"You can't possibly be serious." She does a little gagging noise. "This is ridiculous. Preposterous. Where have you ever even found a ring in this place? It's- Ha, It's laughable. You audacious and ridiculous little man."
A-'s face remains unchanged- an amused little smile without teeth and very very soft eyes- throughout her barrage. His hand doesn't shake.
He's resting on his side, weight of his torso on his lean elbow, and M- is sitting before him with her legs together on her side like a mermaid, the effect enhanced by her washed out pink hair falling off her shoulder like seaweed.
He looks at her with the mesmerized and expectant serenity of the yet-to-be-drowned sailor. "And your answer is?"
She gives a perplexed little gasp laugh. "Obviously yes. I'll marry you."
They're lying together in a much too small bed for both of them --- too short for A-'s legs and too narrow for M-'s girth ---, as naked as the corpses populating the facility, leeching off of each other's heat in the cold night.
He had fucked her until she shook like convulsions, it was an ugly sight and it made him want to burrow into her even harder. Which he did. Then he fucked her until sweat was beading on her skin, and he could smell her in the air. A-, she had chanted like a demand. He then came with his nose pressed to her cheek, breathing sharp and raggedly like an animal.
Softly, he bit her cheek, then her earlobe, sickened at his insatiable hunger for such a mean heart.
They had lain there quietly, letting the sweat dry off, looking up at the ceiling until the lines blurred. Then she had gotten up some thirty minutes later to piss and get them some water, he pulled the ring box from inside his bedside table drawer. Little morganite stone that matched her hair in insipid shades of peach pink.
While she brushed her hair, he had placed the open box between the two of them and no question needed be spoken, not really.
Now he doesn't smile, but there's humor in his face. He pulls her down and kisses her gently with the tranquility of a man who had known she'd say yes, of the sailor who had sailed just to meet his fate in the throat of the siren.
She doesn't smile either, with the focus of a woman victim to the inevitability of this occasion.
Natural like entropy was natural, they'd marry each other, they'd exchange vows, they'd share a house and a life and plans, they'd have an exotic pet, and plants to die under their neglect, they'd learn all about each other's diseases and be aggro about it, they get old and bitter together but the important part is the together, if they ought to grow bitter either way might as well do it in suitable company.
Whatever happened externally was inconsequential; even if the world goes up in flames or they get shoved into the cryo tanks, their corpses would only rest in peace side by side. Husband and wife, cruel companions.
She holds his face with one hand, his soft, heavy-lidded eyes stare lovingly. "You won't own me."
"If that was my plan, I would've bought you."
"Off of who?"
"Yourself. We all have a price, dove."
"And what is yours?"
She lies parallel to him, lets him knead the soft fat of her waist. He looks a thousand years old, he looks thirty something, he looks so incredibly tired, M- knows she won't ever have eyes for another.
"I'm already sold."
She already knew the answer, but she asks anyway. "To whom?"
"John." She laughs a little. "John and his dreams. This forsaken planet. If at the end of it, it's all for nothing, I at least want to go holding your hand."
She rolls her eyes. "How romantic." She kisses him. "How would you like it? Fire? Lava? Starvation? Violence? Tsunami?"
"What do you think of nuclear winter? Though the bombs will be more likely, unmade even before the light hits us."
"Or maybe some virus," she says with the wonderous tone of a child. "We have enough corpses for something fun to sprout. Something new and clever."
"If that's what brings you joy." He kisses the back of her hand. "You'll want a dress?"
"Of course. Not white, though. I already wear enough white as it is... and you better wear a suit."
"But of course, I rarely get the chance lately."
"But where will we get all of that?"
"I told you, I have my ways."
"Don't tell anyone yet. I would rather have this take place after we're done negotiating the nuclear deals."
"As you wish. It's not like we'll be going anywhere." He squeezes her thigh. "Beautiful wedding photos with the cow wall for backdrop."
"Bone soup as an appetizer. Barbecue for the reception, entreé, and dessert. Perhaps some marrow for a palet cleanser."
"I hear some sort of sweet can be made by adding sugar to the boiling water of the hooves."
She heaves. "Mouthwatering."
He laughs, finally, full-chested. "M-, I love you."
She makes a face. "Terribly saccharine."
