Disclaimer: Misfits is not owned by me, etc.
AN: Something I whipped up after 2x04. Title from Oats We Sow by Gregory and the Hawk.
Alisha hates Thursdays.
It's a Thursday when he dies in her arms. Warm, sticky bloody seeps out between her fingers and she tries desperately to just think.
It's a Thursday when he starts to figure it out. One evening they're sitting on the couch. It's nice. Quiet. They've shed all the drama and violence and bullshit of their lives outside and are just… being. His hands play across hers (as their wont to do now that they can) and everything's… perfect.
"I wonder what ever happened to superhoodie."
He breaks the silence and her heart in the span of a breath.
Her mind scrambles to find its composure and the answer she always had in mind for these occasions, but something must have shown on her face because his eyebrows are drawing together and oh god, not now. Not so soon.
"I don't know." She says, trying for effortless nonchalance. Praying her face is doing whatever the hell it's supposed to be doing in this moment. "He just sort of disappeared, didn't he, though?"
He looks at her for a beat too long before agreeing. She nestles her head against his shoulder and tries to breath.
"I guess we'll never know."
He lets out a breath and she tries to ignore the ache in her heart.
That night she tells him she wants to go to Vegas—get away from all this superpowered bullshit. He doesn't bat an eyelash when he agrees, but she knows somewhere inside a dam has cracked.
It's a Thursday when she cracks. Tells him everything, because she can't fucking lie to him and there's too much at stake. She hates it. She hates herself. She hates the past (or future or whatever) him for telling her in the first place and she hates the present him for taking it so fucking well, because, Jesus, she just sentenced him to death and he's trying to comfort her.
"I love you." He says, running a hand through her hair
She almost can't bring herself to speak. Doesn't want him to leave.
"I know.
He looks down at her and smiles and it's quiet and apologetic and tragic. She almost squeezes her eyes shut, but she stops herself. She has to memorize every last line and shadow.
"I'll have to go soon."
She bites back her plea for him to stay, swallows it down with every doubt and regret and bitter thought she has, because he doesn't have the time she does. Instead she leans into him and tries to pour every positive thought and memory she has in her into the way she traces her love against his lips and tongue.
It's a Thursday when he saves the world for her.
It's an empty victory.