locks_it_up | (no subject)

(no subject)

It has been some space of time since he found his Tower, and breached it, and fell into her arms.

In that time, he has walked with her, stayed with her as a guest before she walks him on to the clearing.

Today? They are at Disneyland.

They are sitting at a table in the Blue Bayou, as boats splash on in the distance to meet robot pirates, and recorded crickets chirp and fireflies flicker, and Chinese lanterns bob over their heads. In the distance, there is a banjo playing, picked at slow and mournful. She's sipping on a mint julep and grinning widely.

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"Hey, sleep is nice. I didn't want to wake you."

She takes the cigarette from his hand, and takes a drag. Not something she does terribly often, but she likes the effect of smoke rolling out of her mouth. It's fun. And calming.

"Well. There's the bar. They seem to be doing alright..."

She hands the cigarette back to him, takes her hand from his, and stares at the mint julep, poking at the ice and frowning, a little.

Because there's always a price.

And she knows he won't like the price of this one.

He's not watching her.

Off in the crowd, making her way towards the exit, there's a young, slim girl of about eighteen with long, dark hair. It's just a little tangled.

Roland can't see her face.

Without taking his eyes from the girl:

"And River?"

She looks up.

Sees his face.

She'll tell him later.

"She misses you. I'm looking after her. As much as I can."

Roland picks up his coffee and stares into it before downing the rest. There's not much left.

Before he replaces cup in saucer, he puts out his cigarette.

Clink.

And a soft sigh.

"I knew you would, my dear."

When he looks up, his eyes -- and are they just a little less faded? a little more warm? -- meet hers.

"You know I've been thinking of her." The words are just a little pleading, as though for understanding. He's thought of River, yes -- often -- but said nothing.

It's been an interesting adjustment. Tower, and Tower, and Tower --

-- and then, at last, the end. And then...nothing more to quest for.

She's done well with not leaving him alone to his thoughts. Done very well indeed.

But even She of the Endless can't stop all thought. Not when he's still here with her, between the path and the clearing.

It's another -- better -- waystation. And unlike Milliways, Roland can wait to find out what's coming next.

It's only a problem when he has time to think about what was.

"I know."

She smiles, a little. Gentle.

He'll go on, eventually. But he was promised a time and a place. And she keeps her promises.

"She's been training with Cort. And this Liam guy. The Shang Dragon. Friend of Alanna's."

Death beams.

"She's pretty damn good. You'd be proud."

"Never thought I wouldn't be."

He's missing it. And -- it hurts.

"Cort's behaving himself?"

She squeezes his hand, soft.

She knows.

"He is, rather. Hasn't hit her."

Wry, but with no real feeling: "That's something."

He looks at her.

"Lady -- I knew it wouldn't anger you, if I asked about her. Knew that I had every reason in all the worlds to want to do so. And yet -- I did not." A bare, humorless smile. "It is strange."

Smirk.

She's good at those.

"Some things don't change."

She's been hanging out around Roland too much, is what she's been doing.

The wry look has a little feeling behind it, now.

And dry: "Do you say so."

"I do. For I am older and wiser."

She looks up from the rim of her glass, her head lowered to the straw.

Bats her eyelashes, a little, all innocence and charm.

Roland takes this in.

The left side of his mouth slants up. The lines at the edges of his eyes draw themselves into prominence.

"Lady," he says, "you are many things that I appreciate."

He's always liked older women.

She beams.

"I know."

And slurrrrps at the last of her mint julep.

Roland looks at his empty coffee cup.

It's not quite a sad face. Not quite.

"Not a White Russian today, for you."

He's learned to say it right.

"Why?"

"Because this place requires a mint julep."

Solemn. No twinkle in the eye here. Nosireebob.

"It's traditional."

Roland looks around.

"I'll take your word, lady."

He's...tired, now. Very tired.

He's been very tired.

He can't keep it off his face.

She has no right to keep him.

And yet.

He'll go where he needs to, soon.

Soft, now. "You wanna get back to my place?"

He nods.

Brief moment of silence.

"...I've never been the one who's gone while others have continued."

His tone is just a little wondering.

It's the first time it's occurred to him.

She offers her hand, for the taking.

"I'd imagine it'd be an odd feeling."

She has always gone on. Always will go on.

He's already taken it once.

He does so again. Gladly.

And doesn't lift his eyes from her empty glass.

The sound of wings.

They're on the purple couch. The chicken is to Roland's right.

He eyes it.

Another relic of what's past.

"You want to go back."

It isn't a question.

She knows.

"There have been a lot of things I've wanted."

He's still got her hand.

His thumb moves over the back of her hand, slowly.

She bites her lip.

"Ask for it, and it's yours."