Prompt- "'Love, if you could live forever, would you?' But the question comes too late, she has been dead for five years and he is speaking into silence."
Silence settled in the room like a thick- but invisible- fog. The curtains were open just barely, a lamp switched on to give some sort of light. Killian was sat by the window, a glass of rum half full in his hand, fingers curled around it almost protectively. He sighs, the only sound save for the faint ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. That bloody clock. He hated it, but she'd insisted they buy it, she said it was beautiful, and of course, he'd relented because he always wanted to give her the things her heart desired, he wanted to give her the world, the moon and stars, the sun. Everything.
When he next breaks the silence, it's by speaking, his voice weary, and yet there was a forced cheer to his tone, like there always was when he spoke to her but wasn't in a good mood.
"Love, if you could live forever, would you?" He doesn't register the words, not until a few minutes pass without another sound. The realisation hit him again, his grip on the glass tightening.
Because she wasn't here. She'd been gone for five years, damnit. Five bloody years.
The ghost of her always lingered, every morning when he woke, he swore he could feel the warmth of her body against his. Every night, he was still in the habit, even after five damn years, of whispering "Night, love," before lying awake the majority of the night, scared to fall asleep in case his dreams were filled with her. It was endless.
The first month without her had been a disaster. They always spoke of it as a downward spiral, but for him, it had been a straight, steep drop after her death. The hours he spent awake, he was a drunken mess, the hours he slept, it was only because of the alcohol- the nights were dreamless, dreamless and restless. He'd closed off from everyone, barely left the house unless it was urgent. And any traces of happiness from his face had disappeared, forming a neutral, weary mask that he rarely took off.
He was speaking to silence again. He always did. Even if she wasn't there, he would recount his troubles to her. There were days he snapped, even still, he'd lash out; he'd kick a wall, maybe throw a glass, before falling to the floor and crying. There was only one thing that stopped him from breaking completely, stopped him from becoming self-destructible.
Anne.
Anne Hayden Mhari Jones.
His daughter of five. His daughter that reminded him so painfully of her mother. She'd somehow picked up mannerisms practically identical to Mhari's, like the way she would wrap her arms around herself, or when she would poke his face to make him smile. And he did smile. It was a broken smile, a sad smile, but it was a smile all the same. She was this little ray of sunshine.
Just like Mhari had been.
He could hear her coming down the stairs now, jumping down each stair individually. Killian cleared his throat, moving the glass away from him, up on the mantelpiece, next to that bloody clock.
"Daddy?" Anne peeked around the doorway, running to him straight away, clambering onto his lap before he could say anything.
"Annie? What's wrong, sweetheart? You're supposed to be in bed." He looked down to see wide hazel eyes gazing back up at him, raven hair falling around the girl's face.
"Can't sleep, Daddy." Anne whispered, shifting to rest her head against him. "Can y' tell me a story, Daddy? Please, please, pretty please?"
"I- of course, sweetheart. Which one this time?" He held her gently, making sure his hook didn't poke or hurt her.
"One of Mommy!"
He froze, thickly swallowing. Anne rarely asked about her mother, almost as if she could sense he didn't like to talk about her. Of course, when she did inquire about Mhari, he would tell her what she wanted to know- yes, she was very beautiful, yes, Daddy loved her very much, aye, he missed her very much too. It took him a few- long- seconds to reply. He nodded hesitantly.
"O-Of course... Let's, er, let's see..." He fought off tears as he remembered everything. Remembered when they hadn't been dating, but best friends, the snowball fight, the time she tried to convince him to dye blue streaks in his hair, the time she'd been drunk and insisted she wasn't drunk. So many memories that he could never forget. Anne looked up at him expectantly, clasping onto his shirt.
"Daddy?"
"Sorry, sweetheart, I was just thinking. Here we go, I have one now.." Killian closed his eyes, just for a brief moment. Deep breath.
"There was this one time we went to the wood, your mother and I. It was this great big wood, easy to get lost in-"
"Were there monsters, Daddy? Like big bad wolves, and-and witches?" Anne questioned, sounding incredibly serious for a girl her age. Her father chuckled, shaking his head.
"No- well, if there was any, we didn't encounter them. So, we were walking through this wood, and there was this river. It wasn't too deep, but it came up to my knee. The only way across it was a fallen tree trunk. I suggested we turn round, it was getting late anyway- but Mommy was stubborn, she wanted to cross it..." He paused, feeling the tears again. It was the memory. It was so vivid. He could still hear the tone of Mhari's voice, the way her arms folded over her chest and she looked at him so defiantly, declaring that it was perfectly safe.
"Did she cross it? Did she, did she?"
"Aye, that she did. Well, half of it. I told her it was dangerous, and that the tree trunk could give way, but she didn't care. She was always an adventurous one. When I told her she would fall, she simply said that if she did, I would catch her... It was halfway before she did fall, into the water."
A tiny gasp came from the girl, eyes widening in fright. Killian squeezed her gently, kissing the top of her head.
"Don't worry, I got to her before anything bad happened. I carried her out of the water, and I carried her all the way home..." This time, he couldn't stop the tears from falling. He wanted it all back. He wanted the stubborn Mhari back, the sweet Mhari, he'd even take the angry Mhari over not having Mhari at all. He just wanted to hear her laugh again, he wanted her to try and convince him that his hair would look "fabulous!" with curls and blue streaks, he wanted her to wake him up from the nightmare he'd been enduring for five years. He just wanted her.
Anne peered up again, tiny brow scrunching when she saw the tears. Her hands came up to his cheeks, trying to wipe them away. When Killian opened his eyes again, he saw a small, concerned face gazing back at him.
"Daddy?"
"Aye, sweetheart?" He hated how choked his voice sounded.
"Do you miss her, Daddy?"
"Aye, more than anything."
~0~
Later that evening, when Anne had finally gone to sleep, after several more stories, Killian collapsed into his own bed. He curled over onto what used to be her side, clutching on to the pillow as if it were the only thing holding him to this world. With a quiet, weak voice, he whispered one last thing, before giving in to the tiredness that lay just behind his eyelids.
"I love you, Mhari."