Stories from RhyDin & The Rings

Lucy knelt, whispering in the dark.

“I know I said--I said I wouldn’t ask anything of you.

“I can still feel you here. I don’t know why you’re still here. I don’t know if you’re angry or--or what.

“But please. If--if there is any part of you that still feels anything for me, then please. Please speak to me.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry.

“Oh, god. I'm so very sorry.”
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Originally posted on Thu Jan 22, 2015

He thought he could just step back into her life.

All those months, he had left her there alone in her cell. Hardly any visits, hardly any letters. Day after day, week after week. Had Dair been there for her?

No. Dair had not been there for her. Dair had been nowhere.

It was him. Reginald. He was the one who had been there with her. Watching over her. Watching her suffer. Suffering with her.

Sure, he had kept his distance. True, he hadn’t spoken to her, or even let her know he was there. He had avoided her call, and ignored her pleading. But he was with her at least. He looked after her.

Now, Dair had returned and she just let him right back in. After everything he’d done to her. After the way he hurt her. She just accepted his paltry apology. So eager to be in his arms again. It was disgusting.

He watched them. Together in her prison cell. In his apartment. In her bed. The way he cried to her. The way he weaseled his way back into her life. All tears and piss-poor excuses and professions of love.

And now they were spending their nights together. Sharing a bed. Dair. In his place. Where he should be. Taking care of her. Looking out for her.

Reginald had earned that place with her. He had died for it. And now Dair was trying to take it from him again.

He wouldn’t stand for it. Dair never asked for his forgiveness. Dair never asked for his trust. So he’d follow him. Stalk him. Watch him from the shadows and the light. And if he slipped, if he slipped, even for a second, Reginald would be there, and he would see.

And he would tell Lucy.
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Thu Mar 12, 2015

Lucy saw it first.

A carousel.

Dair playfully dragged his heels as she tugged him towards it. But he couldn’t say ‘no’ to her. Not to that smile of hers. “All right, all right,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

He sat on a pig next to Lucy’s hummingbird and watched as the carousel slowly filled to capacity and then started into action. “I can see why you’d been so eager about this,” he called over to her, teasing with sarcasm.

Lucy laughed brightly, her head tipping back, her hands around the brass pole. “I like it!”

And she did like it. Maybe because it reminded her of home. Of the carousel in Central Park when her cousin Jamie would climb up behind her, and they'd pretend they were at the Kentucky Derby. It was innocent and childish.

Lucy smiled over at Dair, watching him as his pig went up and down in a simulation of a movement that Lucy was pretty certain a pig could never accomplish. She looked ahead at all the riders in front of her, the parents with their children, the delight on their faces.

She looked down at her hummingbird, its outstretched wings painted in iridescent green and blue, catching the light with every spin of the carousel. It looked so real, so lifelike. She knew it was silly, but she had to be sure. She reached out to see if she could feel the feathers.

With a gasp, she withdrew her hand.

The wings were moving. Beating like a real live bird. Only slowly. As if the bird were moving in extreme slow motion.

"Did you see that?" Lucy looked over at Dair. But he looked frozen, a smile just barely turning up his lips, his pig at the low position of its rise and fall. "Dair?" She waved her hand in front of his face. Then she looked ahead at the other riders. Everyone else looked frozen too. She looked out past the platform at the carnival goers. No one was moving. It was as if time had stopped.

Only the carousel moved. The platform spinning around and around. The music in its light-hearted loop.

Lucy slid from her hummingbird and weaved between the brass poles to the edge of the carousel. "Hello!?" She called out to the operator, waving to get his attention. But there was no response. She frowned, hurrying back towards the center of the carousel and then called out again, hoping another operator might be there. "Hello!?" But there was no response. All she could see was her own anxious face reflected in the mirrored panels.

Holding the brass poles, she made her way back to Dair and her hummingbird. She watched its wings beating up and down in a slow, steady rhythm, and as she stood there, it almost seemed like the bird was looking back at her. She looked over at Dair, her lips parted to call out to him one more time. But he hadn't moved at all. He was frozen in time, like everything else.

“Dair!” She shouted at him. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. She beat a hand on his thigh. Pushed his chest. But he barely budged, his expression unchanging, his gaze focused on where she’d been sitting on the hummingbird’s back minutes before. She looked around for something else, some other way out.

“Think you’ve moved on, don’t you love?”

She recognized the voice immediately. Even without seeing him. Without knowing where it came from. It had been so long since she’d heard him, so long since he’d spoken to her. But she knew his voice.

It was Reginald.

Lucy turned. “I have,” she insisted, weaving through the animals and the frozen people, searching for her ghost. “I have moved on.”

Reginald appeared before her, flickering to existence as the carousel spun. “Got your fancy gallery.” With every turn of the platform his body became more and more solid. Until he was more human, more alive than she’d ever seen him since he’d left her so dramatically that night so long ago. “Got your new life with Dair.”

