Rose and Thorn - part 3 (PG)

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Rose and Thorn - part 3 (PG)

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ROSE AND THORN
part three




Mick’s heart was racing, his breaths coming fast and shallow. When had he mentioned Rosie’s name? It had to have been tonight, but he didn’t remember doing it. What could he possibly answer? An image flashed in front of his mind: he was standing outside Rosie’s window, looking in, and only the slightest part of him knew who she was; the rest of him saw only prey, and he began to move toward her, his hand raised to break the glass.

Beth said quietly, “Mick, you look like a ghost. I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have asked.”

Beth’s voice shook him free of the memory. She would let it go, if he didn’t answer, or if he turned the question with something vague, someone I used to know. But her voice echoed in his head, from not so long ago, sad and wistful: I just wish he’d talk to me. He’d told her about Mary, but he couldn’t tell her about Rosie. He couldn’t. No matter how much she needed to know. I can’t tell Beth. I only just found her again! We’ve been so distant for so long, and now we’re together, and I can’t lose that. But the closeness he’d felt a moment ago was fading, and maybe it never had been real, not when he was keeping so much of himself hidden from her. He might lose Beth altogether, telling her this, but his silence had already come near to destroying everything they’d had. He took a breath and looked up, meeting Beth’s gaze, took another breath, and finally told her the very first part of it. “She’s my sister.”











Mick unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and sat for a moment looking at the old folios and albums within it. Carefully he lifted out the small album on top, the faded blue one with the gold latch, and carried it in to the living room. He found Beth in the kitchen, looking thoughtfully at his rumpled new bed; when she saw him she quickly turned away from it, finishing her coffee and setting her cup by the sink. Mick sat on the couch, and Beth came to sit beside him. She’d left her coat on a chair, but he was still wearing his. He’d turned up the heat, and switched on the fire, but somehow the apartment still felt very cold.

He opened the little album and took out a handful of photographs. There were so few of them, especially from the early days; he had always wished for more. His mother had been an avid collector of family photos – he still remembered her utter consternation when he’d told her that Coraline was camera shy, and that no photographs would be taken at their wedding. But looking at the pictures he had was painful enough, so perhaps it was just as well that he did not have more.

The top photo showed Rosie, twelve years old, standing between her brothers. Mick was in uniform; it was 1942, and the whole family had come for a surprise visit, to see him one last time before he was sent off to England, to the war. Rosie had happily skipped school for the occasion, and Sam had taken advantage of his last free week before his own induction. In the picture Rosie looked excited and proud. Mick was smiling down at her while Sam, more serious, looked directly into the camera.

Mick handed Beth the photograph and she looked down at it for a long time, reaching out hesitantly to touch Mick’s image before shifting her gaze to Rosie and to Sam.

“That’s Rosie?” she asked.

“Yes. And my brother. Sam.”

“She’s adorable.” Beth looked up and smiled at Mick. “It looks like she had you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Oh, she did. Always.”

“She’s a lot younger than you.”

“We were a pretty spread-out family. Rosie was eight years younger than me, and Sam was six years older. This is the last picture of all of us together.”

“The last?” Beth looked at him uncertainly.

“Sam was killed. In the war.”

She looked back at the photo, shaken. “I’m sorry.”

“He was a quartermaster. Behind the lines. We thought he’d be safe.” Mick remembered the letter from Rosie, the first news he’d had of Sam’s death. After that her letters to him had been more fearful. She’d been terrified then, with Mick on the front lines, that she would lose him too.

“Was he married?” Beth asked. She was still gazing at the photograph. Sam’s hand was almost out of the frame, but the gold band was visible on his finger.

“Yes.”

“Did they have children?”

“They were planning on it. Later.”

They’d all wanted children, Sam and Mick and Rosie too, but that dream had never come true for any of them. With a last look at Sam, Mick went on through the pictures. He passed through them quickly – Rosie at the piano, Mick’s own homecoming, Rosie’s high school graduation, and more - until he reached the photo taken on his wedding day, when Rose was twenty-two and Mick was thirty. He stared at it for a long time, and felt himself trembling. He handed it to Beth.

“That’s the last picture of Rosie and me,” he said. He smiled bitterly. “I got married, later that day.”

Beth took the picture from him, and frowned in confusion. “I remember you told me you had to give up your family, after you were turned. Because you were a danger to them. But I don’t understand why. When you were a vampire, and I was with you, I can’t imagine that I could have been safer.”

