I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.
Oh good grief, the humanity of this show is just killing me.
Just People
Dreaming
He thought about it as he rode.
Leaving.
He was leaving tonight.
He was leaving the freakshow tonight.
With her.
Away, somewhere.
Pensacola.
Miami.
The keys. Whatever those were.
Just the two of them.
Wherever.
Jimmy Darling felt a huge, almost painful, swelling in his chest.
He grinned broadly, not worried about getting bugs in his teeth.
Or how they were going to get by.
They'd make it somehow.
Kissed him. She'd really kissed him.
Amid all the craziness and the whole sorry mess of everything, she'd kissed him.
Those luscious, sweet lips pressed right to his and he'd wondered if he was really in the opium tent and dreaming all this.
But he'd kissed her back, losing himself in the enjoyment of it.
'Cause even if she was a vision, he wasn't about to say no.
And temporarily forgotten all his previous anxiety about Ma Petite and the oddity of hunting fireflies before dawn. Dawn, when they usually only came out in force at dusk.
Fireflies. They'd been casually talking about fireflies and ponies and then everything had gone to the left. He'd never even seen it coming either.
She'd grabbed his hand (again, just like it wasn't an ugly, deformed, freakish thing) and pulled him away from prying ears.
And started saying things that made Jimmy sure he was hallucinating.
She wanted to run away together.
Just the two of them.
Those beautiful, pleading, hazel eyes looking up at him.
Her hands, gently touching his arms, his shoulders, as she begged for them to run away.
Together.
The stunned rush had felt amazing.
Me? You want to run away . . . with me? Well, that's a sudden change of heart, isn't it?
Away.
Away from the freakshow.
And crazy Elsa and her throwing knives and deadly tantrums.
And Paul, bleeding like a stuck pig, probably dying. All because he'd stepped up and faced down the raging, awful devil known as Elsa Mars.
And his mother with her sad, mournful eyes. Always stubbornly protecting crazy Elsa. Standing up for her. Even after all the horrible things she'd done.
Run away together.
Just the two of them.
Today, tonight.
Kissed him. She'd stretched up and kissed him. With those red-painted lips. So soft and sweet.
One hand grasping the back of his head and pulling him down close.
And he'd known he'd do anything for her.
Absolutely anything.
Then she'd pulled back a little and he'd looked down at her, only vaguely aware of her delicate fingers playing with the frayed edges of his shirt.
She's so beautiful and good and sweet and clean. And she wants . . . me? . . . Really? . . . I'll, I'll take it!
Another big smile.
Another rush of warmth surging through his body. All the way down to booted feet.
And his deformed hands.
Those hands that didn't scare her, disgust her. Didn't drive her away.
Those hands she didn't even mind, didn't even see. 'Cause she saw him.
Those hands that were all for her now.
Not pentup, unhappy, needy housewives at secret parties.
Not for people to gawk at.
Just her.
When she was ready.
She was so clean, so pure, she might not be ready for a while.
After all, if that was all she was interested in, there were tents and trailers and space all around them and plenty of privacy. Growing up in the carny circuit wasn't exactly a hotbed of decorum and morality anyway.
So she must really like him, just him.
Otherwise she wouldn't have begged him to do something so extreme as running away with her.
But she might not be as physically ready as he was.
And that was okay.
He'd wait until she wanted to, 'til she was ready.
And then he'd give it all he'd got. With everything he'd got.
Show her how he felt, how much he felt.
'Cause him and his hands (and everything else) were all for her now.
He didn't know how they make it along.
He'd think of something.
He was a good worker. Being a carny made him a good worker. Everybody did their share, whatever that might be. Well, everybody except Elsa.
So he would work.
Orange picker. Handyman. Work on a boat.
Something.
Maybe he could even take her to the ocean.
She was from Philadelphia, up north, probably never seen a warm ocean before.
Tried to stop picturing her in a bathing suit, next to him, holding his hand and smiling.
'Cause he'd arrived at his destination.
An impressive grand estate. Nice topiary and flower beds.
Lawn worker. He could be a lawn worker for rich folks.
That'd be good. Gardening gloves to cover up his hands so his employers wouldn't feel uncomfortable. Working outside in the peacefulness and warmth of the sun. Just him and the grass and flowers and shrubs and trees.
He stopped the bike and sat for just a moment, gathering his focus, his determination.
Rubbed one deformed hand atop the other, slowly, thoughtfully.
They were leaving.
Together.
She was waiting, bags packed.
There was just one thing he had to do first.
And then they'd blow this miserable joint forever.
It shouldn't take long.
These rich, normal people couldn't be that difficult to persuade. No matter how creepy and weird they were.
The twins, Bette and Dot.
He just needed to make sure they were okay.
Yep, she's got him. Hook, line, and sinker. And if she lets him get hurt, I'm going to kill her. Grrr.
Thanks to Jurana Keri for loyally reviewing and to a-turtle-shell who figured out we were definitely getting into Jimmy's thoughts on running away with Maggie. Hope you like it! :D
Thanks as well to my mystery guest reviewer and your kind words. I assure you I am okay. I have been healing for fifteen years now and my life with my husband and son and friends and students (and fanfiction!) is really great. I'm never scared to go home and we take care of each other with lots of love and laughter :)
