Passing the Torch (Mick/Beth) PG-13
Posted: Tue Nov 03, 2009 7:56 pm
Disclaimers: I don't own Moonlight.
A/N: This is an alternate universe story, a brief look at how things might have played out if a certain event had never happened. And, uh, you might want to grab a hankie.
Passing the Torch
The bus was crowded, and the old woman was glad to be getting one of the last seats. “Even if this hard plastic kills me,” she said under her breath. It was already sending pains shooting through her hips, and she shifted her weight uneasily. She was going to have to get those hip replacements her son kept urging, she supposed. Especially if she wanted to keep riding the bus. She’d given up her driver’s license—reluctantly—the previous year (and all right, Joshua had been correct to insist; at 76, she really didn’t see well enough to drive anymore) but she wasn’t ready to lose all her independence. And she could hardly expect Joshua, or his daughter Elizabeth, to keep ferrying her around. She sighed a little at that. Elizabeth was a worry, with her wild ways.
She glanced up and caught the young man staring down at her from where he stood in the aisle. She patted the seat next to her, the last available one on the bus. “Sit down, son, I won’t bite.”
He smiled, crookedly, at that, but he sat.
“No reason for you to stand when there’s a seat empty,” the old woman said.
“No, ma’am,” he replied politely, his dark hazel eyes focused on her face with an unnerving intensity.
“Hmmph. They don’t teach manners like that much these days,” she commented, then paused, looking at him more closely. “Do I know you? You look so—familiar.”
“I get that a lot,” he lied. “I’m sure I’d remember you if we’d met.”
She laughed. “I guess it’s not likely, is it?” Joshua would fuss at her, if he knew she was talking to a strange young man on a city bus. He’d gotten so protective, since his father had died two years ago. A good boy, but as he’d gotten older, he’d become a real stuffed shirt. His father’s influence shining through, she supposed. Something random crossed her mind, and she laughed a bit.
Her new acquaintance gave her a quick, questioning frown, his dark brows drawing together.
“I was just thinking about all the trouble I give my guardian angel,” she said.
“Guardian angel?”
She laughed again. “When I was very young, I was kidnapped. It was a terrible experience, but I was rescued. When I asked my mother about it, as I got older, she said it was my guardian angel who saved me. And after that, whenever I managed to get out of a scrape, she’d shake her head and say my guardian angel must be working overtime. Or predicted he’d get so exasperated with me, he’d just up and quit his job.”
The young man nodded, amused understanding written on his face. “I’ll bet you gave him a wild ride.”
The blonde hair might have faded, her figure grown stooped and blurred with age, but her smile hadn’t really changed, over all those years, or the mischievous twinkle in her bright blue eyes. “Oh, I did. But somehow, I don’t think he ever gave up on me.”
In the road ahead, a car stopped suddenly, and the bus driver slammed on the brakes, causing all the passengers to take a hard lurch. One woman tumbled from her seat with a small shriek, and packages went flying everywhere. Beth would have pitched forward, if Mick hadn’t shot an arm out to prevent it.
She looked up at him, wistfully. What a handsome man he was, and his touch, so gentle. “See?” she said. “My guardian angel is still watching out for me.”
“What?” Mick replied, startled.
“Well, he sent you to me, tonight.”
“Oh. Perhaps he did.” There could be no harm, Mick thought, in this little conversation. He’d watched so long, so carefully. He’d been tempted, more than once, to reveal himself, to let her know of his existence, but he’d always backed away, unwilling to face the consequences, the certitude he had that if she knew her guardian angel was a monster, she’d recoil from him in horror.
It had been a lonely life, though, hiding in the shadows, just out of sight. He’d followed Josef’s advice, now and then, but the fleeting relief he got from sampling his friend’s freshies had been ultimately unsatisfactory, and after a few years, he’d given up on it. He’d never been able to convince Josef, but for him, that sort of empty exchange had been like white noise, background static when he longed for music.
He told himself, again, sternly, that he’d been right. It wouldn’t have been decent, to have drawn her into his world, to have robbed her of the long, pleasant, human life she’d had. But she was speaking again, and he wrenched his attention back to her voice.
She laid a wrinkled hand on his arm. “You’re very kind to listen to an old woman’s ramblings.”
“Not at all,” he said with a slight shake of his head. Her touch was burning through him. It had been so long…
“Well, then,” Beth said, “may I tell you one more silly thing?”
“Of course.”
She leaned over, a little confidentially. “If you really were my guardian angel, you know what I’d tell you?”
“No ma’am,” he said. “What?”
“I’d tell you, I don’t need you anymore. But my granddaughter does. She’s a real spitfire, and she could use someone to watch over her.”
“I’ll bet she’s a lot like you were, at her age.”
“Everyone says she’s the spitting image of me.” Beth laughed again. “I like to think it’s true. She’s a beautiful girl.”
With a squeal of brakes, the bus halted, and Beth glanced out the window. “My goodness, it’s my stop already.”
Mick rose at once to assist her to her feet.
And before she turned to go to the exit, she reached up and touched his cheek. “Her name’s Elizabeth Lindsey,” she said. “And the one thing I always wished, was that my guardian angel would have talked to me. That he would have trusted me enough to know that whatever it was he feared, I’d understand.”
Her touch was benediction and farewell, and as Mick watched her make her way painfully down the steps to the curb, he knew he would do as she asked. After all these years, how could he not? “Maybe I never spoke,” he murmured to her retreating back, “but I always loved you.”