He shook his head. “It was never safe, being near me.”

She smiled faintly. “It was never safe for you to be near me either. Josh always said I was some kind of danger magnet . . . anyway. Mick, you could never have harmed me.”

Mick reached out, took her left arm, and gently brushed his fingers along the inside of her wrist.

“A blood donation,” she said lightly. “It doesn’t count, and it didn’t harm me.”

Mick looked away from her. It still haunted him, how close he had come to losing control that day. A dying vampire was very like a newly turned one, with all the old instincts brought back to the surface. He had nearly attacked Leni; for a time, in the fever dreams, he thought that he had. Then Beth had come, like an angel, her hands cool and gentle against his face, and she had driven the nightmare away.

Beth had always trusted him too much. But she was right about this. With her, he could have overcome his instincts. If she had not offered her blood, he would have found the strength to retain his control until he died. Beth would have been safe.

If it had happened in the fifties, she would not have been.

“You’re right,” he said. “But it’s different, when you’re first turned.”

“Different how?”

How could he describe it? His senses intensified to the point of madness, every noise too loud and every light too bright, drowning in scents he could not even recognize. Rage he couldn’t explain, hunger so intense it was unbearable. “At first you need blood. A lot of it, and quickly, or you won’t survive. That’s why vampire instincts are so strong – why you’re driven to hunt, to kill. To feed. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t control it.”

Mick hadn’t been able to stop himself, when Coraline had brought him his first kill. There’d been no hope for it. All that blood ought to have satisfied the monster, at least for a time, but it hadn’t. Every part of him, body and mind, still felt the desperate need for more.

“And the instincts don’t go away,” Mick said painfully. “Not for a long time. That’s why so many new vampires go feral.”

“You mean – like that doctor?” Beth asked.

“Yes.”

“But I thought that was just because he was alone. Because his – sire – abandoned him.”

“It was, in that case. But it might have happened anyway. It happens more often than not.”

Coraline had told him how little blood a vampire really needed, to survive: a human every three or four weeks was sufficient, so long as they were fully drained. The older vampires had learned that it was in their best interest to kill as rarely as possible, to avoid discovery and retribution, and Mick had understood this analytically, but it had made no difference to the way he felt. Even his horror about the killing was not enough to stop him. But Coraline had controlled him, mostly. She had, at least, kept him from going feral.

It was all contradiction: his instincts fighting for vampire life, Mick himself longing for death. Hating Coraline for what she’d done, desperate to leave but utterly dependent on her, because without her he could not have stopped himself from killing every day. Loving her for the comfort she gave, lying in her arms in bed while she whispered to him that he just had to hold on a little longer, that the pain would go away. Following her, when it was time, through the dark alleys, finding the people who would not be missed. The power of the hunt, giving in to his instincts at last, some part of him aware of everything; the rest of him not really there at all. When it was over he would not know, for a time, where he was or what he had done. But he always remembered later.

Beth still looked confused. “But it didn’t happen to you,” she said.

“No. Coraline kept me under control. But she couldn’t watch me every minute. I was dangerous, Beth. You can’t imagine how dangerous. I had to stay far away from my friends and family. Especially from Rosie.”

Beth was still holding the last photograph. She looked back at it, at Mick and Rosie together, so loving and so close. “But you couldn’t have hurt her,” she protested.

“Beth, you don’t understand! It was different then; I told you!” He pulled away from her, frustrated, and got to his feet, pacing back and forth until he reached the window. The blinds were open and it was colder there; he stood and rested his forehead against the deep chill of the glass. He wanted to smash his head into it, again and again, as if blood and pain might somehow drive away the memories. After a moment Beth came to stand beside him, and he took a step away from her, drawing back. He knew he was hurting her, but somehow he had to make her understand. “I couldn’t control it. Not back then. No matter how much I wanted to. And one night Coraline was distracted, and I got past her. I’d been thinking of Rosie that day. I missed her so much, and I wanted to see her - I knew it was impossible but I couldn’t help wishing for it, and . . .” He put his hand to the cold window. “That night,” he said, very low, “I went to my old house. Maybe it was because I’d been thinking so much about Rosie. I don’t know. But I was there, outside her window, and I could see her, in her room. She was alone; there was no one else in the house. She was standing by her dresser, and she was holding something. A picture in a frame.” Mick pressed his hand harder against the window, seeing Beth’s face reflected in the glass. She was starting to look frightened. Mick could barely find his voice, now, but he had to go on. “I broke the window and I was through it, and I was on her in an instant. She didn’t even have time to turn.” There was horror, now, on Beth’s face. I knew I would lose her, telling her this. He looked away. He could go out on the roof, he thought, and jump. It would work now.

