I do not own Father Brown in tv or book form. Never have and never will.
This is a one-shot. Father Brown/Lady Felicia. Inspired partly by The Birthday Massacre song "Over".
Over
Every night is the same. The thoughts start churning around in his head and he finds himself wishing that she would leave, but she always waits for him to return; it was never supposed to be like this.
Parking his bike near the entryway of the presbytery, he listens; he can't remember the last time that he has heard Him speak. It is an awful truth.
He doesn't even bother turning on the light anymore; he just locks the door and drops his belongings into the same old deserted chair near the coat rack. Sluggishly making his way over to the kitchen, he stops short, pausing near the threshold.
How much longer can he do this? Shaking his head in defeat, he leans backwards, heart heavy in his chest, against the wall and stands silent.
He has to cease this destructive line of thinking and if he is being completely honest with himself, something he has been needing to do for quite some time now, he knows that he can continue feeding whatever this is between them for all of eternity. The better question being, will he?
A sudden disturbance in the air alarms his senses as she relocates from the kitchen to the living room. In the pitch black, there is a huge possibility that she could be standing only mere inches away from him; a prospect he finds terrifying because if he is to have any chance of walking away from this mess tonight, it is imperative that he keeps his defenses up. One false move and her touch will have him undone in a matter of seconds, all resolve lost to sands of time.
A realization he comes to find too little too late.
Already feeling the familiar caress of delicate hands sliding up his sides and onto his chest, he steadies himself for the up and coming onslaught of twisted love and devotion that will soon devour the last drop of resolution he has; her nail, his coffin.
And just like all the times before, no attempts are made to stall the process of erosion, the only movement being registered is the lulling of his head back towards the wall as she continuously tries to wrap him up within her web of comfort. A sigh of contentment escapes from his parted lips, a warning to her fingers, alerting them to swiftly abandon the job of undoing buttons and instead take upon the welcoming task of sweeping lovingly over his face. Melting underneath her warmth, he finds himself allowing her to kiss his neck; how lost he is within her grasp.
"Ahh..", is all that can he can utter before he feels sweet lips overtaking his own with an unrecognizable determination; an action that will lead to the subsequent tangling of bodies and charged exhalations lasting long into the night before fading into regret and devastation at dawn's first light.
This is a situation, a battle, a constant war that he cannot bring himself to assess or fight. This a monster that refuses to die; gifted with staining the past, punching holes in the present, and clawing at the future, it roams freely and without consequences and he has no desire to cage it. The instant gratification is too strong and his will too weak and in the end he knows that it's over.
The End