He brushes her pink hair off her forehead, caresses her soft, plump cheek. She has a face that would've driven kings and prophets mad some thousand years back.
"Like humankind has loved the moon and its mysteries. For millennia, in dreamlike wonder, in poetic reverie and fascination."
"Cloying, nauseating. All mine." She nods, rests her head on his chest, and hears the droning sound of his heartbeat. "John might own our brains, but my heart, all yours. Do with it as you please."
“I promise you, this outing will be perfectly safe, there will be no punching, no socialisation, and your dog can even come with us.”
“Going anywhere with you is never safe.”
“This is true. I tend to attract violence, don’t I? It must be my facial expression. But tonight will be an exception.”
The whole hat thing is a callback to my other Skulduggery’s-birthday fic, In This Moment, Now Capture It, Remember It, set during LSODM, which I wrote exactly one year ago! My writing’s come a long way since then…I’m proud of this fic, so let me know if you like it, and happy new year!
Midnight, you come and pick me up, no headlights
Long drive, could end in burning flames or paradise
It’s been a while since I have even heard from you
I should just tell you to leave cause I
Know exactly where it leads but I
Watch us go round and round each time
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
Cause we never go out of style
- Style by Taylor Swift
Silk suit, black tie,
I don’t need a reason why
And cufflinks, stick pin
When I step out, I’m gonna do you in
Oh, you can’t lose with the dress I use
That’s right, real fine
- Sharp Dressed Man by ZZ Top
It was cold, very cold, like all the warmth in the entire world, or at least Ireland, had been sucked out of the atmosphere by something big and industrial, possibly a celestial hoover, and then spurted back out somewhere else. Somewhere like Australia. Somewhere far enough away that she was tempted to try and go there, but probably by the time she arrived, it’d be cold again, because Valkyrie Cain didn’t necessarily deserve anything nice, like warmth.
She tucked her hands deeper into her coat pockets. Xena gambolled around up ahead, jumping over a fallen tree log, shoving her nose into rotting piles of grey, half-transparent leaves. She didn’t seem bothered by the cold. It was normally way colder in Colorado, anyway. But there’s something particularly special about the cold here - maybe it was from being so close to the sea. Valkyrie had missed the sea when she was in America. She’d missed the creaky wood of Haggard pier; the rolling, crashing waves; the smell of salt and seaweed and coarse sand.
She’d taken Xena to the beach a few times since she got back. Xena had loved it. Valkyrie had walked along the strands with her, away from Haggard, and watched the dog run in and out of the curling white-tipped waves.
If Xena spoke, would she speak with an American accent? Or would it be something more transalantic, influenced by Valkyrie’s own Irish accent? If Xena could speak, Valkyrie thought dully, she would probably tell Valkyrie what a terrible human being she was.
She’d come to a stop, she realised. Standing under a canopy of bare trees with mossy branches and bright orange mushrooms clustered at their bases. There was a diamond of grey, motionless sky above. Xena came dashing back, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. She didn’t look like she hated Valkyrie.
“You probably should, girl,” she said. The dog cocked her head, and then sat down, anticipating something interesting might happen.
Valkyrie turned and started walking back.
Her house still looked like no one lived there. No one had lived there, since the death of her uncle Gordon. But the lack of an owner who cared, even one whit, about houses or lives or celebrations, felt especially apparent when she remembered all the glowing, lit-up houses she’d seen when she ventured to the supermarket yesterday.
There wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight. There would be stuff upstairs - baubles and tinsel and Gordon’s macabre little ornaments that Beryl would tut at and ask whether it wasn’t too scary and inappropriate for his three little nieces. Valkyrie had liked the ornaments. She remembered a skeleton wearing a top hat, hanging from the very top of the tree, just beneath a fairy whose face was set in an agonised scream. She wondered if Skulduggery had given the skeleton ornament; or if Gordon had got it to mock him.
Her boots weren’t muddy. It had been dry out there, as well as freezing. She took them off anyway, left them on the worn back doormat that might once have said WELCOME. It was marginally warmer in the kitchen than outside. Xena went to drink water. Valkyrie stuck the kettle on, and then remembered there wasn’t any water in it.