“I’m starting over.” She backed up a step, reaching to grab a brass pole, trying to focus on his face instead of the frozen world spinning by. At first she’d thought he was angry. But he wasn’t angry. It wasn’t anger in his eyes. It was sadness.

“He won’t stay with you.” Reginald moved for her. “He’ll leave you again. Like he did before.”

“No, he won’t.” She looked up at him as he neared, frowning. “He said he wouldn’t. He won’t.”

Reginald shook his head, closing in on her. “Everyone will leave you.” He reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek.

She gasped in surprise, feeling his rough skin, his warm palm, for the first time. “No they won’t.”

“They will. Everyone will leave you. Even him.” He leaned close, his voice gruff and quiet. “Everyone but me.”

The carousel spun the world around them, everything frozen in time. She closed her eyes.

“I’ll never leave you.” Reginald whispered. And then he pressed his lips to hers, warm and tender. A kiss so surprising it seemed to last forever.

And then, just as suddenly, Lucy was alone again. Reginald was gone.

“Lucy?”

The music had stopped. The carousel was no longer spinning.

Lucy turned to look at Dair and stared at him for a long moment. She couldn’t move. Didn’t know what to say. A light breeze cut through the brass poles and tugged at her hair. She dragged in a shaky breath and just stood there.

Dair looked back at her, curious. When had she climbed off her hummingbird?

She looked from Dair to the hummingbird. It was motionless. Its eyes lifeless. As if it had never moved.

Finally, she managed a small smile. A covering smile. So well-practiced, it was hard to tell that it was disingenuous. It was hard to tell how much discomfort it hid beneath its soft little curve. “I think--I think I’d like to go home now.”
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Originally posted on Sun Sep 27, 2015

“Shhh. Don’t cry.”

“Reg? Are you there?”

“Aye. I’m here, love.”

“I can’t see you.”

“I’m lying right beside you. Open your eyes.”

“I thought you’d gone away.”

“I didn’t. I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Do you hate me?”

“You’d deserve it if I did.”

“I know.”

“I needed to go for a time.”

“I know.”

“But I’m here now. I always was.”

“Dair’s gone--he’s gone away again.”

“I know it, love. I know it.”

“You were right.”

“Shh. Close your eyes now.”

“Will you be gone again? When I wake up?”

“No. Not again.”

“I don’t know if I’m dreaming. I don’t want to be dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming, you silly bit. Close your eyes.”

“Stay with me.”

“I’d hold you if I could.”

“Then just pretend.”

“Aye. Just pretend.”
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Fri Oct 02, 2015

“You should have brought me flowers.” Lucy lay beside Dair, the sheet half covering her naked body and barely covering his.

“I know,” he murmured apologetically. “But I wasna sure ye'd keep them or just throw them away.” A smile, small and wry, did come to surface briefly when she chastised him. “Come closer?”

She scooted nearer him, and he pulled her the rest of the way to press a soft kiss to her crown.

“Here,” he murmured, and lifted his other hand, like there was something in his palm. There wasn't. Then, after a moment, there was. Just a flare of white and black flame that first rippled against his skin then projected up, curling and turning… the brief impression of a flower.

Lucy tipped her head back slightly and looked up at him, smiling softly, a hopeful tone in her voice. “You've been practicing.”

“Trying to. No so bad, aye? What of you?”

“Not really. Haven't really been able to.”

“Oh. Why not?”

Lucy didn't answer immediately, trying to find a way to word it gently. “It hasn't really--it hasn't really been coming to me.” She held out her hand the way he just had, but nothing came to her fingertips.

He frowned with some concern and glanced from her hand to her face. “Can ye no feel it at all any longer?”

“It's there--it's just--it's on mute or something. I don't know.” She sighed and tucked her head against his shoulder. “Then Reginald came back and--and I stopped working on it.”

“Ye dinna think it's him interfering wi' it, do you?”

“I don't think he can do stuff like that.” She brushed her hand across his bare chest, then took up a lock of his hair again, twisting it around her finger. “He just--sometimes things rattle when he gets upset about stuff. That's about it.”

He watched her play with his hair a moment, then studied her face once again. “Why's he back, anyway? I thought he'd… moved on or whate'er it is they do. Can ye talk wi' him?”

“I told you I knew he was there. He just--he was staying away. Cause of what I did.” Then she nodded and glanced up at him again before letting her eyes settle on his chest. And she blushed. “He kept me company.”

His eye narrowed fractionally. “How d'ye mean?”

“We talk. He comes with me places. I don't know.”

“Then why are ye keeping him out?” he asked a little brusquely. He'd seen all the salt, lining the doors and windows.

