A/N: My first fic of the new year! Just a little something that I thought of late at night. WARNING: slightly dark, angsty. Feedback is always appreciated!
He sighed, breath heavy on the winter wind that blew through the cemetery. Snow fell, small flakes coming to rest on his black coat and blond hair, and yet he made no motion to brush them off. Instead, he caught a single flake on his leather glove and watched as it melted away. His eyes, fixed on that lone speck of snow, were filled with a strange, aching sadness, haunting in its depth. The sorrow; it was with him always, buried deep within the confines of his heart and never released except on this day, each year. This was the day he had chosen – the day to honor his dead.
The flowers he held loosely in his left hand were varied, as they always were, and so familiar to him that he would have known their scent in the middle of a crowded Malaysian fish market.
Lilies, fragrant and sweet-scented, for the countless graves of lost comrades and colleagues and those who really should be there to mourn with him.
Two blue forget-me-nots on a shared grave, in memory of what might have been.
Two cheerful zinnia flowers on two graves already graced with flowers, for the two whose smiles were brighter than the sun and who died far, far too young.
A stalk of medicinal and sharp-scented lavender, for the man who used him and ordered him to do terrible things (he left that grave quickly).
A yellow carnation, for the woman who never wanted to use him (but did so anyway) and cared for him in her own way.
A single white tulip on the next grave, marking forgiveness (because he finally understood the lies and the 'business trips').
A white rose, for the man who was both brother and father to him.
He fell to his knees in the snow beside the last grave, marked with a name that sparked so many (too many) emotions within him. There were five blossoms still clutched in his hand, and he lay them one by one on the grave as tears traced paths down his face,
A daisy, sweet in its simplicity, for the innocence and vivacity that faded all too soon.
An azalea, soft pink petals that reminded him of the hands that stroked his hair when he cried.
A bright yellow daffodil, for her smile and the infectious laugh he had cherished.
A delicate iris flower, for her quiet strength and hope that things would always get better.
He gazed at the last flower for a moment, allowing a sad and sardonic smile to twist his lips. His fingers curled around the stem of the flower, as though unwilling to let it go. Acting on impulse, he placed the flower in his buttonhole and turned his back on the cemetery in which every being he had ever loved was buried, wiping the salt water from his cheeks and hardening his heart.
Alex Rider walked away from the ghosts that haunted him, a sunflower on his lapel. A sunflower for the one he would have died for, but who died for him instead.
