all. Because Anne's not going to let him disappear mysteriously into the night even if it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to track him down and he initially wants no part of it and I think Murp should probably realize that by now...
Also, this is extremely relevant...
I was pretty damn excited about putting in AX references c: