A/N: Someone asked for a continuation to one of my other flash fictions and thus I (finally) responded with such. 300 words. Usual disclaimer that Angela owns my obsession.
Silence swept through the bedroom. Exhaling, the sounds and sights of the night came alive: the clock's momentary tick-tock, the death ray's gentle breath as it hibernates, and the clenching sliver of light on the ceiling from some far off blinking button keeping time with the clock.
Tick-clench. Tock-clench.
Like some sort of soothing mobile dangling above the head.
Like a heartbeat.
Like the one missing from her bed.
Amy let her fingers trail aimlessly on the pillow alongside hers, picturing sinfully black hair scattered across it. A glance at the clock told her that it was officially her ninth morning waking up without Lucy by her side. Assuming she slept at all.
Her fingers clenched in on themselves atop the pillow, a slow breath escaping in a sigh as she got up and padded to the bathroom, not caring that the comforter now lay half draped off the bed.
She found herself looking in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the counter. She was always one for rosy cheeks, but they looked a little blotchy to her – a heavy sigh saying as much. That's what she got for going to bed with tear stains.
Her eyes closed, picturing another face. Tan skin. Devilish brown eyes. Beautiful, thick eyebrows. A devastatingly mischievous smile.
Amy opened her eyes, her imagination contrasting with the red-rimmed mess before her, yet she smiled. Lucy had that effect on her, she supposed.
The bed called her name, her chilled feet dutifully answering. The covers were readjusted. Pulled back. …And torn off to wrap around her shoulders before sitting, knees close, to gaze at the wall behind their bed.
There, framed, was Amy's favorite reminder of their past. Their beginning.
The whispered words brought a smile to her lips even now.
"Tell her that you love her."
