prologue
He looks just like her.
Exactly like her, if you want the truth. Her pride, her careless beauty, her easy arrogance.
Her temper, I think ruefully, as Cain gives me another tongue lashing for taking Merry out on an unsupervised excursion. He's been ranting at me on the doorstep for the past twenty minutes. I hum and haw, wait for him to stop accusing me of pedophilia before smiling in a way I know from experience drives people to insanity.
Sure enough.
"If you really insist on showing your unwelcome face around here again, I would stop drinking the tea, if I were you." Cain hisses, goaded past obscenities. It's quite a scary change. A nasty smile comes onto his face. "I just may forget myself and slip you something I won't regret."
I almost laugh, despite how suicidal that would have been. It's just that spark in his eyes. At that moment, I almost forget he has black hair, wears slacks instead of a skirt, and resist the urge to tilt his face up in the way that used to disarm her temper, if only for a moment.
"You already taught me that cyanide smells like almonds, Cain. I'll just be on the lookout for tempting pastries or cherry-scented tea."
"You know most of my poisons don't have any odor at all." So conversationally.
"But you'd consider it beneath you, resorting to such precious ones on my account," I say confidently. I grin, impudent. "Unless I'm that important to you, big brother."
Cain snarls, in a way very uncharacteristic of his sleek demeanor, but also unthreatening. I know he's past the worst of his tantrum.
"I am giving you eight seconds to get out of my sight, before I have Riff throw you out."
… Maybe not. I shrug, crossing my arms behind my head without concern.
"Riff happens to like me. Don't you, Riff?" I beam in his direction.
Riff only gives me a rueful look in return. That man. Cain chuckles.
"Riff happens to like me better."
Hmph. Self possessed answer, that. Hardly a surprise though, coming from Cain.
He smiles sweetly, and I know I've just been trumped.
"Fine." I huff, putting my cap back on. "I'll see myself out."
"Don't try and come around for dinner," he says lazily as I walk past. "We're not opening the door."
I sense his smirk at the back of my head.
"Of course you won't."
Pure Happenstance
::
45 years later
::
I hate it when Merry is right. In my defense, though, I'd like to point out that darned cough I never got checked out hadn't seemed too bad, at the time.
But of course, when you're old, sitting down wrong can break your bones, let alone pneumonia. I'm sure she'll say I told you so when we meet again.
Speaking of which, how are we going to meet again?
I'm standing by my own bedside, watching my children surround me and my wife shrieking at me not to die. Oh Merry. It's a good thing you're ten years younger than this old coot. I twine a piece of her hair around my finger, and am not surprised when the strands refuse to move.
So that's it then.
I kiss them all on the tops of their heads, and Merry softly on the cheek. She's facedown now, clutching one of my hands. Oh sweetheart, don't cry.
I smile at her, and the finality of this moment stretches, minutes flowing past me like treacle. I wish I could stay. But I'm not going to stick around for the funeral. If I'm really dead then there's someone I need to see.
I'll come back when the tea roses bloom, Merry.
We can sit in the garden, just you and me.
I walk out the door and the ceiling rushes at me. I'm in the sky before I know it, looking down on my own house. Lord, I haven't been outside in ages. It feels wonderful, not having arthritis.
I could get used to this.
There's a tap on my shoulder, and I turn around in midair. I smile wryly.
"So you finally decided to show up."
Riff smiles, looking as dapper as ever. How strange, knowing that he was older than me when he died and still feeling like an old geezer in comparison. Old habits die hard.
"You're not an old geezer anymore," Riff observes. I'm startled. I didn't think I'd said it out loud, but then being dead must apparently mean no privacy anymore, not even in your own thoughts.
"Sorry," Riff chuckles. "It's a habit."
"Why you," I growl. I'm distracted by my hands, which are unwrinkled and free of liver spots. Strong veins, toned like they were when I was thirty.
"It's a perk," Riff says, showing me his own. I wince, remembering how Crehador had described his death to me in later years. Dry as old bones, he'd mutter sadly over a brandy.
"How apt."
"Stop doing that."
"My apologies." Riff is smiling, and he looks so much damn happier than I'd ever seen him in life. Of course, the last time I ever saw him, he'd been a monstrous sadist who'd just betrayed Cain. His smile falls, and I feel almost guilty for my thoughts.
"I know it wasn't really you," I say grudgingly, after a long moment. "It was that dual personality of yours. But hell, Riff, you really knew how to cut him up."
"I know." His face is thoughtful, sad. "I never could believe that he'd forgiven me for that."
"Neither could I. Where is that rapscallion anyways?"
Riff's eyebrow draws up, and the tense moment breaks. "Rapscallion?"
