No Light
By: S J Hartsfield
Rating: PG for mild swearing.
Summary: My first SAJV fic! Of course it has to be angsty... Phileas at Rebecca's grave.
---
"Whenever you're not around... there is no light."
Phileas Fogg was in darkness.
He stood at a grave. The bouquet of flowers in his hand were slowly being crushed as he gripped them as tightly as he could. His friends, Jules Verne and Passepartout, stood by, watching him carefully.
"Fogg..." Jules ventured, taking a step toward him. Phileas looked at him venomously. Jules stopped abruptly. "Fogg," he tried again, "It's nearly dusk. We should really be going."
"I will not," Phileas said in a slow, measured manner, "be rushed." He turned back to the grave. "I come here so infrequently, Verne... I must not be hurried."
"You come once a week, Fogg," Jules said, exhasperated. "We all loved Rebecca -"
Phileas became murderous. "You!?" he demanded, turning to face him angrily. "You hardly knew her! How could you love her!?" Turning away, he muttered to himself, "How could you possibly love her like I did?"
Jules looked to Passepartout for help. "Master," the valet offered gently, "Perhaps Mister Jules is right. The sun will be down soon... you have not stayed so long before. Come, it will be getting cold soon."
"But I wish to this time," came the answer, quietly. "If you are so concerned, bring me a blanket to keep warm with." The ex-agent lightly fingered the pistol in his pocket surreptitiously. "I wish to be left alone."
The two men gave up. "We... we'll see you later then, Fogg," Jules said slowly. He didn't like this - he knew that leaving Phileas alone in a moment of grief was not a good idea. But he also knew that once Phileas set his mind to something, he would not be abashed.
He only hoped that he knew what he was doing.
---
Phileas sat before his cousin's grave, turning the pistol in his hand. "I never cared much for my life, Rebecca," he said, speaking to the air, "But yours... I would have given anything to save your life." He closed his eyes. "I did not live for my own life, Rebecca. I lived for yours." When he opened them again, they were wet with tears. "Now that you are gone... I have nothing to live for."
The wind ruffled his hair. Passepartout had been right - the air had turned cold quickly. But nothing could compare to the chill in Phileas' heart. He cocked the gun and stared at it.
"I know it used to drive you mad when I played Russian Roulette," he whispered. "I know you worried sick about me." A grin flitted across his tear-stained face. "But I never lost, Rebecca. I never lost." He stared at her headstone. "How could I have played so lightly with my life and never lost it... when you clung so dearly to yours... and you..." The lump in his throat forbade him to say any more. He swallowed heavily and lifted the gun to his temple.
"This time I know I'll lose," Phileas said, his voice barely above a whisper, "But you won't have to worry about me this time."
He pulled the trigger and the pistol gave the sharp click of an empty chamber.
He pulled it again. And again. And again. Once more, and he knew the next bullet would bring him the death he had tempted so many times before. He closed his eyes.
"Phileas."
That voice! Phileas turned to see Rebecca standing before him. Shimmering, nearly transparent, unnatural... but with him.
"Dear God," he whispered. "You're a..."
"A ghost?" his cousin said. "Yes, I'm afraid I am." She stared at him thoughtfully. "Not for long though, I should think. I believe I only have time enough to stop you."
"Stop me," Phileas scoffed. "I know what I'm doing."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Rebecca said, frowning at him. She took the gun from his hand and tossed it into the grass. "You rarely know what you're doing."
Phileas stared at her and smiled. "This is unbelievably typical," he said, standing up and brushing himself off. Then he caught himself. "For God's sake, Rebecca, you're dead."
Rebecca put a hand to his cheek. "Yes, Phileas." She glanced in direction in which she had thrown the gun. "And I had hoped that you wouldn't try to follow in my footsteps." She smiled gently at him. "I heard you, Phileas... about not having anything to live for. But there are two people, still very much alive, that you can live for now."
"Verne and Passepartout," Phileas sighed, shaking his head. "I've never lived for them. Nor they for me." He fixed her with a steely gaze. "We all lived for you."
