A/N: This was meant to be a short drabble about Archie's background, but it refused to be compliant and less than a few hundred words. Theresa also managed to insert herself, as she does with nearly all my Class of the Titans stories. I'd apologise for that, but I like the way it turned out. I hope you feel the same.
This is dedicated to Written Parody, quite possibly the only person who understands my love affair with T.S. Eliot. Thank you endlessly for your wonderful reviews and encouraging words. Sleepless Demeanours wouldn't have progressed very far without your support. Thank you.
Streets
New Olympia bustled with the sort of traffic that Theresa had always dreamt of. Staring into busy streets now, she felt a part of it all, just by being there. Never mind the fact that soon she'd have to move on, but for now she enjoyed the feeling of the noise rolling over her as she sat outside the dojo.
Her martial arts tournament started in thirty minutes, but she'd snuck out, hoping to glimpse the city before the bout began. Her daddy had been busy with work, and for the first time in her fifteen year old life, she'd been allowed to catch the train to the city all by herself. She smiled proudly at herself.
Coming from the rolling green hills of the outskirt towns, she'd fallen in love with the sheer action of the closest city to her diminutive little community. New Olympia was a wave of activity, such a contrast to her boring house. Everyone in the city had a lover, or a family, or friends, it seemed. She loved the traffic, but she loved the people the most. Watching them pass by, wondering who they were and where they were going.
She watched now as a group of older teenage girls wandered past her. They were brainless girls, self-obsessed and disinterested with all else. They were pretty, with ugly, appealing smiles and conversations she couldn't hear. They breathed smoke and blew it out, and words dropped from their mouths and got crushed on the floor.
"Oi, Tahnee, hurry up! Fight already started!" The girls laughed rancorously, disappearing into a side alley off the street.
Theresa didn't know why, but she found herself following. They'd mentioned something about a fight? She paled, but followed anyway. Perhaps it was the fighter spirit in her, or perhaps it was just naivety.
She burst into the mouth of the shadowed alley. A crowd had gathered further down, blocking her view. She stood a little further back, unnoticed. Craning her neck, she glimpsed what they had gathered for.
A group of teenagers stood in an unorganised heap, eyes wild and fists ready. The tension in the air was unmistakeable; Theresa knew it anywhere. It was the air of the dojo in a tournament. It was sweat, it was excitement, but mostly it was anticipation. She watched a few boys throw bad jabs, but she admired the way that the group refused to show terror. There was adrenaline in their eyes, but no fear.
The crowd muttered and murmured, disinterested in the initial proceedings. There was no excitement in the early part of the fight, just a lot of swearing and poorly-aimed punches, hoping to find the fight's first victim.
Then the melee began.
There was blood and sweat in the air, now. It pulled her into the crowd, next to the cigarette and bleach girls. One stared at her for a moment, mascaraed eyes weighing her up.
"Hey," the girl spoke, deciding there was no threat in Theresa. "Ya new or something?"
Theresa shrugged, smiling brightly. "I like their courage."
The girl took a long drag of her cigarette, blowing out the smoke into her face. Theresa coughed, and the girl laughed. "Welcome to the fight." She muttered, turning back to the circle. "Ya know the rules?" Theresa shook her head, smiling apologetically.
The older girl laughed again. "There are none," she drawled. "Last one standing wins."
They turned back to face the action. The melee had taken its first victims. Skinny boys, the poor fighters, crawled from the action, defeat in their eyes. The group had been whittled down to the more serious fighters now, with ten or so left circling. They were like sharks, she thought, realising that they weren't circling each other - in the centre of their circle, a smaller boy spun, waiting for the attack to come.
He was skinny, but wiry, thin muscles slowly developing. He couldn't have been any older than her, but probably younger. The determination in his eyes was unmistakeable. But what Theresa couldn't help but stare for was his hair. It was a shock of purple, so violet she was held in disbelief that it could be real. Or could it? It was a beacon, that colour of purple. The other fighters seemed to think so, too; he was one against an entire circle.
And then the circle closed in, collapsing inwards.
Theresa watched him take punch after punch, blow upon blow.
He took them all.
He fell, over and over, and stood again.
She wanted to cheer for him and his courage, if only she knew his name. But maybe she didn't need a name; he certainly didn't. No one else cheered for him, but he didn't care. He was in his own world of adrenaline, and she was in awe.
"Why is he fighting?" She asked, shiny eyed, pointing to the purple-haired fighter.
