Work Text:
Flickering Out
by
Sarah Cameron
The candle was the only remaining light in the room.
She settled down prone into the tub, her slender white body half-floating. The water shifted, warm and indifferent beneath her like a sleeping lover. She breathed the scented steam, revelling in the simplicity, the directness of the pleasure.
She reached for the candle, hissing a little at the sting of the air on her wrist. No, her arms didn't hurt, not really; they were getting weak, though. She brought the candle down and let it float, in its glass jar, on the surface of the water. The wax in the bottom was already mostly liquid, and the solid masses clinging to the sides of the jar were beginning to sweat, to weep. The jar bobbed crookedly in the water; the candle, after the manner of its kind, had not burned with perfect symmetry. It was off balance, and would become more so. Sooner or later, it would tip and sink, drowning the flame. She steadied the jar with a finger, smiling with gentle fellow-feeling. "Stay with me a little," she whispered to the light. "I need you."
It was a red candle. She liked red - always had. Not the sweet sickly red of roses. No, this was a deep, complicated, dangerous red, its scent a pot-pourri. It cast a stain of ruby light on the water around it. Or was that only the candle-light?
Hypnotized by the flickering, she drifted, thoughtless and comfortable, for a while. But all too soon she started thinking again.
I wonder if it'll take a long time...
Maybe I should have used my gun. Why didn't I use my gun?
They took my gun away, that's why.
After they demoted me to a desk job.
After they reprimanded me for "conduct unbecoming".
After they kicked me out of Juvie for being unreliable and insubordinate.
After they told me that I didn't fit into Narco's team spirit.
After I transferred from Homicide. I requested that transfer, didn't I? Yes...
After they... no, I won't think about it. Not any more. Doesn't matter any more.
The tears in her eyes were making interesting shapes with the candle flame. She blinked them back and made them stop. She was good at that.
The flame was moving with her breath. Once again she let it carry her thoughts away. She sank into the black hole within her. The one those two made. Or maybe they just showed her a black hole that was already there. It didn't matter. Not any more. She sank.
She spluttered back to consciousness, mouth full of water. No, not going to drown. Wrong plan. Hazily she persuaded her reluctant body to turn over, onto its back. Weak, so weak. Careful not to upset the candle.
Her hair spread out on the water. Beautiful, thick blonde hair - she had tended it well. Men liked to touch it - they both liked to touch it. She reached a weary hand up, touched it. Mustn't think about it... would drive her crazy. Crazy lady, hair floating on the water. Was that from a play? Yes... Ophelia. She should be singing. One of them used to sing to her. Strange, she couldn't remember any of the words.
Light bobbing, writing on the white ceiling. No-one could read it... No note. She remembered deciding that. No note. She had never owed anyone explanations.
What would she explain? What words of wisdom could she possibly pass on... and who would want to hear? A daughter... an old, sweet, dead dream. No daughter for wicked ones like her. Family, friends - never had 'em. Never wanted 'em. No obligations, no demands. Keep things simple.
So let the bobbing candle write on the ceiling in light for nobody to read... The three rules:
Number one: never fall in love with two men at the same time.
Number two: if you do, never pretend that you haven't. Fallen in love, that is. Maybe that should be number three. Maybe it's the most important.
Light bobbing on the ceiling. So pretty. She couldn't feel her arms and legs at all now. A little shiver crept up her spine. Was the water getting cold? Maybe try to reach a tap with her foot. No - too weak. Light making huge wide patterns across the ceiling. Pretty. Oh yes, the rules:
Number three: never fall in love with two men who are in love with each other.
Unbidden, unwelcome, the old picture came back into her mind to please her, torture her, one last time. Gold and dark, yin-yang, the two of them entwined. Fighting. Fucking. Whatever. She remembered the feeling that used to give her, deep down in her gut. Excited. Angry. Black. But it was just a memory; there was no feeling at all now. In her mind, she rolled the picture up into a little ball and kicked it away into space. Then she cried a little.
Then she fell asleep.
As her head went under the water, the wash overwhelmed the tipping candle and put out the light.
Kira was dead.
No-one grieved much.