"They live for all of us," Rebecca countered. "It was only you that lived for me. You were always a damned stubborn man."
Phileas sighed and looked away from her. "I don't want to be here anymore, Rebecca."
"No one's stopping you from leaving."
"No, not here in the cemetary, here... here in this life." He looked back. "Not without you. What will I do?" He gently brushed her hair away from her neck. "Who will I protect?"
"You can protect them," Rebecca answered. "Protect Jules and Passepartout for me."
"But I... I don't..." he sighed and shook his head, "I... don't feel as... fiercely for them as I did for you, Rebecca. As I still do." He closed his eyes.
"I know," she whispered, "But you still have to protect them." She smiled. "You know Jules can't take care of himself." Phileas grinned sadly. "You just have to keep going, Phileas. You still have your life... don't throw it away."
"I've always wanted to," he answered, "I've never cared if I died."
"That's strange," Rebecca said. "If you had died before I, who would have protected me?"
This thought had never occured to Phileas. He was struck dumb, staring at his translucent cousin stonily. "I... I had never thought of it," he admitted sheepishly.
"Trust you not to," Rebecca replied lightly. "But you can make it up to me, you know." When he looked at her questioningly, she smiled. "Protect Jules and Passepartout. Live for them now." She took his face in her hands and brought his forehead to hers. "And live for yourself."
A tear rolled down Phileas' face. "I can't, Rebecca, I just can't."
"You can. You have to." Though he said nothing, Rebecca knew that once she left, Phileas would not retrieve his pistol. She began to fade.
"Don't leave me again, Rebecca!" Phileas cried, reaching for her. His hands passed through her. He fell to his knees. In the instant before she vanished, Phileas saw Rebecca blow him a kiss.
"Live, Phileas," she said, though her image was gone.
"I will."
Once again, Phileas was alone. He stayed, kneeling on the ground, for a long while. Then he stood and made his way back to the Aurora, shivering.
~Fin~
By: S J Hartsfield
Rating: PG for mild swearing.
Summary: My first SAJV fic! Of course it has to be angsty... Phileas at Rebecca's grave.
---
"Whenever you're not around... there is no light."
Phileas Fogg was in darkness.
He stood at a grave. The bouquet of flowers in his hand were slowly being crushed as he gripped them as tightly as he could. His friends, Jules Verne and Passepartout, stood by, watching him carefully.
"Fogg..." Jules ventured, taking a step toward him. Phileas looked at him venomously. Jules stopped abruptly. "Fogg," he tried again, "It's nearly dusk. We should really be going."
"I will not," Phileas said in a slow, measured manner, "be rushed." He turned back to the grave. "I come here so infrequently, Verne... I must not be hurried."
"You come once a week, Fogg," Jules said, exhasperated. "We all loved Rebecca -"
Phileas became murderous. "You!?" he demanded, turning to face him angrily. "You hardly knew her! How could you love her!?" Turning away, he muttered to himself, "How could you possibly love her like I did?"
Jules looked to Passepartout for help. "Master," the valet offered gently, "Perhaps Mister Jules is right. The sun will be down soon... you have not stayed so long before. Come, it will be getting cold soon."
"But I wish to this time," came the answer, quietly. "If you are so concerned, bring me a blanket to keep warm with." The ex-agent lightly fingered the pistol in his pocket surreptitiously. "I wish to be left alone."
The two men gave up. "We... we'll see you later then, Fogg," Jules said slowly. He didn't like this - he knew that leaving Phileas alone in a moment of grief was not a good idea. But he also knew that once Phileas set his mind to something, he would not be abashed.
He only hoped that he knew what he was doing.
---
Phileas sat before his cousin's grave, turning the pistol in his hand. "I never cared much for my life, Rebecca," he said, speaking to the air, "But yours... I would have given anything to save your life." He closed his eyes. "I did not live for my own life, Rebecca. I lived for yours." When he opened them again, they were wet with tears. "Now that you are gone... I have nothing to live for."
