[identity profile] mollivanders.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] prefer_my_life
Title: your list of sins left a mark on me
Fandom: Skins
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Cook/Effy
Author's Note: Word Count - 625. For [livejournal.com profile] stainofmylove at her fic meme. AU as hell, probably.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

His breath is heavy on her skin, erratic as he gets closer and closer. She digs her nails into his hair, his face to her chest, and tilts her neck towards the sky. He’s all that’s holding her up right now, her one good foot straining for the ground.

It’s just them and the open road.


She’s being transferred to a holding cell before her trial, going over her confession in her head. The more things change, the more things stay the same.

For no good reason, his face flickers in her mind.

It’s always going to be you and me, babe.

She snorts to herself and the guard’s stare flicks over her body. He’s forty, balding, and looks like her dad. It’s the last thing on her mind right now but all the same, she slides her eye closed in a heavy wink until he jerks his eyes away, reddening at the neck.

The more things change –

The driver up front yells in her radio, some warning filtering through the metal paneling between them, and Effy braces herself just in time. Something slams against the van, hard, and she flies across the space between the seats, hitting her head on the other bench and feeling her ankle twist as her chain holds the rest of her body in place. The guard isn’t paying any attention to her now, even as she turns herself over, and some instinct kicks into place as she forces herself up. The back door of the van flies open and a short gunman stares down the barrel of a gun at the guard.

“Keys,” he says, his voice muffled, and when the guard goes for his gun instead, the gunman fires a shot into the ceiling of the van.

There’s something terribly familiar about him.


She slumps down against him afterward, their shoulders sticky with sweat as she breathes him in. The back seat smells like take out boxes and old clothes but she can still pick him out. Familiar.

“Long time, Cook,” she says, a yawn forcing its way through the comment, and Cook grins at her as he lights a cigarette. She takes it after the first draw, inhales deep.

“Pot, kettle,” he says, his finger whipping across his phone screen. Something complicated seems to have been executed but right now, Effy just doesn’t give a fuck. It’s done, after all. Like them – good and done for.

“I had an excuse,” she says when he takes the cigarette back. “Prison, and all.”

He snorts.

“Never stopped me,” he points out, and she turns to stare out the window. They’re not going anywhere right now, but she can see it. The weeks spin out before her, on the run with Cook.

The more things change –

“Thanks,” she says, still staring out the window, and feels Cook shift beside her. Taking her in, probably.

(The more they stay the same.)

“You want to drive?” he asks, dangling the keys just out of sight, and she locks eyes with him through the key ring.

“I don’t know where we’re going,” she says and Cook shrugs.

“Of course you do,” he says, settling back in his seat, and Effy feels the tint of her old power coming back to her, crawls up to the front seat and pushes her hair back as Cook slides in next to her.


He offers her his hand and she takes it, shaking as she jumps out of the back of the van. She takes one last look and sees the guard trying to decide if going for his gun is worth it.

“Effy,” Cook says in her ear, and she thinks better of it, takes off for the getaway car instead.

(This never happened.)

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we're not like the rest, no, we ain't like most

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