Lucy frowned, and looked at him. “Cause of you.”

“What's that mean?” he demanded, his frown returned, digging into his brow.

She released his hair and started to slide back from him. “He doesn't like you.” She pushed up, sitting beside him a moment, then shifted so she could roll off the bed and head for the kitchen. “I didn't want him here while we were trying to talk.”

“Doesn't like me?” he repeated with a huff, pushing himself up to sit as he watched her cross the room. “What the hell did I e'er do to him?”

She poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher sweating on the counter and took a long drink, her back to him. Then she turned back, taking a few steps back towards the bed before stopping. “You know he told me you'd leave me.” She watched him, watched the words land. “That day on the carousel. Something happened and--and he came to me. And he warned me. That you were going to leave me. That you'd always leave me. And I didn't believe him.”

He flinched but seemed more mad than demoralized. “So? He was right, that's what you're saying?”

“Yeah.” She frowned at him, her eyes alight with a self-righteous anger of her own. “So he doesn't like you, alright?”

“Because I'm the bad guy? Because I had some shit I needed to deal with and needed a bit of time to sort it out?” He shoved the sheet off his lap and stood, stalking to her. “Because you're mine,” he snarled, “and he's jealous? Let me guess, he'd always be there for you, hm?”

“He's not jealous he's just protective.” She didn't move from her spot, letting him come at her however he liked. “And he would be. He would be there for me.”

He snorted. “Like he'd been there before?” Clearly she'd forgotten so he helped to remind her.

“At least he had a reason.” She took another swallow of water, then moved to set the glass down. “And anyhow, 'he left you too' is not exactly your best argument right now.”

“I didn't leave,” he snapped. “I was away. What the fuck, Lucy. My argument? Am I on trial?”

“No!” She yelled it at him. Then she sighed and lowered her voice, her tone shifting. “No.” She sank to a seat on one of the counter stools again, naked, but seemingly not too concerned about that for now. “I know you didn't leave.” She looked at him as she said it, attempting a conciliatory tone. “But you did--you did walk out of here and--and you didn't come back. I know you called and--and you told me what you were doing. But you just walked out. You didn't come get your clothes. You didn't come say goodbye. You didn't hug and kiss me and reassure me that you'd be back. You just--you just walked out. And--and that was hard. And I'm not sorry for saying that and I'm not sorry for feeling that.”

“And ye dinna have to apologize for it,” he said with gritted teeth, making an effort to calm his temper and regain some measure of civility. “I said I was sorra. I ken it was a shit thing to do, all right? It's a guilt I have to carry to the grave.” He picked up the glass of water she'd set down and guzzled it.

Lucy frowned as he spoke, and she watched him and listened. When he was done, she didn't say anything, looking away in the silence. And then, slowly, a small smile tugged the corners of her lips. “You don't--you don't really have to carry this to the grave, Dair.” She looked back at him, hoping he might share in her humor at his dramatic words, but not sure that he would.

He didn't at first, meeting her eye, his own expression stern. But there. At the edges. It softened. “Until I forget, anyhow,” he muttered.

“Dair--” Lucy sat there a moment, then she just sighed heavily. “I still love you.” She watched him. “You know that, right?” She held a hand out to him, hoping he might come to her.

And he did come to her. Shoulders heavy, features weary, he squeezed her hand briefly but let it go so he could hug her. “I do. I just… didn't know in what way,” he murmured, and dared to add, “I love ye too, leannan.”
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Originally posted on Thu Oct 22, 2015 from a scene with Dair McRae

“What if I promise?” Reginald watched Lucy on the other side of her open doorway, held back by the rock salt lining her threshold and protecting her loft beyond.

“Promise?” Lucy looked skeptical, arms around her waist, holding herself as she watched her ghost.

“That I won’t come round when your man’s here.”

“Reg--”

“Won’t bother him none at all. Won’t bother him anywhere.”

Lucy sighed and looked away.

“Come on, Lucy love. He’s not even here all the time, is he? Got his own place and all.”

Lucy pressed her lips together and looked down. Her new kitten was weaving in and out of her legs, rubbing her furry little body against Lucy’s ankles while watching Reginald with disdain.

“You’re still lonely, ain’t ya? I know it. I know you are.”

“I’m not lonely.” Lucy pouted and looked at him.

“Aye, you are. You’re lonely.” Reginald smiled faintly, sympathy and affection in his eyes. “You think I don’t know you by now?”

She looked down again, saying nothing.

“Oi, darling. I been watching you so long. I know you just as good as he do. I know every look you got.” Reginald watched her, the tremble in her lower lip, in her chin, the way her arms tightened around herself, as if she were trying to hold herself together. “I don’t talk as pretty as he do, but I know you just the same. I know you better.”

“I don’t know.”

“Just let me in, love. On my honor, I’ll be good.”