The wind ruffled his hair. Passepartout had been right - the air had turned cold quickly. But nothing could compare to the chill in Phileas' heart. He cocked the gun and stared at it.
"I know it used to drive you mad when I played Russian Roulette," he whispered. "I know you worried sick about me." A grin flitted across his tear-stained face. "But I never lost, Rebecca. I never lost." He stared at her headstone. "How could I have played so lightly with my life and never lost it... when you clung so dearly to yours... and you..." The lump in his throat forbade him to say any more. He swallowed heavily and lifted the gun to his temple.
"This time I know I'll lose," Phileas said, his voice barely above a whisper, "But you won't have to worry about me this time."
He pulled the trigger and the pistol gave the sharp click of an empty chamber.
He pulled it again. And again. And again. Once more, and he knew the next bullet would bring him the death he had tempted so many times before. He closed his eyes.
"Phileas."
That voice! Phileas turned to see Rebecca standing before him. Shimmering, nearly transparent, unnatural... but with him.
"Dear God," he whispered. "You're a..."
"A ghost?" his cousin said. "Yes, I'm afraid I am." She stared at him thoughtfully. "Not for long though, I should think. I believe I only have time enough to stop you."
"Stop me," Phileas scoffed. "I know what I'm doing."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Rebecca said, frowning at him. She took the gun from his hand and tossed it into the grass. "You rarely know what you're doing."
Phileas stared at her and smiled. "This is unbelievably typical," he said, standing up and brushing himself off. Then he caught himself. "For God's sake, Rebecca, you're dead."
Rebecca put a hand to his cheek. "Yes, Phileas." She glanced in direction in which she had thrown the gun. "And I had hoped that you wouldn't try to follow in my footsteps." She smiled gently at him. "I heard you, Phileas... about not having anything to live for. But there are two people, still very much alive, that you can live for now."
"Verne and Passepartout," Phileas sighed, shaking his head. "I've never lived for them. Nor they for me." He fixed her with a steely gaze. "We all lived for you."
"They live for all of us," Rebecca countered. "It was only you that lived for me. You were always a damned stubborn man."
Phileas sighed and looked away from her. "I don't want to be here anymore, Rebecca."
"No one's stopping you from leaving."
"No, not here in the cemetary, here... here in this life." He looked back. "Not without you. What will I do?" He gently brushed her hair away from her neck. "Who will I protect?"
"You can protect them," Rebecca answered. "Protect Jules and Passepartout for me."
"But I... I don't..." he sighed and shook his head, "I... don't feel as... fiercely for them as I did for you, Rebecca. As I still do." He closed his eyes.
"I know," she whispered, "But you still have to protect them." She smiled. "You know Jules can't take care of himself." Phileas grinned sadly. "You just have to keep going, Phileas. You still have your life... don't throw it away."
"I've always wanted to," he answered, "I've never cared if I died."
"That's strange," Rebecca said. "If you had died before I, who would have protected me?"
This thought had never occured to Phileas. He was struck dumb, staring at his translucent cousin stonily. "I... I had never thought of it," he admitted sheepishly.
"Trust you not to," Rebecca replied lightly. "But you can make it up to me, you know." When he looked at her questioningly, she smiled. "Protect Jules and Passepartout. Live for them now." She took his face in her hands and brought his forehead to hers. "And live for yourself."
A tear rolled down Phileas' face. "I can't, Rebecca, I just can't."
"You can. You have to." Though he said nothing, Rebecca knew that once she left, Phileas would not retrieve his pistol. She began to fade.
"Don't leave me again, Rebecca!" Phileas cried, reaching for her. His hands passed through her. He fell to his knees. In the instant before she vanished, Phileas saw Rebecca blow him a kiss.
"Live, Phileas," she said, though her image was gone.
"I will."
Once again, Phileas was alone. He stayed, kneeling on the ground, for a long while. Then he stood and made his way back to the Aurora, shivering.
~Fin~