The girl laughed. "He's fighting the world."
And now, Theresa watched, the underdog in the middle of the circle fought on and stood and fell and returned to his haunches and feet and fought on again. He fought on, no matter how hard he hit the ground. He got up. Some people cheered him. Others laughed and jeered at him.
Feeling came out of her.
She watched.
Her eyes swelled, and burned.
"Can he win?"
She asked it, and now, she couldn't take her eyes off the boy in the circle.
The girl shrugged. "Nah. He's gonna get his arse handed to him."
Theresa swallowed unsteadily. The purple-haired boy seemed so strong, it seemed impossible that he could be shaken. But he was only human, after all, and as she watched, he took a hook to the jaw, sending him sprawling across the pavement. Mentally, she willed him to stand, but he was noticeably slower this time as he staggered to his feet. He collected another volley of punches, and was down again, unmoving.
She found herself bounding into the circle of fighters, unable to stay on the sidelines any longer. She pushed through the tall boys until she knelt at the purple-haired kid's side, wondering how much of his lanky body she could shield. Not much, she decided, and stood, fists raised and feet ready.
The circle of boys laughed collectively, the taunting calls stabbing at her.
"Oi, get outta here, girly."
"Whatcha gonna do, huh?"
"Move it!"
Theresa stood her ground over the dazed fighter. Her heart pumped with pride, and adrenaline. Or was it fear? She could never quite tell the difference. "I'm fighting, too." She announced. "I want in. Who's going to fight me?"
The crowd gasped. The circle of fighters muttered, throwing their hands up exasperatedly. Slowly, very slowly, they disbanded, striding out of the alley, until it was empty, save her and the small fighter. She turned to the semi-conscious boy now and prodded him.
"Wake up!" She muttered, now shaking him gently by the shoulders. "Wake up!"
He swore under his breath, but opened his eyes groggily. He glanced around, and then shot up, standing uneasily. He looked around swiftly, spinning on his heels. "Where did everyone go?!" He roared. "Where's everyone?!" He turned back to her, grey eyes like a storm front. "What did you do?!"
"I was just trying to help!" She told him indignantly. "You blacked out, so I had to help!"
He swore again and raked a bruised hand through his hair. He glanced at her, holding her eyes for a few moments, and then began to limp away.
"Wait!" She called, peeling after him. "You're injured, you should rest!"
"You shouldn't follow me." He muttered, still walking away as she ran to keep pace with him. He stopped, peering at her suddenly. "Why are you following me, anyway?"
Theresa had to think about that. Why was she following him? She barely knew the boy - she didn't even know his name. But she liked the look of him, liked the way he fought. And he seemed so… right. He was tall and abrupt and exactly the kind of guy she wanted to be walking the streets with.
She shrugged off his question, replacing it with her own. "Do you have a name?"
The purple haired kid scowled. "Doesn't everyone?"
"My name Theresa," she said proudly. "My daddy said it means harvest."
He rolled his eyes. "Mine's Archie. It means piss off."
She glared, the sudden rudeness setting her jaw indignantly. "I just saved you from getting pummelled by those guys, so there's no need to be so awful, Archie. You might even say thank you."
The teen mocked a bow, grimacing as his muscled must have screamed in protest. "Thank you for showing them that I need a girl to fight my battles. Thank you, thank you."
With that, he started limping back down the alley, towards the busy street.
"Wait!" She called, trotting after him. "Archie, please wait!"
He turned around, scowling. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
She remembered the tournament, wondering what the time must be. Would she still be able to make her bout? If she hurried back, she might. But that would require leaving behind the lanky fighter.
"Do you mind, if I leave?" She asked worriedly.
Archie rolled his eyes. "Do I look like I care?" He gestured towards the noisy street. "Go find your family or whatever."
Theresa smiled brightly at her new friend. Maybe she was so young and naïve, but she considered him a friend.
"See you around, Archie."
The purple-haired kid mocked a salute. "Bye."
As she walked back to the dojo, Theresa felt like the city was engulfing her. Adrenalin still poured through her veins. Sparks flowed through to her fingers. It felt like she was still running to the boy's side, but air was different. It was filled with an absence, an absence of purple-haired spirit.
She looked back, but Archie was gone.
A year later, the war started. She was plucked, quite literally, out of her old life and thrust into a new world, one of Greek myths and fate. Brought back to New Olympia on griffin-back, Theresa couldn't help but stretch out her arms and feel alive, the wind dancing through her hair and her shouts piercing the sky.