When she had returned to Ireland, three months ago, she’d been intending to function again. Like a proper human would. Face up to her mistakes. Jump back into the whirlpool by Skulduggery’s side. The adrenaline had warmed up her blood, racing through her veins, after she fought Cadaverous and Jeremiah, and emerged successful. That same adrenaline prompted her to call Skulduggery. To give him the three words that, in the past five years, he’d wanted to hear more than, instead of, Until the end.
“I’m coming home,” she’d finally told him, and then she did.
Now, however, she thought it might be a huge mistake. She’d met her parents and Alice once, when she first returned. She’d met them again, just one week ago. Christmas Eve. She’d had to leave early.
They worried about her, Melissa and Desmond. Of course they did. But the truth was that Valkyrie couldn’t stomach bringing her lies and magic and evilness anywhere near them. Anywhere near the little sister she had once killed.
Staying away was just so much easier. The problem was that, when she lived only fifteen minutes away, it was harder to come up with excuses.
She wondered what they’ll be doing tonight. Her mum might make a cake or biscuits. Her dad would make a big show of sneaking around to get more helpings. They’d do a big countdown to New Year. Alice would…
She didn’t know what Alice would be doing.
They’d invited her. And she knew she’d be welcome. All she’d have to do was get in her car and drive there. She didn’t need to put on any other clothes. Any pretence. They’d love her anyway.
She put on pyjamas and curled up on the sofa with Xena, both of them under a fleecy blanket she’d brought from Colorado. It got dark early. She got up to shut the curtains and heat some soup, dunking bits of stale bread in the bowl.
Xena fell asleep halfway through the second episode of whatever they’re watching. Valkyrie kept her eyes on the bright screen, and ignored every hour that ticked by.
****
At quarter past eleven - because she wasn’t watching the clock, but she knew anyway - there was a knock on her door.
She knew who it would be. She recognised the knock, even though it was just a single sharp rap. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be cautious. She hushed Xena. Walked into the hall.
It’s him. Of course it’s him. She opened the door - it took a moment. She hadn’t realised how warm the house was until the cold suddenly hit her, piercing through her pyjamas.
They looked at each other for a moment. She licked her lips, wondering what to say. Best to start simple.
“Hey.”
“Valkyrie,” he said, in that deep, smooth voice. “May I come in?”
“Sure.”
He closed the door behind him. Only pushed one bolt across. It felt like he was making a point. Maybe he wasn’t. Locks wouldn’t stop people from killing her if they really wanted to.
Xena pattered into the hallway. He tipped his hat to her, which somehow provoked the dog into jumping up at him in a frenzy of joy. Valkyrie could feel her cheeks stretching into something like a smile as she watched.
When she thought Skulduggery’s suit had been covered in enough slobber, she clicked her fingers. The dog sat back immediately.
What should she say? “Do you want a tea” obviously flew straight out the window. “Would you like to watch something”? Or - “why are you here”?
How did her parents do it? Being an adult was so hard when you were already fucked up.
“Care for an excursion?” Skulduggery asked.
“What?”
He gestured at her, then to the door. “Would you accompany me somewhere?”
“I’m about to go to bed.” Which, maybe she would, after he’s gone. Give up on the whole New Year thing.
“One late night won’t hurt you, Valkyrie. You don’t need to get dressed. I’m more than fashionable enough for the both of us.”
He left a space there, for her to laugh, or retort. She didn’t.
“Seriously, Skulduggery, I’m not going out. It’s freezing and I’m tired and - I’m not in the best mood, okay? I’m sorry.”
“If you don’t, Valkyrie, tomorrow - or at some point next week, perhaps - you’ll feel indescribably guilty.”
“Like I don’t already?”
She bit her lower lip, but it was too late. Skulduggery tilted his head slowly. “This will be a different sort of guilt,” he said. “I promise you, this outing will be perfectly safe, there will be no punching, no socialisation, and your dog can even come with us.”
“Going anywhere with you is never safe.”
“This is true. I tend to attract violence, don’t I? It must be my facial expression. But tonight will be an exception.”
“You’d let Xena in the Bentley?”
If Skulduggery was wearing a face, she thought he might be wincing over his words. “Yes. Just this once. If that convinces you to come with me.”
Valkyrie uncrossed her arms, stuck her hands on her hips, felt too aggressive, and then crossed them over her chest again. “There’s one persuasion tactic you haven’t tried yet, you know.”
Skulduggery dipped his chin. “Do enlighten me.”
