(no subject)

[sunnydalealum]

February 18, 2007

The nice thing about being able to pass for fully human in this city? You can live anywhere.

Well, anywhere you can afford. But Fitz's day job pays the rent on a nice little one-bedroom in a decent part of town, and his other work is lucrative enough to keep it furnished and stocked (and secured) like someplace much nicer.

He's whistling something under his breath as he steps off the elevator and turns down the hallway.

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[sunnydalealum]

He’s leaving.

He’s ... leaving. And whoever it is he sent, she’s not here yet. Maybe he can bribe her. Maybe he can get away before she even gets here –

Fitz drags air into his lungs, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t still taste the cigarette smoke like a lingering curse, and makes his way to the front door. Both locks, the deadbolt, the chain, clack clack thunk rattle, and his little fortress is secure for the moment. Time enough to gather a few things, at least. Maybe even time enough to make a few calls, grease the rails ahead of him, see where he’d do best to head next.

He’s making for his wall safe, wondering whether Chicago is far enough away, deciding probably not, already resigning himself to the possibility of having to go West Coast for at least a little while, when he sees the wizened figure sitting in his leather armchair and all the strength goes out of him at once.

“Oh no,” he whispers, barely feeling himself fold up onto the couch, unable to take his eyes off those bright eyes and that gentle smile. “Oh no, no no no, not you.”

[nomorekaraoke]

"Hush now," the old, huddled woman murmurs, reaching for the plate of cookies she's prepared that sits waiting on the coffee table. Holding it out, her eyes grow smaller as if to balance her growing smile. These bakes goods here, they're her pride and joy. Nothing can distract anyone from this fact, not even the paper thin skin, nor the wrinkled old lips or the slicked back, almost starch white hair.

"Have a cookie, dearie. You'll feel better in no time."

[sunnydalealum]

He never saw her arrive. Nobody ever sees her arrive.

"Is that it?" There's no strength in his voice, any more than in his legs; it's not scorn or disbelief in his tone, just the last exhausted struggles of curiosity on the edge of despair. "Is that how you do it? A cookie?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"No, no, don't be silly," she chuckles merrily, her Irish brogue breaking through her crackling old voice. It's the only characteristic the public at large seems to agree on - maybe no one knows who she is, or where she comes from, but her accent is Irish on occasion.

"They'll make you feel better. Would you like some tea? It's very good."

[sunnydalealum]

It smells good, too. Soothing. Calming. It smells like a promise that everything’s going to be okay now.

Fitz swallows hard. "Listen," he mumbles hopelessly, "I can pay you."

[nomorekaraoke]

"I don't much care for money, and information I get plenty of, just asking for it." She picks out one of the cookies for herself - chocolate chip and cherries are her favorite, and she isn't afraid to show it.

"I'm just here to," delicate nibble. "Clean out your office, I suppose you could call it." She giggles again, a creaky old laughter that just goes to show there isn't a mean bone in her little old body.

[sunnydalealum]

That laughter curls around his heart and smothers the last feeble flicker of resistance. The office is up here, he said to Lorne, tapping his forehead, just minutes ago. Ages ago.

She was here the whole time. He never had a chance.

Fitz lets out a tiny soundless breath of despair; he wants to hide his face, or at least close his eyes, and he can't even do that, can't look away from her face. Except it's not even her face he's seeing anymore, just her eyes, just those two mercilessly bright flecks of rock-crystal blue, trapping his own.

"Do it," he whispers. "Just do it."




At the touch of her withered fingers in his hair, he finds he can close his eyes after all, but it doesn't make any difference.