She felt alive.
At the school, she'd met the gods and Odie. The boy was geeky but the kind of kid she couldn't help but be friends with. Then she'd met Atlanta, and Jay. Her heart had fluttered so perfectly, and she could have melted under his chocolate-eyed gaze. Walking through the streets to the dorm with him was captivating. Jay knew so much about this new world of theirs – all the gods and stories. He was so animated with his storytelling; she couldn't look anywhere but at him. When his hands made gestures to mime his stories, it was as if he also poured something into her while she walked at his side. It was like he held a string and pulled on it just slightly to open her up. He got in, put a piece of himself inside her, and left again.
It was dark when they arrived at the dorm. The way he had described it on the trip over had made her imagine a sort of city-scape castle; the Brownstone was far from a rich haunt. She deflated like a balloon, dejection bursting her dreaminess. The dorm was nice enough, but it wasn't the palace Jay had so adamantly described. She felt let down by her storyteller.
Walking through the garden with Atlanta, absentmindedly chatting, she sensed a third presence. The two girls had glanced at each other, suddenly in sync with the threat of danger, and leapt together at the figure stalking through the garden. It was dark, quite starless; he easily fought them off.
Theresa looked up. There it was; the indistinguishable purple hair. He scowled at Atlanta as she lurked in the background, wondering if her old acquaintance would recognise her. It'd only been a year, so surely he would remember, right?
"Archie?!" Atlanta was furious. Theresa cast a sideways glance at her companion. How did she know the street-fighter?
"You know this guy?" She asked incredulously.
He looked at her finally, recognition slowly filtering into his stormy eyes. An expression of surprise fell from her face, though she tried to keep it in. It broke off and she tried to catch it and fidget with it in her hands.
"He's one of us." Atlanta explained, oblivious to the darting looks between them.
Archie's narrow mouth set in a sneer. "You know I don't believe any of that."
Atlanta eventually retreated back into the dorm, leaving the two in the cool night air. Theresa didn't know what to say. It'd only been a year, and yet the boy was like a stranger. In a way, he was. She'd only met him once, a year ago! She should have forgotten about him, not become caught up with the chance meeting.
But she spoke, anyway.
"How have you been, Archie?"
He scowled. She was beginning to think it was how he smiled. "Same as usual."
"Still getting into fights?" She smiled, teasing.
Archie shrugged. "Why not?"
She wanted to tell him there and then about the girl – Tahnee – about her words. That he was fighting the world. She couldn't let go of those words. She wanted to tell Archie that she was proud to have seen him fight. Hell, she was proud to fight with him, should the occasion come.
But she doesn't. Instead, she mumbles about the shock of their fate; how she couldn't understand the brevity of their destiny. Where had the normality gone?
He nodded feverishly, complete agreement. "Exactly! I thought that was all Greek nonsense. I mean, gods, really? And why are we fighting their battles anyway? Can't they sort this whole thing out without us?"
"But that would mean…" she paused, holding in the words. What she'd wanted to say was that if the stories hadn't been true, they may never have met again. But she couldn't say that to Archie. In his mind, she was still the girl who had interrupted his fight with the world.
"Mean what, Theresa?" His eyes were unreadable.
She took a breath and looked him straight in the eye. "It would mean I'd have never met you again."
He studied her, measuring her up. When he moved, the window light stabs him, and the words flowed out like blood.
"Why would that matter?" He laughed jarringly, seeing the hurt on her face. "You're just a silly girl. Why would it matter if I never met you again?"
The words stung and held in the air. She winced, but didn't walk away.
Maybe he saw her courage. She liked to think that was it – he saw her courage, and backed down.
"I shouldn't be a prick to you." He muttered.
She considered the probable apology, but tossed it aside, smiling.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
The war finished the way it had started - abruptly. The final battle, the fight they'd all trained for, was nothing more than an ordinary skirmish. They battled Cronus and his giants, and when it was all over, they were the ones left standing over the vengeful god.
Numb shock settled over the team, as they walked back to the dorm, through busy streets. There wasn't the giddy excitement they'd expected, or the tears. Certainly not any talking. She'd tried to catch a moment with Jay, but suddenly there was the packing, and the cleaning up, and the farewells. Their final day in the dorm was a blur of muttered farewells. Initially, she'd refused to say goodbye, but then it all came spilling out as she could hold it in no longer. Atlanta, Herry, Neil, Odie, Archie, Jay… goodbye.