He’d thrown Rosie to the floor. Her head struck the corner of the dresser as she fell, and she lay face down, not moving. Mick turned her head to the side, to gain access to the carotid; he pushed her hair out of the way and steadied her face with his hand, ready to strike.

“She fell,” he said, “and I . . .”

“Mick,” Beth whispered.

He closed his eyes. He heard her take a step toward him, and he didn’t understand why.

“I was at her throat,” he said. “All I wanted was her blood. I couldn’t see her at all.”

His fangs had broken her skin, sinking deep. The monster was exultant; this was what it lived for, and he had just begun to take her blood when he saw a flash of light, a reflection off his fleur-de-lis pendant, which was swinging out in front of him on the end of its chain. The pendant caught his eye, hypnotic, and he watched it as it swayed, not quite sure what it was, what it meant. He let go of Rosie’s face, pulled away from her throat, and took the pendant in his hand. His fingers were damp, and he smelled tears. Rosie’s tears. Then he saw the picture on the floor beside her, the one that she’d been holding.

Mick could hear Beth’s breathing, harsh and fast; it echoed his own, and his heart was racing. He looked into the window again, at Beth’s reflection, steeling himself for the horror he’d seen on her face before. It was there, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring out into the distance, at something that wasn’t there. Sharing even this with him, feeling the horror that he felt.

“I broke her skin,” Mick said. “Tasted her blood. But something flashed in front of me,” – he put up his hand, unconsciously, to his chest – “and I saw what she’d been holding. The picture in the frame.” Mick gestured toward Beth, at the photograph she still held. “It was that picture.” He glanced at Beth sideways as she lifted the photograph to look at it again, the picture of Rosie and Mick on his wedding day, Mick in his best suit and tie, Rosie in the dress she’d had to borrow from a friend, because she didn’t have enough money left to buy one of her own.

In Rosie’s room Mick had let go of the pendant, had reached out to pick up the photograph. The silver frame burned his hand, and he dropped it, but he couldn’t stop staring at the picture. He touched the glass instead, and felt his eyes change. That’s me, with Rosie. It was one of the photographs he’d always kept, one of the few things he’d salvaged from his old apartment, but it was supposed to be in the blue album with the others, and what was it doing in a frame? His hand hurt, and he smelled silver. He saw his fleury cross, swinging gently on its chain; he saw Rosie’s blue-and-white curtains, tied back with ribbons, hanging beside her broken window; he knew, with a sudden terrible shock, where he was. And then he saw Rosie.

“The picture brought me back,” Mick said. “I found myself kneeling on the floor, and I didn’t know where I was. But then I recognized Rosie’s room – I couldn’t believe I was there; I couldn’t be there – and I saw her. She was lying so still, and there was blood on her neck. I didn’t remember what had happened, not then, and I thought I’d killed her.”

He’d felt sheer terror, before he’d remembered to listen, and then he knew her heart was beating, her lungs were working, her blood was still moving through her veins. But she was so still. Mick crawled to her side, too frightened to think, but the old reflexes took over and he examined her carefully, checking for injuries, and found the deep bruise and swelling at her temple, the lump rising as she bled beneath the skin.

“But you didn’t,” Beth said, almost desperately.

“No. I didn’t. But I hurt her. Her head hit the dresser when I threw her down, and she was unconscious.”

Mick had fled into the hall, to phone an ambulance, had rushed to the front door, to unlock it. When he came back to Rosie’s room he hesitated, agonized, over whether to go or to stay. It wasn’t safe for him to stay. He couldn’t trust himself. But he couldn’t leave her. He sat on the floor and took her in his arms, holding her tightly, praying for her to wake. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Rosie, please. I’m sorry.” She’d had tears on her face, his photograph in her hand. She’d been crying for him.

He held her and talked to her, telling her she’d be fine, that the ambulance would be there soon, that she’d be safe. He had no idea if she would be. Anything could happen, with a head injury. He heard the siren at last, and knew he had to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her. “Rosie, wake up,” he said, his voice breaking, and she sighed, and stirred, and murmured his name. “Mick?” She opened her eyes, dazed and unfocused, and moved her hand, reaching for him. But by then he was already gone.


