“Please.”
He held out his hand. “Please.”
She smiled. It felt rusty. Like the hinges were creaking or something. She reached past him for her huge black coat, and started shrugging it on. “Fine.”
“Is the dog coming?”
“Xena can stay here. I don’t want her getting mixed up in any violence.”
“I assure you, there won’t be.”
“Just in case someone tries to kill me or something.”
****
The Bentley was colder than the inside of a morgue. She shivered as they drove through the big gates at the end of Grimwood’s drive. The seat was cold, the footwell was cold, even the air-conditioning that Skulduggery had on, to demist the windscreen, was set to cold.
She shivered again, tucking her fingers into the plush cuffs of her long coat. Maybe she should have dressed properly.
Skulduggery reached out, gloved fingers deftly turning the heater on. She smelt the warm air before she felt it. They drove in silence, an orange glow passing in a hypnotic rhythm across the dashboard.
Once, there was a time when this car and its driver felt like home. Now she turned her face to the side-window and watched the familiar roads glide by, not knowing what to say. She felt young, in some ways, sitting here in her pyjamas and coat, not knowing where they’ll end up, being out late when she was tired. But in some ways she felt older than her age. She remembered how many times she’d bled in this seat. Or been almost unconscious. Or exhausted.
Or trying hard not to cry.
Skulduggery had always known when she was on the brink of tears. It used to scare him, she thought. At first he’d felt guilty and responsible. Like he should have. After a while he tried to comfort her without ever addressing the problem. Maybe her pathetic inability to talk trauma through came from him.
They approached the turnoff for Haggard and she tensed, but he carried on towards Dublin. Good. She didn’t need him trying to drag her to her family’s; trying to make her happy, do what was best for her. She didn’t deserve any of that.
“Where are we going?”
“That’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“I know.”
Skulduggery waited. She let the silence droop like a damp, dying mushroom. He shifted into a higher gear as the road widened. The streetlights stopped, and then it was dark, except for the faint glow from the centre console.
When she came home, from Colorado, she’d sort of imagined she’d have achieved more than this by now. But that adrenaline had frozen in her veins, like the ungritted reaches of the hard-shoulder lane.
She faced forward, looking at him from the corner of her eye. His skull gleamed an eerie white, the top half hidden by his hat. Some part of her wanted to say something.
I miss you. I miss you, right here, right now, like this.
“I was watching something, you know,” she said instead. “I was gonna finish the final episode in the series before next year. I had plans.”
“What was it?”
“What?”
“The thing you were watching. With episodes and series. What was it?”
Valkyrie crossed her arms. “It was…There were some guys kissing.”
“Ah. A romantic comedy?”
“No. There was, I think, a house blew up. And then there was a Ferrari…” She sighed. “Fine, okay, I don’t know. If I’d watched the final episode, maybe I’d have known what it was called.”
“Yes,” Skulduggery said dryly, “perhaps. Luckily, I saved you from absorbing that utterly pointless bit of knowledge. What we’re about to do will be, by far, more riveting than whatever you were watching.”
“I’m in my pyjamas. I’m not doing anything riveting in fluffy socks.”
Skulduggery nodded. “Your words have been heard.”
They passed through a town centre, streetlights - white LED ones, this time - lighting up the Bentley. There was people lingering around outside a pub. Skulduggery quickly pressed his facade up. She glanced sideways again. A clean-shaven jaw, bright green eyes. Possibly hair, but she couldn’t tell with the hat. Not a bad face. Better than some he’d had previously.
She wondered what he would have looked like back when he was alive. He said he’d been good-looking. Good-looking according to the standard of the day? What would that have included? Ginger ringlets?
She smiled to herself, just a bit, turning her face away to watch two lads yelling their drunken farewells at each other outside a closed Centra. Skulduggery’s hand relaxed slightly on the steering wheel. The atmosphere in the Bentley felt marginally softer as they drove again into the dark.
They drove into the suburbs of Dublin. Skulduggery turned into a middle-class sort of estate. She tensed as they drove past rows of semi-detached houses, with their warm golden glows behind drawn curtains and flashing Christmas decorations. If he was here to meet someone, she’d just stay in the Bentley.
It would be the first time in all their years of partnership.
He drove up a sloping hill, and then parked by the curb, overlooking a glowing, twinkling stretch of Dublin city.