The seven parted, walking their separate ways into the streets.
Theresa moved back in with her daddy, in the old house. Jay visited on alternate holidays, and she to him every other vacation, but something had changed. The old spark had gone, disappeared into the depths of Hades. They broke things off for good shortly after her twentieth birthday party, and stopped visiting soon after.
Months tricked into years. She moved back to the city, taking a job in a medium's emporium to pay for a small apartment overlooking the park. The job was easy enough; her Sight made the entire process much less-reliant on the cards. But it was a lonely job. She didn't have time to make friends, or go on dates. She missed that.
On a whim, she decided to try out a club, just once. That was what most young people did, after all. Maybe a night of cheap alcohol and tacky music was all she needed to feel normal again, right?
The club she chose was loud and uneventful. Nothing exciting, just skimpily clad women and men looking to pick up. She hugged her sides, ignoring glances as she walked in. She was young and beautiful, she knew, but the kinds of men staring at her were the most unappealing sorts. Too cocky, too sleazy.
Reaching the bar, she wondered about appealing men, namely a certain Greek. They'd stopped email a few months back; the awkward tension from their breakup still reverberating. Not that she'd stopped caring about Jay. No, she would never stop caring for him. But another try at their relationship…. that ship had sailed.
"Theresa?"
She looked up and met storm grey eyes.
"Archie!" She cried, squeezing the purple-haired warrior into a tight embrace. "What are you doing here? I though you and Atlanta…" she trailed off, seeing the pain flood into his eyes. "Bad topic?"
He nodded. "Came back here for a bit, just to see how things were. Whatcha drinking, anyway?"
They chatted for hours, becoming more and more intoxicated as the night trailed on. He had matured in the past years, and she found that she enjoyed the company of this grown-up Archie. It may have just been the influence of alcohol, but she also decided she quite liked this Archie, too.
She couldn't remember who suggested they go back to her apartment. She didn't care. The taxi ride back was exhilarating, the electricity between them like wildfire. His hand slipped into hers as he paid the driver; she led him into the lobby and through the halls. Their footsteps ran, and she didn't want them to end. She wanted to run and laugh, to feel like it would last forever. She wanted to avoid any awkward moments when the realness of reality stuck its fork into their flesh and left them standing outside her door, together. She wanted to stay there, in that moment, and never go to other places, where they didn't know what to say or what to do.
And then he brought his lips to hers, kissing her senselessly outside her apartment.
Archie's lips tasted of alcohol and sweat. She liked the combination; for some strange reason, it sobered her, every detail of his face, the touch of his hands, locking into her memory. He knew exactly how to make her gasp, or moan, or smile.
They ended up tangled together under the sheets, unclothed and unashamed. He absentmindedly traced patterns across her skin, leaving her shivering under his heated touch.
"Do you remember when we first met, Theresa?" His eyes burned with intensity. "You and me, in that little alley off that busy street."
"That was a million years ago," she murmured, smiling at the nostalgia.
"Nine years," he corrected, brushing a lock of orange hair from her eyes. "Just nine."
She stared back into his storm grey eyes, finding her own reflection in there. "A lot's changed since then," she muttered, dropping her gaze. "The war changed us, Arch. I'm not that little girl anymore."
His eyes flickered downward, roaming her naked chest. "No, you're not, are you?" His eyes twinkled. "I used to be a dick to you, didn't I?"
"You weren't always," she retorted. "Sometimes you could be quite tolerable. Atlanta seemed to think so." She peered at her bed partner curiously. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still missed her. Nothing, however, exited her mouth. How well could she really know him? There was a long quietness until she finally broke it open. "What happened between you two, anyway?"
Archie shrugged. "Dunno. One minute we were fine, the next… she wants to see the world. Travel for a couple of years or whatever. I didn't want to. And… I guess we just went our ways. Last I heard she was running some adventure hiking group in Brazil."
"How has it been?"
"Four years," he muttered. "Four years since we split. Ain't teenage love funny?"
They slept together that night. Bare skin pressed together, they fell asleep in each other's' eyes, Theresa's head curled in the corner of Archie's shoulder. Lying with him, under her sheets, was the most comfortable she could imagine being. Even when he snored, and woke her from her sleep, she didn't mind. She lay awake after that, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the breath from his snoring making curls of her hair dance around his face.
