Chapter Text
They took the back roads to Nevada as much as they could, testing their luck for gas money along the way. Backwoods bars, mainly. The car was roomy and comfortable and Sweeney certainly wasn’t a bad road trip companion now he'd got his mojo back. The sudden interest in coin tricks was less annoying than it should be and, while he always won at darts now and was insufferably smug about it, there was less chance of a stray dart ricocheting past her head.
No, it was going pretty well. Laura could actually say she was enjoying herself. It was kinda unsettling. She found herself counting down the days with an increased uneasiness that she wouldn't analyse. Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three -
But it was only when she freaked out and nearly wrecked the car that she finally knew for sure. How far gone she was, specifically.
It was the buzzing that’d done it. A fly had gotten into the car, that was all, but she lost her shit entirely.
It hasn’t worked – something’s gone wrong –
She hadn’t taken it calmly.
They were lucky it was a quiet road. Slamming on the brakes and leaping into the road with zero regard for traffic was not a good way to celebrate her newfound vitality, but such is life.
And when she was done shaking herself off and yelling like a crazy person, he drew her to him and made soothing noises while her curses and sobs subsided.
“There’ll be flies and bugs galore but they’ve nothing to do with you anymore, you daft cunt.”
*
He drove them to the nearest drugstore and returned with six different brands of bug repellent. And snacks.
*
In half an hour she was behind the wheel again, fully composed and completely slathered in a cocktail of the stuff. She sniffed her arm and made a face. Ugh. But the smell of lemon eucalyptus would remind her that she was alive.
She glanced over at Sweeney, who’d resumed his former attitude – arms folded, feet on the dash, knees almost to his ears. Back to sleep again, as if she hadn’t nearly killed the both of them. It was kinda reassuring.
Safely unobserved, Laura indulged in a fond smile and resumed her reflections –
- the thing was, with Shadow, hello meant I love you. For Laura on the other hand, I love you had just meant hello. Every time she’d said it, she’d betrayed a trust – made a promise she couldn’t keep. Those three words were a curse that would never pass her lips again.
Glancing back at the sleeping Sweeney, she decided one thing –
Whatever happens, I won’t make that mistake again. After all, promises had to be made to be broken.
*
The room reeked of shame and regret. Or at least, it was rank with the lingering smell of stale booze and weed, which tended to mean the same thing. A leprechaun was one hell of a drinking companion, no doubt. Guess stereotypes are there for a reason.
This particular leprechaun was currently serving as a large, warm and quite tickly pillow and - she squinted – were those hickeys?
And they were both naked again. Laura sighed. Some day – some day – this would happen while she was sober and could remember the finer details.
On the bright side, she hadn’t had a proper hangover since her resurrection. Which was remarkable, considering who she was with. The lack of a nauseous headache left little - probably nothing - to regret, all in all.
It’d been a riotously successful night at the craps table, of that she was certain, and they’d celebrated as had befitted the occasion. Last thing she remembered was smoking weed by the fountain at the Lady Luck casino – everything after that was a mess of lights and traffic and drinks and – singing? First night in Vegas, what a cliché.
Well, we got back to the motel and neither of us is missing a kidney as far as I can see –
She took in her surroundings. This actually wasn’t the motel. This was a very nice and fancy room. More of a hotel. Probably blew their whole winnings on it.
Laura sat up carefully. She wasn’t going to spew any time soon but her mouth tasted of floor polish. Water, need water. On the way to the bathroom, she picked up her clothes as she found them. Underwear, dress, check.
Hm, what’s this?
*
Oh please no.
Laura sat down slowly on the toilet seat, staring at the folded paper in her hand.
How could she have ruined everything so soon?
The scrolled writing was unmistakeable. Certificate Of Marriage, The Little Church of America. The undersigned did on this day –
‘Lucky Sweeney’ had apparently, last night, been married to Laura – uh – Goddess of Roadkill – for fuck’s sake – Second Chances and – she turned the page sideways to read the amendment – and Never Making Any Promises Ever.