Valkyrie let the silence drag for a bit. And then, “So this is our destination?”
“It is indeed.”
The house on her side was dark and empty. The house on the opposite side had drawn curtains and a single Christmas star glowing in an upstairs window. “We’re not here to meet anyone?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t allow you to meet anyone wearing pyjamas like that, Valkyrie. I have a reputation to uphold.”
She sighed. “We’re just sitting here?”
“We are.”
At least he kept the engine running. She held her hands out to the warm stream of air. “Is this some sort of New Year’s thing?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see, hopefully with great anticipation.”
She gave him a sceptical look. He laughed, taking down his facade. “Perhaps your anticipation will start building.”
“Maybe,” she muttered under her breath.
They sat in silence. Valkyrie watched the city lights, imagining all the people, living their lives, doing their things, having their heartbreaks and loves and losses.
Next to her, Skulduggery was motionless and silent. For a second, she wished she could hear the steady sound of his breathing and feel the warmth of his body, mixing with the ticking growl of the engine and the warmth from the radiators, just to know she wasn’t alone. Then she wondered why she thought that.
More than five minutes passed before he said, “I was expecting you to ask about snacks by now, to be honest.”
“I’ve changed.”
He didn’t answer. She felt bad, for some reason. “I’m not a hungry teenager anymore.”
She thought of several other things she could have put before that hungry. Like power.
“Of course you’re not,” he said, amused. “I shouldn’t have bought you snacks then.”
She turned to him. “I don’t see snacks. Where are you keeping them? In your ribcage or something?”
In response, he reached towards her and clicked open the glove compartment. For a moment, his fingers twitched, like he wanted to pat her knee as he pulled back.
She delved inside more to distract herself from the thoughts that were building, than because she wanted to. There was a crinkle. “Mars bars,” she guessed.
“Congratulations. You’re correct. The prize is a Mars bar.”
“Wait. What’s this…” She pulled something else out. “A…flapjack?”
“Indeed.”
“I haven’t had this in years.” It was a square oatmeal flapjack with chocolate chips. She’d loved them so much that Skulduggery had started keeping a stack of them in his house. When he realised how long the expiry date was, he went out once and bought an entire three boxfuls of them. She’d laughed until she cried when she walked into his kitchen and saw a plastic box stuffed with them.
He’d given her one, at the airport when she left for Colorado. She kept the wrapper safe in her jacket pocket, like a talisman, for almost a year until one day she threw it in a bin just before the rubbish got collected. She’d cried over it that night, like an eejit.
She left the Mars bars where they were but she unwrapped the flapjack and broke off a corner. There are so many memories connected to that first, wistful bite.
Skulduggery checked his pocket-watch when she was halfway finished. “Five minutes until midnight,” he said. “Is there anything you want to say to me?”
She blinked, rolled the softening oats around her mouth, swallowed. “…No?”
“Are you sure?”
Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “Am I - yes, Skulduggery, I’m sure.”
He turned to her, head tilting in that slow, insufferable way. “Really?”
“Dammit, Skulduggery, if there’s something I’m supposed to be saying or rememberi - ah.” She nearly dropped the flapjack in the footwell. “Shit.”
“Yes.” Skulduggery’s voice grew more amused as he watched the dawning realisation on her face.
“Oh damn. I completely forgot it was your birthday.”
“I gathered. You’re forgiven.”
“I haven’t got you anything.” Regret and guilt started to spiral through her. How many years now, had she forgotten this? Last year, the year before - shit, shit-
“You’re here.”
She froze, staring at him. He stared back.
“I mean…I am a gift, but,” she laughed weakly. It sounded all wrong. “I should have got you something, anyway.”
Skulduggery reached up to his head and took off his hat, his skull gleaming even whiter. Wordlessly, he held it out.
“...Oh,” she said. “It’s the…I got you that.”
“Yes.”
Six years ago in France; the Dead Men all in a hotel; Dexter calling her over and telling her it was Skulduggery’s birthday, the night before. Dragging Skulduggery off to a hat shop, detouring to a bakery. Standing arm-in-arm on a bridge, watching the people and the city. She’d had a nightmare and thrown up just before midnight, and he’d stayed with her and read to her. There had been fireworks at 12am, and she’d kissed his cheek.