She wanted to tell him that she loved the howling sound of his snoring. That would be the limit of her courage that night, but even the spoken words struggled their way out of her mouth. She couldn't, and stammered something about breakfast when he woke up. He declined, muttering something about work and I'll call you.
It was only after he'd left that she realised he didn't have her number.
The words she'd conjured up were left in the air. She remembered them, saving them for another time. That night hadn't been the right moment. It was a matter of knowing when to do it. Knowing when the time would be right.
Would it ever be right?
Theresa sold the apartment; her job as a tarot card reader didn't pay the rent as well as she'd hope. The rent market was cheaper in other cities, so she moved, never looking back. She tried other jobs; waitressing, interior design, retail… none stuck. She flitted between jobs like a moth at a light, waiting for something, anything to come up. When the small boutique she'd been working at had been held up by a pair of masked robbers, she'd helped the police track suspects. She'd lied about her information, saying that she had glimpsed a face from under one of the balaclavas (how could she explain her Sight to the officers?). But then she realised she'd found the job for her.
Police work was surprisingly well-suited to her talents. She was fit, brave and all her hunches mysteriously turned out correct. She was top of her class at the police academy, and was full-time employed the day she turned thirty. Her colleagues were friendly, the job paid well, and she was content. Her new house was small, but homely. She tried dating, but never progressed past several meetings with men. None of them stuck in her heart.
Then she was posted back to New Olympia, after long years of being elsewhere. She wondered if Fate had anything to do with her life still. Returning to her home city was like entering water, after months under an intense heat. She hadn't known she'd missed the city until she was walking the streets again, smiling up at old landmarks.
When she found herself outside the Brownstone, Theresa couldn't move.
The memories poured from the windows; they were swirled in the curling paint splashed across the doorway, growing with the pot plants under the stairs. She wanted to grab a person off the street and point excitedly to the Brownstone. That's my dorm! She wanted to say. That's the place where the best two years of my life were lived! In that building, I lived with the six best people I've ever known. Jay, Herry, Odie, Atlanta, Neil… and Archie. Where are they all now?
She wanted to scream her thoughts to the world, but the busy street didn't care. None of the busy faces knew, nor cared. Everyone was too focused on the pavement ahead to understand.
Theresa walked on, eventually. Her job took her all over the city, chasing down stolen good and criminals. Often, she looked for Archie. The old street fighting crowd were a hard lot to track, but she found traces. Eventually, she was given a few names and addresses. All of which proved futile. Nobody had heard from or seen the purple-haired man in years.
"He's long gone." a bleached-blonde woman had called from her doorway, nursing a child in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She blew smoke into Theresa's face, laughing as she coughed.
"Thank you for the information, ma'am." Theresa muttered, ready to leave.
The woman chuckled. "It's Tahnee."
Theresa met her eye, the recognition hitting her suddenly, like a flood.
Oi, Tahnee, hurry up! Fight already started!
Welcome to the fight.
"Ya still chasing that kid?" Tahnee shook her head. "Ya bloody hopeless."
"Maybe so." Theresa dropped her head, unable to meet the other woman's eye. "But it's not in my nature to give up on him."
You're just a silly girl. Why would it matter if I never met you again?
Thanking the woman again, Theresa raced back to the station, mind full of memories.
That night, the rain started. The storm front was endless rain, pouring from the heavens mercilessly. The smell of the rain filled her station, the damp breeze flooding in with every door opening.
The rain fluctuated between a drizzle and torrential. It messed with her mind. It made her think things would always be like this, always raining. It penetrated her, and she finally realised how tired she was.
There was a call-out around eleven. Her sergeant drove them to the site; a crumbling warehouse, corroding around the edges. Rain poured in from the open roof, drenching the police officers to their bones as they set up a cordon. Forensics hovered around whatever was at the centre of the giant space, blocking her view as the sergeant called the officers to him.
"Homicide," he boomed, rain trickling down his beefy neck. "Seems like a street fight that went wrong."
Theresa's head shot up. "Street fight, sir?"
Her sergeant nodded. "Bloody delinquents, think they can take on the world and win." He swore under his breath, walking away to the cordon.
Why's he fighting?
He's fighting the world.
The world had stopped, holding its breath. The noise of the city faded.
She took one step and didn't want to take any more.
But she did.