"Shut up, I just got done being old."
"He's waiting on us, I believe. At the manor." Riff smiles. "It'd be a shame to let the cherry cake go to waste."
I'm quiet as I remember the grassy knoll in front of our property, where someone had set up that tea party for Merry when she was pregnant with James.
"Whoever…?"
"Crehedor, of course."
"Of course."
We stand in companionable silence.
"So what happens to us now?" I finally ask, the wind whistling around us, the larks flitting from tree to tree below. I finally hear Merry stop crying. It's silent.
"We live happily ever after."
"You're certainly one for jokes, now that you're dead."
"One might as well laugh. You've read all the storybooks. We've lived, we've conquered, we've suffered our fair share. Now all that's left is to wait for our loved ones. No more tears, no more struggles. It's certainly not a bad existence."
"We can watch over her, right?"
"Of course. Cain still does it frequently."
"Is that the reason you just happened to be floating around outside our house too?"
"Perhaps."
"Eternity's going to be so boring."
"Not if you look at it the right way."
"Oscar?" It can't be.
I turn around. It's her.
"High time you remembered me, you manwhore."
I'm not going to cry. I've always, always loved Merry, and I'm going to keep right on doing that until she comes here. But…
"Hello, Rebecca. It's good to see you too."
She smirks at me, and for the moment, I think I'm forgiven.
"Not even close. But then, you do have all of eternity to make it up to me." She chuckles, closemouthed, adjusting her silk wrap around her shoulders. "I certainly never pegged you as the family man. Pretty wife, pretty children. You must've had fun."
"Some fun. Nawh, I'm lying, it was great."
"She's very lively."
"A spitfire."
"Gives her brother a run for his money, doesn't she?"
My face flames red. "Oh come on, you were watching me that closely?"
"It doesn't take years of stalking to know that, Oscar. Emmeline also told me a thing or two."
"You met Emmeline?"
"She's very entertaining. Certainly more so than you used to be." She hugs me, and it's the most unexpected thing that I can't even put my arms around her to make the moment last. "I can't believe I missed you, Oscar."
I touch the back of her neck, then choke my tears back as she tucks her head under my chin. I've missed her too.
"Sappy fool," I hear a familiar voice scoff in an undertone. I grin but don't turn around.
"I thought you were waiting for us."
"I got bored. You're always so tiresomely unpunctual, Oscar."
"Forgive me, Count." Elegant and irritating as ever, I see.
"You know I can read your thoughts, right?" Cain's mouth tilts up at the corner, amused.
That's why I said it, prick.
"Touché."
I look around at everyone, beaming, and take them all in. So much happiness. I soak in this moment, the first, with the never-ending promise of many. And suddenly I have this overwhelming urge to take one last look at the house.
It's just behind me, like I know it always will be. All its inhabitants, still living and moving on. But I know if I start looking, I'll never want to turn back around. Melancholy grips me, but also patience, and quiet contentment. I turn.
See you soon, Merry.
"Alright, I'm done standing here and hugging around," I say, not facing any of them. "That cherry cake's not going to eat itself, am I right?" When I turn back, I realize Cain is still looking in that same direction. Cain smiles, for the first time since I've seen him, and looks up at Riff. Riff, whose arm is around his shoulders, protective and affectionate as ever. Equals.
"Yes," he agrees softly after a minute, meeting my eyes. "Let's."
A/N:
I've always adored Oscar.
He's such a great, goofy guy. I think it's easy to forget him in the midst of the other characters, but he played pretty substantial roles in the story.*
That being said, if anyone else knows any Godchild fics with obscure characters I'd be happy to read them! Also, I have no idea what his fiancé's name was so I took creative licenses.
Hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I did writing it.
As always, love to hear what you think!
vivevoce
* (WARNING, RANT AHEAD.)
And this is where your mild-mannered author goes absolutely nuts. Here goes.
My complaint is small, but my indignation is hefty. Count Cain's a pretty obscure fandom, and will come with all the drawbacks of a small, obscure fandom. Okay. That's fine. I've made peace with that. But I admit I'm rather... disappointed shall we say, that characters like White Owl and Ida, who barely have anything to do with the story, have their names on the Character List; where important ones (ie. Uncle Neil, Emmeline, Leroy, and Meridianna, to name a few) get completely shafted. Literally, I think there was only like, one other fic for Oscar and Crehador out there, and there aren't even tabs for Meridianna or Emmeline. I couldn't believe it. Freaking Cassandra has a tab, and he was without a doubt the creepiest character in this entire fandom made up of incestuous murderers, organ harvesters, and grave robbers. What is this?
(RANT OVER, PROCEED.)