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TDIR: False
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Pairing: Will/Jane
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Being alone is preferable. For Melpomene, the Greek muse of tragedy. Also posted for a claim at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
light_at_last.
"Why do you always go off on your own?"
Will looks up to see Jane there, holding her skirt so the wind won't blow it up. In some ways, she looks just like the same Jane who saved the world with him. In other ways, she's older, grown up, fifteen now and prettier than ever. In other ways yet, she looks younger, all the things that made her grow up quickly sponged from her memory to leave her nothing more and nothing less than a normal person. He looks away when he realises he's staring. "I like to be on my own."
"I don't believe you do," she says, rolling her eyes. She plops down beside him, smoothing her skirt out. Her bare arm brushes against his: human and warm, a contact he tries to avoid because it is all so transient, a false comfort. "You always look sad."
"Maybe that's just the way I'm made?"
"I doubt it. Nobody really likes being alone."
"Yet being alone is sometimes... preferable," Will says, carefully edging away now -- just enough to put an inch between them -- leaning forward to pick up an oddly shaped pebble to give some explanation for his move. He runs his fingers over the bumps and dips of it, not looking up. Jane reaches for it, her hand brushing his for a minute.
"Why?" she asks, and she sounds sad, as if his regrets have all impressed themselves on her. And then she smiles, teasing a little. "Have you grown out of us?"
Will looks down across the rocks to where Simon and Barney have coerced Bran into a game of cricket. Bran really isn't bad, Will notes, and then he looks away, because the sight of them all playing like normal people just reminds him of what he's not. He doesn't answer Jane: he doesn't know how.
He expects her to go away. After a moment, though, she slips her arm through his and moves close enough to rest her head on his shoulder. Her eyes are closed. "I'll keep you company."
It's a false comfort, a thing that can't last. Something in him refuses to push her away and reject her now, though, and so he sits with Jane, still alone in every way that matters.
Pairing: Will/Jane
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Being alone is preferable. For Melpomene, the Greek muse of tragedy. Also posted for a claim at
light_at_last."Why do you always go off on your own?"
Will looks up to see Jane there, holding her skirt so the wind won't blow it up. In some ways, she looks just like the same Jane who saved the world with him. In other ways, she's older, grown up, fifteen now and prettier than ever. In other ways yet, she looks younger, all the things that made her grow up quickly sponged from her memory to leave her nothing more and nothing less than a normal person. He looks away when he realises he's staring. "I like to be on my own."
"I don't believe you do," she says, rolling her eyes. She plops down beside him, smoothing her skirt out. Her bare arm brushes against his: human and warm, a contact he tries to avoid because it is all so transient, a false comfort. "You always look sad."
"Maybe that's just the way I'm made?"
"I doubt it. Nobody really likes being alone."
"Yet being alone is sometimes... preferable," Will says, carefully edging away now -- just enough to put an inch between them -- leaning forward to pick up an oddly shaped pebble to give some explanation for his move. He runs his fingers over the bumps and dips of it, not looking up. Jane reaches for it, her hand brushing his for a minute.
"Why?" she asks, and she sounds sad, as if his regrets have all impressed themselves on her. And then she smiles, teasing a little. "Have you grown out of us?"
Will looks down across the rocks to where Simon and Barney have coerced Bran into a game of cricket. Bran really isn't bad, Will notes, and then he looks away, because the sight of them all playing like normal people just reminds him of what he's not. He doesn't answer Jane: he doesn't know how.
He expects her to go away. After a moment, though, she slips her arm through his and moves close enough to rest her head on his shoulder. Her eyes are closed. "I'll keep you company."
It's a false comfort, a thing that can't last. Something in him refuses to push her away and reject her now, though, and so he sits with Jane, still alone in every way that matters.