Title: Diabolical Laughter
Author: Quidditch Witch
E-Mail:
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Yeah.
Genre: Humor
Disclaimer: I don't own the Sweep Series. I should. I wish I did. You all would be happy if I did. I think. Whatever. I don't.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Morgan and Hunter are enjoying their last night together before they each take off for Britain. Snuggling on the couch at Hunter's place, they gaze into a blazing fire. Of course, they're drinking tea. They're always drinking tea. The blaze gives Morgan an idea."Hey," she says to Hunter, "Want to scry?"
"Huh?" Despite the tea (which is not decaf), Hunter is drowsy, his head resting against Morgan's. Her statement brings him back from his dream world, in which his last night with Morgan was DEFINITLY not spent cuddling on the couch.
"Should we scry?" Morgan asks again.
"What for?"
"I don't know. Because we can. Because the fic author told us to." Morgan shrugs, staring into the fire. "It couldn't hurt."
Somewhere in Chicago, a fanfic author laughs a diabolical laugh. MWAHAHAHAHA!
Hunter sighs. "No, I guess it couldn't. (More evil laughing from Chicago.) But why can't we...do something else? It IS our last night together." He looks hopefully down at Morgan, who smiles suggestively at him. Hunter is excited.
Still smiling, Morgan leans closer to Hunter, and brings her lips up to his ear. She whispers, "Your father is here. No freaking way."
Hunter hangs his head. "Oh, well. I tried. Ok, let's scry."
Morgan grins. "Yay!"
Hunter gives her a strange look. "You have an unusual enthusiasm for scrying."
"Of course I do. I'm Morgan." This makes no sense whatsoever, but nobody notices. Instead, Morgan and Hunter stare at the fire (there'll be little spots in front of their eyes for weeks), enter into a meditative state, and begin scrying.
"Um...what are we looking for, exactly?" Hunter asks.
"Our future together!"
"Right..."
Images flash in the fire. Morgan and Hunter, saying goodbye at the terminal. Morgan and Hunter, meeting in airports. Morgan and Hunter, arguing about never seeing each other. Morgan, in a tea shop, trying to break up with her soul mate. (Another strange habit of hers.) Hunter, proposing instead. Morgan and Hunter, tangled together on a bed.
"Well, at least I get some sometime," Hunter mutters. Morgan pokes him in the ribs.
"Ow."
"You deserved it. Now shut up."
More images. A glowing Morgan, the morning after, the fact that she is pregnant already evident. A storm, and Hunter on a boat. Morgan sobbing in grief.
The images stopped there. Both stared blankly at the flames, mouths gaping.
"I...I die?" Hunter gasped.
"No!" Morgan exclaimed. "No, no you don't! You can't die! You're HUNTER. MY Hunter!"
"But the fire..."
"The fire is lying."
"But fire never–"
"THE FIRE IS LYING!"
Morgan and Hunter sit there, shaken, trying to convince themselves that they didn't see what they just saw. They can't, so they try to forget it. They can't, so they pretend to forget it. Eventually they will. But for now, an author in Chicago laughs, knowing that those scenes are part of something bigger. But Morgan and Hunter don't know that. MWAHAHAHAHA!