The memories flooded through her, warm and nostalgic and bittersweet and overwhelming her with guilt.
“You got me a pastry.”
“You got me a hat. I kept the hat. Treasured it, even. And where is the pastry, I ask you?”
She laughed. He tilted his head, pleased with himself.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve, like, got you a proper gift.”
Skulduggery shrugged elegantly. “I’ll recover from the blow to my feelings. And perhaps you should face forward now. There’s one minute of this year left.”
“Face forward?” She did as he said, staring out at the city again.
“Ten…nine…” Skulduggery’s voice was smooth and deep, barely audible over the engine.
She joined in. “Eight…seven…”
“Six…five…four…three…two…”
He said ‘one’. She gasped.
Right in front of them, from a portion of the horizon that had been mostly dark, fireworks erupt.
They soared into the sky, bursting and twisting into spirals, becoming stars and diamonds. It was unlike any fireworks she’d ever seen before. Her eyes burnt with the strength of the colours, reds and golds and greens. Some of them felt near enough to reach out and touch.
There was a church bell somewhere, ringing, a clear harmonious sound against the erratic pops and bangs from the fireworks. There were other stray rockets, too; lighting up in different parts of the city. But this was spectacular. She watched in awe, eyes wide.
“Happy New Year,” Skulduggery said. “Until the end.”
She turned to him. The glows caught his skull, tinting it in washes of colour. Red briefly illuminated in his eye-sockets. It reminded her of the time, years ago, that she had seen his skeleton overlaid with a burning red aura.
She was staring. She laughed feebly. Too late to rescue this situation from being weird. “Thanks. Happy New Year. Happy birthday.” A moment. “Until the end.”
Skulduggery made a movement, almost like he wanted to reach for her. She turned back to the fireworks.
The display was over too soon - or maybe not soon enough. When the last flare of purple dissipated, she blinked a few times, and then let out a slow sigh like she’d been holding her breath.
“I believe that’s it,” Skulduggery said, putting the Bentley in gear.
Valkyrie settled back into her seat, fiddling with the edges of her forgotten flapjack’s wrapper. She might keep this one. “Thank you.”
He didn’t ask for what. “You’re welcome.”
Valkyrie stared out her window at the passing houses. She didn’t see Skulduggery pressing the stereo on. She had to suppress a jump when the music started, a guitar reverberating through the floorboards of the Bentley.
“What the hell?”
Skulduggery kept driving steadily. “Ah, yes.”
“Ah, yes? You don’t just start playing something like this and then go, ‘ah yes’,” Valkyrie said. “What the hell is this?”
“This, Valkyrie, is music.”
She stared at him. He executed a flawless exit from a roundabout.
Clean shirt, new shoes
And I don’t know where I am going to...
It was the sort of thing Gordon would’ve liked. But not Skulduggery. She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and pressed the eject button. The CD slid into her palm and she held it up as they passed under a solitary streetlight by a pedestrian zebra.
Eliminator, Expanded Edition, by ZZ Top.
Without looking at her, Skulduggery took the CD, slipped it back into the stereo, and started the song again.
“I can’t believe you’re listening to this.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because you never let me play my songs in the Bentley.”
“You had mediocre taste.”
“You made me listen to Mozart. You made a teenager listen to Mozart.”
“Mozart was a fine man with extreme talent. But this song contains pearls of wisdom.”
“Right,” she said sceptically. “I see.”
Skulduggery gesticulated like she should listen to the chorus, so she did.
They come running just as fast as they can
Cause every girl crazy bout a sharp-dressed man
Then she burst out laughing. It was loud. It took her by surprise and judging by Skulduggery’s head-tilt, he was surprised too.
“Is this how you see yourself?” she asked, still giggling.
“The advice in the song is sound.”
“Like, this, this…” She couldn’t think of the right word. “This, like, suave guy out looking for love?”
“I am suave, Valkyrie,” he replied. “There are few, albeit none, who would outdo me in suaveness.”
“Or ego, that’s for sure.”
“My ego is a necessary companion to my wisdom, suaveness, and experiences.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah.” She dug around in her coat pocket; pulled out her phone. It’s nearly 12.25. The first twenty-five minutes of the year have gone better than she would honestly have expected them to.
As the song came to its conclusion, she tapped the stereo off; then tapped the play button.
