A/N- This fic was inspired by the song Kiss From A Rose by Seal. I hope you enjoy and review. It just came to me that I had to write so I popped in some music and said oh wow that's wicked good. And wrote this. Not sure where it came from because I haven't watched Leverage in ages and I had Harry Potter on the mind.
Eliot Spencer hates guns. No one knows why he just does.
The graveyard was one of those well kept places that has too many people buried in it that have no visitors anymore. Too many lost souls forgotten. Eliot won't let her be forgotten. He knows the way to her grave by heart: to the pine tree, turn left past the stone monolith, ten steps to the right and turn to your left. The small gray headstone sits peacefully, without worry or awareness to the cold world around it. A light dusting of snow sits on top of it and all over the November ground. He has visited her every month on the fourteenth for the last twenty years. At first he came with his mother but when she died he continued to visit even after everyone else forsook her memory. The blonde man knelt down in front of the dead stone, and placed the small pink rose down under her name. The snow melted through his jeans, soaking his knees in the icy water but his feelings were shutoff for the time being. He ran his finger over the letters on the face on the stone before him. They had been etched so many years previously that he almost had trouble believing she had ever lived, but then he would see her young green eyes that twinkled as she would laugh. Her laugh had been so contagious. Her freckles and blonde hair would flash through his memory and he could almost feel her there beside him, holding his hand; hugging him. Now the tears were coming. He wanted to feel her warmth beside him; to know that she was alright and alive and safe. He bowed his head, his hair shielding his face from anyone.
Sophie walked, her steps crunching on the frozen ground. Something was wrong with Eliot and she wanted to know what was wrong. He was family to her and family watches out for each other. She spotted him by sitting by a grave, head bowed. She approached cautiously reading the words on the gray headstone: Rose Spencer, 1984-1990.
"Oh Eliot," she barely whispered, placing a hand on his back between his shoulder blades. He drew a shaky breathe, startled by her sudden presence. He knew his secret was safe with her so he leaned against her and cried openly.
Rose, his baby sister that had died at age six in a drive by. They had been waiting for their mother outside a grocery store. He had bought her candy and she was busy eating it. He said something, she laughed, then came the bang. Silence, that was all he heard. One second she was there, alive and happy; the next she was falling down, bleeding, dead. She would have been twenty-six today, but only he came to wish her happy birthday. Only he has remembered for the last twenty years. It is only him that remembers her favorite color or her favorite flower. He would, and could; never, ever forget her.