AUTHOR: Kristen Kilar
TITLE: Catharsis (4?)
RATING: PG. Language. Alcohol. Talk about sex. Angst.
DISCLAIMER: Don't I just wish? Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda and all related characters and plots belong to Robert Hewitt Wolfe, Tribune, Majel Roddenberry, and a bunch of other people besides, none of whom are me. "If I Ever Leave This World Alive" belongs to Flogging Molly.
SUMMARY: Catharsis: Any cleansing or release, as of pent-up emotions. In the aftermath of "Bunker Hill", Harper and Rommie bond.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Because of browser issues, I haven't been able to update here fast enough to keep pace with how I'm updating on EI and SF, so you're getting three chapters at once!
LotRseer3350: Thanks for taking the time to review! The chapters are short because that's how my muse wrote them, but at least I'm trying to update regularly...Keep reading and much love to ya!
As always, much love to my beta, Myna/Allie/niki blue/rah rah replica/etc.
Please read and review.
Rommie moved over to sit gingerly on the edge of Harper's bed. Everything stank of alcohol. "Then what 'way' is it?"
He appeared to be thinking it over, then sighed. "You won't understand."
"Try me."
He pointed at the bottle in her hand. "Are you gonna drink that or do I hafta kick you out?"
She grudgingly took a sip. It tasted disgusting. "What 'way' is it, Harper?"
"Uhm." He drummed his fingers restlessly on the bottle of beer in his hand, in perfect time to the song now blaring. Finally he said, "Rom doll, Boston funereal rites can be summed up in one phrase."
Leave it to Harper to refer to funereal rites when his blood alcohol level was well over the legal limit anywhere in three galaxies. "What phrase is that?"
"Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll." He jerked a thumb towards the speakers currently blasting out Flogging Molly's 'If I Ever Leave This World Alive'. "I got the rock 'n' roll." Then he held up his beer bottle and tugged at the inhaler hanging from around his neck. "I got the drugs." Then he leered at her again. "All I need is the sex, so ya wanna help me mourn?"
"Harper." She said it sharper than she'd intended and his face fell. She silently cursed herself; she knew he hadn't been serious, so why was she being so harsh with him? She tried to soften her voice. "Harper, what are you talking about?"
"Boston wake," he mumbled. "Celebrate, don't regret. Throw a party so they go out not with a whimper but a bang…"
Rommie understood, or thought she did. "This is your version of a funeral for Brendan, isn't it?"
He turned away, wouldn't look at her, took a long draught from his beer. "Part of it. Biggest part. Maybe eighty percent of it is Brendan's wake."
"And the other twenty percent?"
"So when in doubt just call my name," Harper sang softly along with the music, "Just before you go insane, if I ever leave this world, hey I may never leave this world, but if I ever leave this world alive…"
"Harper! What's the other twenty percent?"
"The other twenty percent is my wake. You want some whiskey?"
TBC