“...Ah,” Skulduggery said, as a guitar echoed through the car, less impressive when it came from her phone’s tinny speaker. “Well. I suppose I can’t object. And the lyrics are apt in their own way.”
“I mean, at least you have headlights on.” They listened to the chorus in silence. A warmer, fuzzier silence. Like her fluffy socks or something.
You got that long hair, slicked back, white t-shirt
And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt
“Is this how you view me?” Skulduggery asked. “Answer carefully.”
“A reckless playboy with long hair in a sports car?” she retorted, grinning. “Not really, like. And I definitely don’t have ‘good girl faith’ anymore.”
“You never did. You were a bad girl with absolutely no faith in anyone, or respect for your elders and betters. Like me.”
“Rude.”
Take me home
Just take me home
“Yeah, just take me home - home - out of style!” she abruptly sung, and then laughed despite herself.
She sung the final chorus, swaying from side to side. It felt a bit like being drunk on adrenaline. A pleasant high. Warmth, rushing through her.
She heard Skulduggery’s voice, quieter but perfectly in tune.
“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time, cause we never go out of style.”
The next song started to play automatically. Something softer. And she nearly pressed PAUSE, but then she read the title of the song and her hand stopped.
They passed the turn for Haggard again. Maybe Alice was dancing around right now, overexcited, the way Valkyrie used to be.
Don’t read the last page
But I stay, when you’re lost, or I’m scared, and you’re turning away
I want your midnights
But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day
The silence felt thicker. Solemn, somehow. She thought about what she’ll do when she got home. Hug Xena. Turn off her TV and forget about that TV series, probably forever. Curl up in bed and fall asleep.
Maybe tomorrow - today - maybe she’d phone Skulduggery and tell him she’s ready to do cases again.
She didn’t want to lose this. Stepping out of the Bentley, out of this return to a peaceful normality. The kind of joyful lull they rarely ever got. But if she told him she’s ready for casework again, it wouldn’t be this. There would be blood and broken bones and shouts and tears.
She could tell him she just wanted this. Friendship, for the moment. Outside of being detectives. But Valkyrie Cain didn’t deserve anything nice, and Valkyrie Cain was too much of a coward to be a detective again.
Oh well. She’d think about it in the morning.
Skulduggery turned left, sweeping through the gates of Grimwood. The Bentley’s strong front headlights illuminate the dull grass and bare trees and the huge silhouette of the house with its one, dully-lit downstairs’ window.
Please don’t ever become a stranger (hold onto the memories)
Whose laugh I could recognise anywhere (they will hold onto you)
He pulled up right by the step. They both waited.
She wanted to ask him in. Don’t go. I’m sorry. I miss you. Happy birthday.
“Happy new year,” he said again, crunching up the handbrake.
“Thank you for dragging me out,” she blurted out, pausing the song during its last few seconds. “I’m glad I saw the fireworks. And thanks for the - the snacks.” She dug around in her coat pocket for her keys, taking an unnecessarily long time. Skulduggery watched her, head tilted.
“It was my pleasure.”
The urge to fight or flee built up within her. The dark car, the dark house, the dark night, Skulduggery’s gleaming white skull.
I love you.
She wanted to say it. She would have said it if she thought there was even a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d ever say it back. Because he might feel it but she’d given up hope that she’d ever hear him say it. Not to her. She didn’t deserve nice things.
She reached across the handbrake and slid her arm around his neck. He was cold. She hugged him. Felt the brim of his hat against her temple. The ghost of an alive man’s breath on her cheek.
It felt like panic, her heart lurching so many ways at once. “Goodnight,” she said, and opened the door. Cold air rushed through the gap and she nearly dropped her keys in the footwell. He said something. She didn’t hear what.
He didn’t drive off until she was inside and doing up all the newly-installed locks.
stomachaches: sounds like it was recorded on a potato from at least one room over (affectionate)
parachutes:
barriers:
hesitant alien: fuzzy pink nonbinary tv static depression
remember the laughter: sounds exactly like the feel of a really good hug
for the night to control: the best 1980s new wave britpop album you’ve ever heard in the last five years by guys from new jersey
electric century: the best 1980s new wave britpop album you’ve ever heard in the last five years by guys from new jersey (the other one is in second place now)