A/N: This is an alternate universe story, a brief look at how things might have played out if a certain event had never happened. And, uh, you might want to grab a hankie.
Passing the Torch
The bus was crowded, and the old woman was glad to be getting one of the last seats. “Even if this hard plastic kills me,” she said under her breath. It was already sending pains shooting through her hips, and she shifted her weight uneasily. She was going to have to get those hip replacements her son kept urging, she supposed. Especially if she wanted to keep riding the bus. She’d given up her driver’s license—reluctantly—the previous year (and all right, Joshua had been correct to insist; at 76, she really didn’t see well enough to drive anymore) but she wasn’t ready to lose all her independence. And she could hardly expect Joshua, or his daughter Elizabeth, to keep ferrying her around. She sighed a little at that. Elizabeth was a worry, with her wild ways.
She glanced up and caught the young man staring down at her from where he stood in the aisle. She patted the seat next to her, the last available one on the bus. “Sit down, son, I won’t bite.”
He smiled, crookedly, at that, but he sat.
“No reason for you to stand when there’s a seat empty,” the old woman said.
“No, ma’am,” he replied politely, his dark hazel eyes focused on her face with an unnerving intensity.
“Hmmph. They don’t teach manners like that much these days,” she commented, then paused, looking at him more closely. “Do I know you? You look so—familiar.”
“I get that a lot,” he lied. “I’m sure I’d remember you if we’d met.”
She laughed. “I guess it’s not likely, is it?” Joshua would fuss at her, if he knew she was talking to a strange young man on a city bus. He’d gotten so protective, since his father had died two years ago. A good boy, but as he’d gotten older, he’d become a real stuffed shirt. His father’s influence shining through, she supposed. Something random crossed her mind, and she laughed a bit.
Her new acquaintance gave her a quick, questioning frown, his dark brows drawing together.
“I was just thinking about all the trouble I give my guardian angel,” she said.
“Guardian angel?”
She laughed again. “When I was very young, I was kidnapped. It was a terrible experience, but I was rescued. When I asked my mother about it, as I got older, she said it was my guardian angel who saved me. And after that, whenever I managed to get out of a scrape, she’d shake her head and say my guardian angel must be working overtime. Or predicted he’d get so exasperated with me, he’d just up and quit his job.”
The young man nodded, amused understanding written on his face. “I’ll bet you gave him a wild ride.”
The blonde hair might have faded, her figure grown stooped and blurred with age, but her smile hadn’t really changed, over all those years, or the mischievous twinkle in her bright blue eyes. “Oh, I did. But somehow, I don’t think he ever gave up on me.”
In the road ahead, a car stopped suddenly, and the bus driver slammed on the brakes, causing all the passengers to take a hard lurch. One woman tumbled from her seat with a small shriek, and packages went flying everywhere. Beth would have pitched forward, if Mick hadn’t shot an arm out to prevent it.
She looked up at him, wistfully. What a handsome man he was, and his touch, so gentle. “See?” she said. “My guardian angel is still watching out for me.”
“What?” Mick replied, startled.
“Well, he sent you to me, tonight.”
“Oh. Perhaps he did.” There could be no harm, Mick thought, in this little conversation. He’d watched so long, so carefully. He’d been tempted, more than once, to reveal himself, to let her know of his existence, but he’d always backed away, unwilling to face the consequences, the certitude he had that if she knew her guardian angel was a monster, she’d recoil from him in horror.
It had been a lonely life, though, hiding in the shadows, just out of sight. He’d followed Josef’s advice, now and then, but the fleeting relief he got from sampling his friend’s freshies had been ultimately unsatisfactory, and after a few years, he’d given up on it. He’d never been able to convince Josef, but for him, that sort of empty exchange had been like white noise, background static when he longed for music.
He told himself, again, sternly, that he’d been right. It wouldn’t have been decent, to have drawn her into his world, to have robbed her of the long, pleasant, human life she’d had. But she was speaking again, and he wrenched his attention back to her voice.
She laid a wrinkled hand on his arm. “You’re very kind to listen to an old woman’s ramblings.”
“Not at all,” he said with a slight shake of his head. Her touch was burning through him. It had been so long…
“Well, then,” Beth said, “may I tell you one more silly thing?”
“Of course.”
She leaned over, a little confidentially. “If you really were my guardian angel, you know what I’d tell you?”
“No ma’am,” he said. “What?”
“I’d tell you, I don’t need you anymore. But my granddaughter does. She’s a real spitfire, and she could use someone to watch over her.”
“I’ll bet she’s a lot like you were, at her age.”
“Everyone says she’s the spitting image of me.” Beth laughed again. “I like to think it’s true. She’s a beautiful girl.”
With a squeal of brakes, the bus halted, and Beth glanced out the window. “My goodness, it’s my stop already.”
Mick rose at once to assist her to her feet.
And before she turned to go to the exit, she reached up and touched his cheek. “Her name’s Elizabeth Lindsey,” she said. “And the one thing I always wished, was that my guardian angel would have talked to me. That he would have trusted me enough to know that whatever it was he feared, I’d understand.”
Her touch was benediction and farewell, and as Mick watched her make her way painfully down the steps to the curb, he knew he would do as she asked. After all these years, how could he not? “Maybe I never spoke,” he murmured to her retreating back, “but I always loved you.”
This has to be so hard on Mick to see Beth at the end of her life without a lifetime of memories stored up.
But then again, she wouldn't have her son, or her spitfire granddaughter. Yeah, francis is right: Beth can't know what would have been better. This just is the life that she led.