Lucy looked up at him, into his ghostly transparent eyes. She shifted her weight, and took a deep breath. Then, slowly, she reached forward with the toe of her boot, and she broke the line of salt.

She stepped aside to let in her ghost and closed the door behind him as if he were any other visitor. “Are you going to tell me how you learned to knock?”

“Later, love.” Reginald drifted towards the couch. “Never seen this episode of Friends before.”

She sniffed a laugh as she watched him settle in, as much as a ghost could, and then she moved to join him.
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Mon Nov 02, 2015

“Are ye hearing yourself?” Dair looked over a shoulder (the left, of course) at Lucy.

“What?”

He took a deep breath before answering. “Imagine a moment that I'm friends wi' a lass or a lad that ye canna see, and who doesna like you and who has said mean-spirited things about ye, and whom I've told they may come around and stay wi' me but only when you're no about.”

Lucy was quiet a long moment. Her eyes dropped to her hands. Then she just nodded.

“I'm no going to pretend to be okay with it. Wi' him. Wi' your… seeing him,” he said into the silence. Finished filling a vase with water, he brought it to the counter across from her, set it down with a heavy hand (the water splish-sploshed), and then began taking the flowers he had brought for her from their paper.

“It's not--it's not entirely a choice. Whether I see him or not.” Then she added hastily, watching him so near. “I know I can ask him to go. I can ask him to not be around. But--but I don't entirely know if I can keep him away. Even if--even if I do tell him to go.”

“If ye don't, I will,” he said almost casually as he put the flowers into the water.

Lucy raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I'll find a way to make him stay away.” Flatly, as he looked at her over the tops of the flowers.

“You can't even see him. You don't--you don't talk to him.” She met his gaze, frowning.

Undaunted, his brows shrugged up toward his hairline and his expression remained otherwise unchanged: completely serious and with a pinch of irritation.

Lucy stared at him a moment, then sighed heavily and looked down, shaking her head. “I hear what you're saying. I just--I hope you know this isn't easy for me.”

He finally relented, looking down at the flowers to touch a petal. “I ken it. But ye canna keep us both in your life, leannan. And I think you know that.” Quietly spoken, he slanted a look at her once again for her reaction, no longer so stern.

She pressed her lips together to try to stop the lower lip from trembling. Her eyes lifted to look at the ceiling, an attempt to stop herself from tearing up. “He's been a very good friend to me. Even--even when I didn't deserve it. Even when--” She shook her head. “--He kept me from--from being lonely. And I--I've been very lonely.”

He frowned, stared at the flowers, asked quietly, “E'en when I'm here?”

She hesitated, and that was probably enough to answer the question. But she answered it anyhow. “I wasn't before--but--I just--” She sighed heavily. “I feel--sometimes--I feel like the rug could be pulled out from under me at any time--when I'm with you.”

He brushed his fingers across his mustache, down his beard to either side of his mouth. “That's no way to have a relationship,” he murmured. “D'ye want a drink?”

“Alright.”

He moved around the kitchen again, collecting the necessary items and then filling each glass with a portion of scotch. Carrying one cup in each hand, he invited her to follow him to the couch. “C'mere.”

Lucy slid from the barstool and moved to follow him, the two of them settling on the couch. He leaned back into the cushions, knees canted open, cradling his own cup in his hands. She tucked one leg beneath her, twisted to face him. For a while it was just quiet. Then he spoke.

“It's no a good feeling to carry inside.”

Lucy was quiet a moment longer, but she met his gaze. Then she looked down again. “I was afraid if I told you--that you'd think I was--I was still trying to punish you.”

“You feel as ye feel, leannan. I canna resent that. Forgiveness isna a thing to happen owernight.” He took a sip of the scotch, and then stared into it once he'd lowered it again. “Is...this--” he gestured between them, “a thing ye want? And no just to feel less lonely.”

Lucy looked up again. “It is. It is something I want. And--and it's not about loneliness.” She shook her head and looked down into her glass again too. “It's you that I want. It's always been you.”

“E'en if this is what it is to have me?”

“No, I want more than this.” She looked over at him. “I have to believe it'll get better.”

He held out a hand to her, letting it rest in the space between them. “I want it to,” he said, looking at her.

She shifted her glass to free up her hand, then reached for his, carefully sliding her fingers into his. “So, we'll just--we'll try.”

He gave her hand a delicate squeeze and let the moment lull into silence for as long as that silence wanted to last.
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Originally posted on Fri Nov 13, 2015 from a scene with Dair McRae

“Oh, bollocks! This is complete bollocks and you know it!”

“It--it might not be like this forever. It could--it could change.”

“Oh, what? When he’s feeling generous? When he grants his by your leave?”

“When things get better--for us.”

“So I’m just supposed to step aside? I’m just supposed to disappear until his balls aren’t in a twist?”

