[identity profile] mollivanders.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] prefer_my_life
Title: peace slips through his fingers
Fandom: The Killing
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Alexi/Rosie
Author's Note: Word Count - 726. For this meme here. Set mostly pre-series.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Filled quilt, soldier, wishes

Sometimes Alexi asks her what she’ll do when she leaves, as though that will be enough to make her stay.

“See the world,” she tells him, stealing his cigarette and rolling closer to him in the grass. Her hand waves at the canopy of trees above them and another butterfly flits past. Rosie’s eyes track it for a moment before coming back to him.

“All of it,” she adds solemnly and lets Alexi kiss her, her mouth opening like a cradle under his. The nicotine stains their kiss, turns it sour, but Alexi hangs on until Rosie breaks free gasping for breath. He doesn’t like the way she seems to gulp for breath after a simple kiss but she settles after a moment, curling back under his arm. “Los Angeles,” she says. “Then maybe further south.”

“You’ll write, won’t you?” he asks and when she hums a yes, he knows it’s a lie, even if she doesn’t mean it that way.

(When he gets home he takes a long shower, hot water turning cold as he thinks about Rosie, about the way she smells and how she’s almost out of reach, until finally his ma is banging on the door to get out of there already. If only he could.)

Alexi’s never really known peace, not with his life, but he can guess what it might be like. What it would be like with Rosie, with the way she pulls him away from the streets and towards new ones.

Strange, under the circumstances.

Some nights he waits for her at the pier, leans against the dock while she skips down the ramp in short steps towards him. She looks tired and a little nervous around the edges and Alexi wishes – well, what good is it being part of the mob if he can’t make Rosie feel safe?

(Strange, under the circumstances.)

“Long day?” he asks and Rosie, dressed up in fancy makeup and her uniform, nods tiredly. She doesn’t quite fall asleep, clinging to him on the back of his bike, but he holds her hands around his middle with one of his own, just in case.

Some nights, she stays with him, just sneaks back home in time for her mom not to notice.

“She doesn’t notice much of me these days anyway,” Rosie says and Alexi laughs, grins at her in the darkness. “They’re crazy not to,” he tells her and Rosie, his Rosie that nobody else knows, straddles him in the darkness to kiss him, hands digging in his hair as his hips rise up to meet hers in a steady rhythm.

(The rest of them, they don’t know anything.)

Alexi knows a lot. For example, Rosie likes his tattoos. Rosie gets cold at night so he has to sneak out into the hall and grab an extra quilt. Rosie likes the rain almost as much as she likes the sunshine. Rosie is quiet when she comes, her throat stretching tight as she arches above him. Rosie has three freckles on her left hip, and they wink at him just so whenever she moves. Rosie loves her brothers but she’s just biding her time.

He thinks of leaving with her, a thousand times. What has he got here? But his blood runs cold at the thought of Janek, and his ma, and Stan Larsen walking free.

“You could come with me,” she says one night, but she’s half-asleep and she never mentions it again, so Alexi figures she didn’t mean it. Can’t think what they’d do anyway, two kids on the run, so he just counts the days and prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that maybe she won’t go.


(Maybe she won’t be found dead in a campaign car. Maybe she won’t see something she shouldn’t have. Maybe she won’t need one, last look at her city.)

He doesn’t remember much about the first couple weeks after Rosie dies. Eat, sleep and do mob jobs, whatever they are. His ma follows him with concerned eyes but the guys slap him on the back and congratulate him on his newfound dedication.

Alexi dedicates himself all the way to a bullet in the back of Janek’s head, and then he lights out of there.

Los Angeles first, he decides. Then maybe further south.

(He hitches a ride from a pretty brunette.)


Date: 2012-09-16 05:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] crickets.livejournal.com
I'm slightly embarassed to admit this but I completely LOST IT at the end of this. Like, real tears, streaming down my face, having to cover my mouth so nobody in the house (we're packed today) would wander upstairs and ask me what's wrong. I don't know why I had such a visceral reaction to this, but I think it's just because you're that good.

I don't even know how to explain how beautiful and perfect this is. And how tragic. Lovely.

Date: 2012-09-17 12:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gigglemonster.livejournal.com
Ugh these poor children!
This is fantastic!


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