Work Text:
Late the next morning, after the rush of dirty breakfast dishes had finished, Celia found herself, once again, on her morning walk along the shore of the lava pond tucked under the hill beneath the hotel. Idly, she spun her parasol on her shoulder as she watched the clouds from the hot steam vents twist and whirl in the breeze.
She may be in Hell now, and had been for quite some time, but that didn’t mean she’d go without a parasol for her walk after she’d finally earned one.
The voice that suddenly spoke over her shoulder startled her.
“Not much of a view, is it, Miss Celia?” Alastor asked as he drew up next to her, hastily mended staff held behind his straight back.
“Oh,” she replied warily as she turned towards him, “Hello. How are you now?”
“Better.”
She smiled at the warmth she could feel tinging that single word. Her shoulders relaxed as she shifted her focus back to the rippling lava. “I’m glad to hear.”
He cleared his throat, and her eyes darted back to him.
“I wanted to thank you for what you did last night,” he said loftily, arms shrugged and hands moving at his sides, “Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to not say anything about it.”
“It’s fine,” Celia assured him thinly with a frown. “Like I said, I can’t ignore when somethin’s wrong.”
His sneer didn’t reach his eyes. “How honorable,” he drawled, arrogance dripping from his words, “It’s rare to see that quality amongst the low life sinners here.”
Her gasp at his words disappeared into her clenched fist as a cough as her eyes narrowed and darkened. “Well, if there’s nothin’ else,” she said flatly as she stepped away, “Imma go back now.”
“See ya!” she called over her shoulder politely as she walked away, eyes glaring straight ahead.
Something tugged in his chest at the sight of her walking away from him, and his feet shifted towards her before he could stop himself. Flustered, the question started through his lips before he could reevaluate his plan.
“Have you ever…”
“Hmm?” She hummed as she looked back at him over her shoulder.
His eyes slid away from her face as his neck tensed. “…Met…someone…” His eyes flicked back up to her waiting face, his fingers tight around his staff, “…in the bayou?”
The black in her eyes faded back to yellow as they widened. “What?”
Heat prickled up from his knees, collecting itself around his shoulders, settling hot and heavy as he forced his jaw to relax. “You know what, it’s nothing,” he quickly deflected as he turned away from her green eyes, “Just a silly question.”
“There was a man,” Celia volunteered after a short pause, “I met him many times when I was alive. He…” she trailed off as she considered her words, and watched as Alastor shifted towards her again, “was a murderer. He killed people. People he thought were bad.”
“What did you think of this man?” he demanded with a raised eyebrow. His shoulders shrugged as he waggled his fingers to the side dramatically, “Were you afraid of what he would do?
“Hated his existence?” His staff swung to the side, and he followed its movement.
“Or just,” his hard eyes lifted back to hers, “disappointed?”
Her fingers flex around her parasol, “Misguided maybe,” she said lightly as she looked back towards the lava pond, “But I thought he was a good person.”
His eyes widened as her accent curled up around her words, and he cackled. “I didn’t take you for a fool, my dear, but you proved me wrong.” Abruptly, he turned and walked away, “Thank you for the amusement.”
Celia rolled her eyes at the unfortunately familiar display of someone who was unsettled by her words and unwilling to admit it. It seemed there were some bad habits that not even death could cull.
Her voice was strong and confident as she spoke. “I know it’s you, Mister Al.”
Mister Al.
A name he hadn’t heard in 104 years.
A name only one person had ever been permitted to call him.
His feet froze to the gravelly shore.
“You could have killed me all those times, but you didn’t.”
Her words washed over him, and he couldn’t keep his head from tilting back towards her.
“You were also kind and gentle to me. You ain’t got reason to do all that,” Celia explained gently as she stepped forward softly. “After all,” she said as she closed her parasol and gripped the handle tightly, “I was just a poor girl livin’ in the bayou. No one would miss me, not even my daddy,” she trailed off with a sigh as she looked back up at the hotel.
His head bowed as his shoulders dropped under the weight of her words.
No one would miss me.
Spoken without a semblance of a lie or omission in her voice.
His breath was a tangled ball of confusion and an astounding lack of self-confidence that baffled him under the freshly healed scar on his chest.
He’d challenged an archangel by himself without second thought, and here he was, having trouble talking to a girl he used to know.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
“I wish,” she started brightly as she took another step forward, “that I didn’t die too soon after we said bye that day. There’s many things I wanted to say. So much time I coulda had.”
The smallest sliver of icy doubt crept up the sides of her neck, and she swallowed. “It…is you…” she asked cautiously, head tilted to the side as she tried to see through the memory of another pair of shoulders that had curled away from her after she’d scared them with her words. “Isn’t it?”
Her fingers, which had started to trail out towards the trembling shoulder, stopped before they could brush the red fabric, and she yanked her hand back to her chest. Even though she had suspicions that this was her Mr. Al, it had been a long time since they’d seen each other, and everyone knew that Alastor didn’t like to be touched.
Even if Mr. Al had.
“Sorry,” she forced out past the lump in her throat, “Forget I said anything.”
His breath broke free with a gasp as he listened to the footsteps that grew fainter with every second he delayed. She’d tried to touch him.
He would have let her.
His shoulder trembled with the ghost of her fingers hovered over it, and, for the first time in many years, a tiny seedling of hope sprouted.
“Marcella,” he called out, the tension in his body fleeing when he heard her footsteps stutter to a halt.
“What,” he started as he turned back towards her, “did you want to say?”
She knew that look. She’d memorized every time she’d seen it when she was alive. Celia smiled as she walked towards him, lighter and more relaxed than she’d felt in years. He may have been a bit taller than he used to be, and his eyes were a different color, but they were still soft and warm as he looked at her. His bangs were still too long, fluttering into his eyes as the breeze caught them.
Death couldn’t change everything about a person.
He knew everything about the face that peered up at him. He knew that gentle smile was almost the same one that had once been his, and the fangs were easy to ignore. He knew the joy from her smile would glitter in her eyes for the rest of the day if he nurtured it. He knew that braid hadn’t come from her hands, and her stubborn brown bangs were better controlled than they’d been last time he’d seen them.
And there, just for a moment, the steam and heat from the lava pond vanished, replaced with the cool, calm waters of the bayou as they looked at each other for the first time in 104 years.