“I didn’t--”

“It isn’t right, Lucy. It isn’t---you can’t right get rid of me! You can’t--”

“I’m not trying to--”

“--get rid of me, I’m a part of you. I’m a part--you feel it, don’t you love? You feel me inside you, I know you do!”

“I--”

“Try to deny it, just try. It’s utter bollocks.”

“I’m not denying it. I’m not. I can--I feel the connection between us--”

“So? Then! You see it can’t be done!”

“--I can feel the connection between us. But with Dair--I can--I can actually feel him.”

“---”

“Do you understand? Reg?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not that I don’t--but it would never work--it could never--it can never be.”

“--what if it could--”

“Reg--”

“What if it could? What if I could? I had you--I had you on the carousel. What if I could touch you again?”

“It’s not enough. It’s not--it’s not enough.”

“Lucy--”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“--I said I’d never leave you--I gave you my word--my solemn oath--and I won’t--”

“--Reg--”

“--I won’t ever stop. You want me to go away then fine--fine--I'll leave you be--but--but I won't ever stop trying, love. I won't. I won't. I won't.”
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Wed Nov 18, 2015

He came to her in her sleep. In a dream.

Lucy, he whispered. Lucy, love.

She sighed. The ache in her chest eased.

I’m here. Like I promised.

Her lips parted to speak, but she couldn’t. She had no words in the dreamworld.

Can you feel me?

When he touched her hand, she wept. She could feel him. His fingers. His rough, workman’s hands. His skin cool and dry. Tender.

He can’t stop me here.

He traced the sigil she had drawn on the inside of her left wrist. Fireproof. Defense against Dair. In case he lost control.

You wouldn’t have to be afraid. With me.

He brought her hand up, kissed her wrist. His lips soft. Warmer than expected. For a ghost.

We are bound together, you and I.

He had a blue ribbon. A dark blue ribbon. Jack’s ribbon. He tied it to her wrist. Looping around. Knotting.

Bound by fate.

He tied the other end to his wrist. The blue satin unspooled between them. She raised her hand pulling the ribbon taut. Then she let it loose again.

I will never leave you.

He leaned to her, his voice a whisper.

I can never leave you.

He kissed her. Her tears dampened his lips. She raised her hand to touch them. The soft pad of her thumb sliding across his lower lip.

Lucy, love.

And she knew she had lied. She had lied to Dair when he asked. She did love him.

Don’t cry.

She loved her ghost.
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Originally posted on Tue Jan 05, 2016

She looked like a ghost.

Pale in the dim light of the loft. Adrift in the open space.

He had seen it end. The two of them. Lucy and Dair. Watching them through the window. The way they sat on the couch. Not touching. Her holding a pillow. Him leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Until she was crying. And then they were holding hands for the last time. Saying goodbye.

She packed a box of his things. A pair of boots. A few shirts. Jeans. A book or two. A toothbrush.

He watched her from the inside out. Felt the emptiness. The grief. Another failed relationship. Charlie. Colin. Dair.

She slept in the closet. Turned off her phone. Told Martta not to come.

He lingered at the outskirts. Struggling at the salt barriers that kept him from going to her. Feeling everything. But kept away.

Eat something, he thought. Drink something. And she would. Before retreating to the closet again.

This was what he’d wanted wasn’t it? For Dair to be gone? But not like this. Why didn’t he think it would be like this?

He went to find Fin. Followed him. Tried, somehow to communicate to him. Go to her. Please, go to her. But the bloke couldn’t even bloody see him.

Day one. Day two.

Shower, he thought. And she did. Then retreated to the closet.

He lingered at the windows. To see what he could already feel.

She listened to the album on repeat. Shirley Horn. Softly.

Love brings such misery and pain
I guess I'll never be the same
since I fell for you.

Day three.

Feed the cat, he thought. Feed the fish. And she did.

Day four. Day five.

She looked like a ghost.

Alone. Adrift.

Just like him.
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Sat Jan 23, 2016

Lucy! Wake up!

Reginald shouted into her mind, ripping her from her dream. Lucy opened her eyes with a gasp, suddenly, painfully, awake.

The salt!

She squinted into the dark, trying to focus in the dead of night. Reginald’s voice was buffeting against her consciousness, trying to get whole thoughts through while drowning her in an overwhelming sense of urgency.

Something was happening. There was a noise at the door. Lucy sat up in bed, alert, alarmed. The lock was turning. Muffled voices in the hall. A thud. Someone was bumping the bolt.

LUCY! THE SALT!

Lucy sprang from bed, stumbling to the nearest window. She dragged her hand across the sill, breaking the line of rock salt.

Immediately, Reginald was there.

“Get in the closet, love.” His voice low and calm. “Lock the door.”