Undersigned by her own scrawled signature and whatever the hell that was right there.
Laura let out a nervous snort, clamped a shaking hand over her mouth and began to breathe again. It was just a joke. A drunken, stoned Las Vegas seemed-hilarious-at-time joke.
Oh thank God. That was almost not good. The thought of standing there, looking Sweeney in the eye and promising to – to love and honour and whatever the fuck else – it would be a – really bad thing.
She scanned her eye over the fake certificate one more time and made to stuff it back into the envelope. She fumbled it and something else fell out. Polaroids, two of ‘em.
One of her and Sweeney, and a little guy in a string tie who looked really familiar. The guy is grinning like he’s fucking terrified, and both she and Sweeney are looking at the photographer like he should probably fuck off and stop taking pictures. Well, that looks about right. And the second – well – it was kind of hard to stop looking at the second.
So that’s what kissing Sweeney looks like.
The string-tie guy had wandered off to the edge of the picture and was looking down at something shiny in his hand. The two of them looked like there was nobody else in the world right then. Laura sighed. That’s a pretty good wedding photo. Good job it’s not real.
She tucked the two photos into her pocket and jumped guiltily at a gentle tap at the door.
"Just a minute - "
She took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. There he stood, sagging with relief but still eyeing her nervously.
"Oh - hey - I thought maybe - I saw your stuff was gone - y'know - thirty days and all that - "
The coin. They'd slept in the same room - sometimes the same bed - since they'd arrived. The Baron hadn't specified just how close they had to stick together and they didn't want to take any chances.
"I'm still here," she nodded, not meeting his eye. She knew he didn't really care if she stayed or went after the thirty days were up but, for all that, she stepped forward and kind of headbutted him in the chest.
Laura stepped away quickly and wandered toward the window before - she didn't know what but she was confused and uncomfortable and itchy. She was dying for a smoke, but this looked like the sort of place to get pissy about it.
"Y'alright?" Sweeney asked, sounding uncertain. Probably worried she was gonna be funny about the fact that they'd fucked again, give him a hard time about it. Quite the opposite. If she didn't speak of it, it wouldn't have to be awkward.
"What's the envelope?" he asked, a little nervously. Laura turned, forcing a smile. Well, it was funny. Really funny. "This? It's - uh - it says we're married," she replied lamely, holding it out to him. Jesus woman, work on your delivery. Won't be getting any standup gigs if that's the best you can do.
Sweeney looked at her like she'd just offered to pray for him or something.
"So much for the word of a loa - " he muttered, taking it like it was his death warrant.
Huh?
"What's this?" Sweeney's face was a picture, as he scanned the fake certificate. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or punch something. But Laura’s own mind was racing. What did those voodoo assholes have to do with - ?
”Wait - did we get married in New Orleans? Something to do with the whole - resurrection thing?" And the penny dropped, although not literally this time. "Ohhh that fucking coin - ”
“Aye well, what’s mine is yours now - ” he murmured, squinting at the paper. “ - Goddess of Roadkill - ? Heh, that's about right - ”
"Wait - is this why I've been dropping coins all over the place? Can I even have a hangover anymore?"
Corpse bride becomes goddess by marriage. National Enquirer headline of the year. But if she was dead, she’d made no promises. So that was alright.
"Don't worry, you're a demigod at best - the smallest of small potatoes. But I'll believe in you, if you like." He dropped on the bed with a relieved sigh. "Thank fuck for that - there I was thinkin' it was news from Samedi."
"Bad news?"
"Is there any other kind? But, here - you're not mad?" he looked up at her doubtfully. "I thought you'd try and rip my limbs off."
"You're the mad one here, Fanta Pants."
Laura sat down beside him and smiled a little smile. She'd sworn no-one but herself would see them, but what the hell. War may be coming and Gods knew they might as well have some fun before the shit hit the fan.
"There's photos if you wanna see them." Without looking, she slipped one of the photos from her pocket and handed it to Sweeney, who surveyed it for a moment.
"Isn't that wee fella from the ice cream van? He looks fuckin' terrified."