_
Last edited by Shadow on Mon Feb 16, 2009 8:19 am, edited 5 times in total.
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wpgrace
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part three

Post by wpgrace »

Such a heart-breaking memory... and such an apt illustration of his line that he had to give his family up...

This is such a touching story... and so very well told.
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part three

Post by coco »

Oh that was just heartbreaking.
The detail of Mick's past is fascinating and the memory of why he left his family alone was so sad.
Really wonderful stuff Shadow :D
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Shadow
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part three

Post by Shadow »

That line in the show where Mick talks about having to give up his family always haunted me. After I wrote this I got to go to the Paley event - one of the questions asked of Alex was what he thought Mick's greatest regret was. Alex said one of the biggest was leaving his family behind the way Mick did, just disappearing without a word or a trace. (Another thing I'd have loved to see an episode delve into .....)
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part three

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Shadow wrote:That line in the show where Mick talks about having to give up his family always haunted me. After I wrote this I got to go to the Paley event - one of the questions asked of Alex was what he thought Mick's greatest regret was. Alex said one of the biggest was leaving his family behind the way Mick did, just disappearing without a word or a trace. (Another thing I'd have loved to see an episode delve into .....)

Oh Shadow, that would have made a GREAT ep! As your story makes a great story!
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part three

Post by mitzie »

That was such a heart wrenching moment!! Poor Mick... :cry: I wonder how Beth will react to this??!! What an excellent story you are weaving here!!!!

Off to part four.

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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3

Post by francis »

How heartbreaking. Mick is wearing so much guilt with him.
I somehow think that Beth will understand, and forgive. Your Beth is a good woman.
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3

Post by redwinter101 »

I love this story so much. Not just because of your gift for weaving in the telling details (the pendant, the photo...) but because your Mick is so beautiful. So very very beautiful, he makes my heart ache.
Shadow wrote:Then Beth had come, like an angel, her hands cool and gentle against his face, and she had driven the nightmare away.
How beautiful - a perfect description. This is *precisely* what I saw.
Shadow wrote:There was horror, now, on Beth’s face. I knew I would lose her, telling her this. He looked away. He could go out on the roof, he thought, and jump. It would work now.
Okay, I teared up at this point. So much regret, for the things he had been unable to avoid or control.
Shadow wrote:She’d had tears on her face, his photograph in her hand. She’d been crying for him.
But of course she had. Poor Rosie. Poor Mick.

I'm so happy though, that you had Mick confiding in Beth, trusting her, taking her into his life completely, not hiding any more. It's marvellous and warm and whole.

Just lovely.

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Shadow
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3

Post by Shadow »

Thanks so much, Red.

I thought Mick's sudden change to mortality would be disorienting enough to help him break some old habits - to make him more vulnerable, and more open, especially in a situation like this one. It was a nice opportunity to let him really open up to Beth.
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3 (PG)

Post by NocturneInCMoll »

Oh, wow--I wondered if Rosie might have been Mick's sister.

I'm glad he didn't actually kill her--his story was heartbreaking enough. I hope we get to find out what happened to Rosie after he left her.
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3 (PG)

Post by Shadow »

This seemed like about as much as Mick could handle and still go on. Yes, heartbreaking enough....

I wasn't ready to part with Rosie, either. She does have more to do!
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3 (PG)

Post by Luxe de Luxe »

I was feeling genuine trepidation for Rosie then, and for MIck, knowing that if he'd killed her, he truly never would have forgiven himself.
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3 (PG)

Post by wollstonecraft61 »

The anguish Mick must have felt when he attacked his sister! God, what a tortured soul. I just want to take him in my arms and hold him. :hankie: :sigh:
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3 (PG)

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Luxe de Luxe wrote:I was feeling genuine trepidation for Rosie then, and for MIck, knowing that if he'd killed her, he truly never would have forgiven himself.
I'm glad you felt that! I didn't actually know what would happen when I started that scene, so was hoping readers wouldn't know either .....
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Re: Rose and Thorn - part 3 (PG)

Post by Shadow »

wollstonecraft61 wrote:The anguish Mick must have felt when he attacked his sister! God, what a tortured soul. I just want to take him in my arms and hold him. :hankie: :sigh:
Sigh ... oh, me too.....
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