She hadn’t had any magic in months. Not since the summer. Nothing came to her fingertips when she called. No sparks. Nothing. She couldn’t defend herself against whomever was coming through the door.

Kitty hissed when Lucy grabbed her from the end of the bed and ran for the bathroom. She went straight back, locking the first door, then the closet door, retreating amidst the hanging clothes the way she so often did. Hiding. “It’s okay, Kitty. It’s okay.” Whispering, her eyes glued to the closet door. Listening.

The front door opened. Heavy boots fell inside.

Lucy could feel the apartment begin to rattle. The windows shaking in their panes. Art trembling against the brick walls.

“What the hell?” A low voice grumbled in the apartment.

A glass shattered.

“Shit---it’s haunted man!”

“Bloody hell.”

“I thought you cased the place!”

“I did! Supposed to be just a bitch and her cat!”

Another glass shattered. Then another. The rattling grew more intense. Kitty clawed at Lucy, meowing in protest.

“I’m bugging. Ain’t worth it.”

The front door slammed. The rattling eased. Lucy listened to the sound of boots in the stairwell. Then silence.

“They’re gone.” Reginald stepped through the closet door his form pulling light from the shadows.

“Are you sure?” Lucy let Kitty go as she leaned out from behind a garment bag.

“Yeah, love. I’m sure.”

Reginald knelt before her in the dark closet. Lucy looked at him. Her heart was pounding, her breath shallow. She wanted to sink into his arms. To be held. But all they could do was look at each other.

“Get your pillow. I’ll stay with you. If you want.”

“Okay.” Kitty ran from the closet as soon as Lucy opened the door. Lucy looked around the loft. The windows were intact, but the bar glasses were shattered all around the front door. Heavy crystal tumblers in pieces. Lucy picked up her pillow and a blanket from the bed, then returned to the closet.

“Sorry, love.” Reginald sat on the closet floor, watching Lucy settle back down for the night. “About the glass.”

“I’ll sweep it up in the morning.” Lucy drew in a breath and reached a hand towards him. “And the salt.”

Reginald reached back, the tip of his finger connecting with her palm for a soft, ghostly touch. And he smiled.
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Originally posted on Mon Feb 22, 2016

He left the first gift on a Wednesday. On her desk where he knew she’d find it. A shimmering black feather, its hints of iridescent green picking up the light.

Other gifts followed. A fragrant sprig of rosemary, a single blue bloom clinging despite the cold. A shiny copper coin. A pine cone.

This morning a gleaming white stone, worn smooth by untold years of a river’s caress. Reginald watched as Lucy knelt to pick it up from where he’d left it on the doorstep. He liked watching her expressions when she didn’t know she was being watched. Confusion at first. Curiosity. Then pleasure, her pink lips turning up, just barely, at the corners.

He would have left her love notes if he could. But even could he write, he wasn’t clever enough to write words worthy of her. He envied those who could. Jack with his Shakespeare. Fin with his ability to coo her to tears.

“How do you get them here?” She’d asked him once.

“Magic,” he teased.

And in a way, it was magic. He recalled how Serah had described it that night on the porch of the Inn. Seeing beyond the veil, she’d said. He wasn’t sure exactly what she’d meant, but instinctively that seemed to describe his existence. As if he were just there, on the other side of a shimmering curtain from Lucy and the living world. He need only concentrate to reach through. To reach her.

When he concentrated, he could touch things. He could carry them some distance, even. The light feather had been easiest. The stone a challenge. The smaller the item and the lighter the touch, the easier the task.

In the tangled year that had passed between them, he’d thought about leaving her. About finding someone else to haunt. But how could he? His life had been empty. His mum and da gone. No mates. No wife. No one who meant anything to him. In that one act, she’d created the only profound human connection that he had. That one act of killing him.

He touched her as much as he could. Holding her hand as they walked side by side. Kissing her hair in the morning. Stroking her cheek as she fell asleep.

It wasn’t enough though. She shivered sometimes. Or brushed her arm as if a fly had landed there instead of his fingers. His touch was ghostly.

It wasn’t enough.
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Thu Feb 25, 2016

His touch was rough. Rougher than expected. Rougher than all those times she’d imagined the feel of his workman’s hands. His calloused hands brushing along her sides as he raised her shirt.

She knew it was a dream. But she could feel it. The warmth of his full lips. The softness of his breath on her skin.

It felt real. It felt alive.

She pulled the scarf from around his neck, soft between her fingers.

It had been her scarf once. Until she’d dropped it that night. White cashmere. The soaked-in blood was still bright red. Always bright red. As if it had just happened. As if she were still watching him hold it over the wound she had made, her own hand still clutching the bloody knife.