Instructing herself to breath calmly, Theresa began to walk towards the site. The rain no longer bothered her, though it was now pouring, drowning her in midnight rain. The world, it seemed, had been flicked off, like a light switch. There was only her, and a thin white sheet covering a body, some ten metres away. Disbelief held her down inside her footsteps, making her body heavy but her heart wild.
The forensics team still milled around the body; she weaved past, kneeling at the body. Faintly, she recalled one other time she'd done this; pushing past tall boys, rushing to the aid of the small fighter that had made such an impression on her.
Her shaking hand hovered over the edge of the rain-dampened sheet.
She held her breath, and gently pulled the sheet back.
A broken street fighter stared back, mouth full of pearly teeth and the unmistakable shock of purple hair, matted with red-brown blood.
"Archie." She breathed. "Oh, Archie."
How many times did she have to say goodbye?
A hand was on her shoulder. "You knew him?" The sergeant was quieter now, in his pity.
He was standing right beside her. He probably heard her heart breaking. It sounded like rain from a powerful thunderstorm pounding on pavement, echoing in an abandoned warehouse. Millions of drops relentlessly pounding away on the surface until it shattered into billions of tiny pieces. Pieces Theresa couldn't put back together by herself. Pieces she may never put back together at all.
She swallowed. "Yeah, I knew him." The words were like acid in her mouth. Knew him? Knew him? He was my hero, my friend, my lover… he was my Archie.
She leaned down and looked at Archie's lifeless face and Theresa kissed him, softly on his lips. He tasted like blood and sweat. He tasted of the smog of the city, regret in a tiny alley. Mostly, he tasted like rain. She kissed him long and soft, and when the sergeant pulled her away, she touched his mouth with her fingers… she couldn't say goodbye again. Not another time.
Tiredly, she stood. She looked back at the body, at Archie. And then there was a sickness she felt from looking at the outline of legs she could no longer touch, or at lips that didn't smile at her. Or the eyes that would never storm over again. And the heart that stopped beating.
"Maybe you should head home." The sergeant eyed her wearily.
Theresa nodded.
She walked alone. No thoughts, no tears. Just her, in the rainy streets. She wasn't walking home, she was just walking somewhere, anywhere, as far from the lifeless body as she could get. Memories followed her, sick images. Lampposts held his face in their small light; she heard his voice in the blaring of car horns. Archie, Archie, Archie…
She stopped walking. Her tired feet had brought her to the alley, where everything had changed. Where she'd met Archie, all those years ago. It was still dark, damp, the echoes of the past clinging to the walls. The city could still throw those shadows filled with memories which settled over her small figure. The air was dark with rain, compressing her further.
Wandering into the alley, Theresa looked around, trying to piece together the past years. She walked to the spot she'd first seen Archie, where she'd coughed at the lungful of smoke from the skater girl. She turned to face where the circle had been; ran to the spot where she'd stood over Archie.
Very suddenly. Quite suddenly, she didn't feel like she could handle any more feeling of aloneness.
She stood there and stared, into the sky and at the city around her. The rain kissed her, as she reached up with her hands to the heavens. The orange-haired woman, the fighter. Her mouth opened.
Archie is dead, she thought. Archie fought the world and lost.
"No," she murmured. "He won."
With her head thrown into the sky, she cried.
Arms stretched out into the sky, she cried, and everything came out of her. Sobs pooled in her throat and hacked through her lungs. The sky listened. The city didn't. She didn't care. All she cared about was that she was crying so that she could no longer hear the voice. She remembered the boy of such intensity and something so undefeatable. She cried, oh, so loud and desperate, telling a world that she was here and she would never forget the purple haired street fighter, her Archie.
Then, exhausted from the tears and sobs, she smiled.
The blaring streets of New Olympia didn't smile back. There was only the sound of traffic and rain.
With a sigh, Theresa lowered her hands and started the long walk home, through the rain and traffic-drowned streets.
That is the first time I've ever killed off a character. I'll try not to do it again – there were far too many feels with writing that last scene.
So, tell me what you think. Reviewing is the accepted convention of this. I'd love to hear what you guys think.
Also, apologies for glossing over the actual series. I tried to incorporate some of the moments in the series where Theresa and Archie were bickering, but it didn't quite fit.
Be sure to check out some of my other work – Sleepless Demeanours is still being worked on, updated almost weekly, now. And hopefully I'll finish the drafting process of a new story soon. It's still not quite finished, so I'm reluctant to give much else away! Sorry!
Anyway, thank you for reading. Thank you so much!
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