He tried to hide it sometimes. Stuffed it into the pocket of his coat. But he couldn’t get rid of it. Not since he had picked up Jack’s ribbon that night in the Inn and watched as the ribbon transformed into the scarf. He couldn’t get rid of it, like he couldn’t change his clothes. His appearance frozen in time at the moment of his death.

But things were different here. Things were different in her dreams. She could draw the scarf away now. Pulled it from around his neck and tossed it aside.

And soon she was pulling at everything. Each bit of his clothing. Everything bloodied. His coat. His flannel. An urgency in her touch, as if by shedding his clothes here she was somehow changing the properties of him. As if she were making him less of a ghost and more of a man with each layer she removed.

But her hands paused at his undershirt. She stared at the bloodied material. The wound would be there. His wound. Her wound. She couldn’t look at it. Couldn’t face it.

He took his shirt off for her.

She exhaled at the sight. No wound. Nothing but the smooth skin of his lower belly. Her fingers traced over him, searching. But there was only him. Solid. Muscles and skin. She leaned forward to kiss him, closing her eyes.

“Don’t.”

Lucy opened her eyes. Reginald was watching her.

“Don’t close your eyes, love.”

They tumbled to the bed. Luxuriated in the dream. Lingered in every sensation. Her body bowed to his fingers. His hands never left her. All so physical, so real, she could forget at times that it was only a dream.

She wanted only to keep dreaming and dreaming. Of him. With him. Dreaming and dreaming.
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Originally posted on Wed Mar 16, 2016

“Did you ever think about getting married?” Lucy finished retying her hair in a messy bun, then sank back into the hot water of the bathtub. “Having kids?”

“Nah.” Reg watched the steam rise around her, the way the light drew shimmering lines across her wet skin. “Weren’t that kind of man, love.”

“Really?” Lucy’s brows raised. “You never thought about settling down?”

“Iffin I had a good lass, I might’ve.” He bounced his brows at her.

She laughed, watching him, and then she reached for her glass of scotch.

He could remember the feel of piping hot water. The taste of cheap whiskey, of tobacco. The feel of a woman’s skin. But he didn’t crave it anymore. The world of the living was lost to him.

When he reached for it, when he reached for the living world, he was only reaching for her.

“Can see it with you.” Reg tipped his head back as if he were leaning against the bathroom wall. He felt nothing behind him though. “Little carrot-topped sweeties running about.”

Lucy smiled, watching him a moment. Then she leaned to trade her scotch with a pack of cigarettes from the small table beside the tub. “God forbid we have a couple of boys, they’d be nothing but wild trouble-makers.”

“Aye, s’truth.” He chuckled, watching as she tapped the cigarette on the pack. Her hand trembled as she brought the cigarette to her lips, her upper body hanging over the edge of the tub. He frowned at her. “You shouldn’t smoke so much, love.”

“Helps me keep my figure.” Her smile suggested humor, but Reg knew she was only half joking. She reached for her gold-plated lighter, but it immediately slipped from her damp fingers and went skittering across the floor in Reg’s direction.

Lucy sank back into the water, pulling her unlit cigarette from her lips so she could sigh.

Reg looked at the lighter. Without thinking about the movement, he was there beside it. He concentrated until his ghostly fingers caught hold of the lighter, the small gold object moving with his will towards her in the tub. “Just trying to keep you healthy, love. Want you living a long life. A good life.”

She reached to take the lighter from him, her fingers capturing it as if from midair, even though she could see their hands touching.

He felt nothing. There was no sensation when their fingers met. There was nothing. He looked at her.

“Reg.” Her fingers closed around the lighter, her eyes shimmering with emotion.

“I know, love.” He sank beside the tub. “I know.”
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Mon Mar 21, 2016

“I be worried for ye, Lucy,” Fin kept his voice low, looking over at her walking beside him, “worried tha'...” but he stopped to shrug, uncertain how to put it into words.

“I know--I know my relationship with Reg is unusual. And that--that it makes you uncomfortable that we're so close and--and--and I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you could see him and talk to him.” Lucy shifted her hold on his hand as they walked. “I don't know how to reassure you.”

“Ye just ended things wit' Dair, ye've no had any time to yerself, to know wha' migh' make ye happy.” Chewing the inside of his cheek a moment, he asked, “Did ye find out wha' sort o' man he was when he was still livin'?”

“We've talked about it. He's admitted he wasn't--you know--a particularly good man or anything.”

“Ye spoke about it wit' him?” he asked with a hint of incredulity. “How was he no' a good man? How d'ye know he be tellin' ye the truth abou' anythin'?”

“He wasn't a bad man, he just--he wasn't the kind of man I'd have been interested in.” She looked over at him, frowning. “He was a construction worker. A builder. He said he just worked and drank. That sort of thing. Never went to school.” She took a breath, watching him as they walked. “Why would he lie to me?”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Because he wants ye to think the best o' him, Lucy, an' 'haps he thinks tha' wha'ever he tells ye, ye ha' no way o' knowin' for certain. Ye do no' know if he was a liar while he lived. If a stranger ye did no' care for told ye the same, would ye believe them out o' hand?”

“Fin, I know this is--this is not easy to understand. But I'd know if he was lying. I can--I can feel the things he feels.” Turning to look at him, trying to explain, her hand tightening on his, as if she could will him to understand. “And anyhow--what--what would be the big harm if he was lying? Everybody lies when they first meet people. They--they minimize the things they're insecure about and--and maximize their best qualities.”

“Because he canno' be held accountable. He does no' have to explain himself to anyone but yerself an' if he be lyin' to ye...how would anyone else know? Anyone else tha' cares abou' ye an' does no' want to see ye get hurt again?”

“What does it hurt, Fin?” She looked at him, frowning, starting to get flustered. “I talk to him. I--I spend time with him. He--he--” Then finally just shouting at him, “--he can't even touch me how could he possibly hurt me!?”

“Because I know ye, ye've given yer heart to him! I can see it in yer face, the way ye defend him. Yer lonely an' hurt from Dair an' I do no' think it be a good idea to run straight to him.”

Her eyes welled with tears before he even said Dair's name. Lucy pressed her lips together and tugged her hand from his. She stepped away, taking temporary refuge against the building while she fumbled in her handbag for a cigarette.

Sighing raggedly, he let her pull away from him, knowing the street wasn't the best place to be having this conversation. But he'd tried to have as soft a touch as he could on the subject for too long, now these things needed to be said.

Lucy tipped her head back to exhale smoke over her head, one hand crossed over her stomach, holding her elbow. She looked past him, out into the street, watching the fading light. She stood there for a long moment, silent. So long, he might've wondered if she'd ever answer him. She didn't look at him when she finally spoke. “What do you want me to do?”

Fin shambled over to lean against the building next to her but sure to keep some space between them, not crowding her or reaching for her. Taking a cue from Lucy, he pulled out a cigarette of his own, mulling over her excellent question. One he didn't have an answer to. The long silence didn't bother him and he, too, took his time to think on it first. “Dunno,” he mumbled, frowning down at his foot and then at the smoke dangling between his fingers. “I jus'...I could no' bear to see ye hurtin' again. I love ye, Lucy. I hope ye know tha',” finally turning his face to her, brow puckered, eyes shining with genuine concern. “I want to speak to him, to know him for m'self, if it be possible in any way.” It wouldn't help her, really, but at least it might make Fin feel better. The man was a ghost but Fin was good at reading people. “I know ye have e'ery right to tell me to *** off but I really do just want to be certain tha'....tha' he no' be tryin' to lead ye down a false path.”

“I'm not trying to hide him.” Lucy looked at Fin, but seeing that look in his eye, she immediately looked away to keep from getting emotional again. After a moment, she shrugged, her voice quiet and resigned. “He makes me happy.” She looked over at him, then away again. “It's not perfect--it's barely even anything--it's--it's--” She didn't know what it was, so she just shook her head and brought the cigarette to her lips.

He reached over, just to let the backs of his fingers brush against her elbow before falling away. “Ye said t'me once tha' ye wanted a husband, children. I jus' hope tha' yer feelin's for Reg do no' stop ye from wantin' those things for yerself, or tryin' to find them when ye be ready.”

“I still want those things.” She exhaled, looking down at her feet. “I thought--Dair might--but--” She shifted her weight, shook her head. “How do people do this?”

He snorted again, exhaling a cloud of smoke in the process while one corner of his mouth quirked slightly. “Dunno. Have no' been able to do it m'self. I once though'...tha'...tha' I wanted those things, though' I was close to havin' them, but now I am no' certain.”

She dropped the cigarette at her feet and stepped forward to crush it out. Then without looking, she reached for him, hand trying to tuck around his elbow. “I love you, too.”

Squinting slightly, he twisted his arm to catch at her hand and tug her back closer to his side. Fingers rose to tip her chin up, see if she would meet his gaze.

Her blue eyes met his, still defensive, an unusual combination of defiance and sadness.

It broke his heart to see that in her and he pulled her in for a hug. “I be sorry, love,” he murmured against her hair. “I want ye to be happy. I wish I knew how to make tha' happen for ye.”

She took a shaky breath, her arms going around him. “I am happy--sometimes.” She tucked her head against his shoulder and exhaled, trying to release her burdens with it, as if he could help her carry them.

If there was any way Fin could take up her burdens for her, he would. In a fucking heartbeat, without thought. If only. “Aye, I am happy some o' the time, as well.” Nothing was perfect, no such thing as happy ever after. Maybe that was the best anyone could hope for?
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Originally posted on Tue May 03, 2016 from a scene with Finlay Mackenzie