Love Is Not A Victory March

[Jen]

Story Title: love is not a victory march

Type of story: One shot

Main Characters: Aden

BTTB rating: T

Genre: Angst

Does story include spoilers: No

Any warnings: Violence

Summary: AU that takes place during episodes 4703-4704 in which Aden successfully kills Larry in his shed.

A/N: Written for the ‘Love/Hate’ theme Quick Fanfiction Contest (#33). Posted here for reference.

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love is not a victory march

I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

August 28, 2008 6:24 pm

“We can sit here for as long as this takes.”

Silence.

“We are trying to help you here.”

More silence.

“Do you want to go to jail, is that it?”

A shrug.

“So, you don’t care about going to jail?”

Nothing.

“You’re eighteen. You had -- have your whole life ahead of you.”

“No, I don’t.”

It’s barely a whisper; this hoarse, remnant of a voice once strong, but it’s been worn down, exhausted, ripped out and trodden on, and Constable Fitzgerald watches as the resolve of the boy in front of her crumbles.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning?”

August 27, 2008 5:15 pm

The tin garage reeks of wet cloths and dampness as Aden slams the door shut, pushing the bolt in place. He blocks out the moan coming from his father in the corner and the high-pitched begging of Rachel and focuses on the job at hand.

It needs to end. If he dies then it will all end. Rachel can go and Larry will be gone, and it will be over.

The situation isn't ideal, with Rachel now involved and Larry not declining rapidly enough for Aden's liking, but Aden has had fifteen years of waiting, so what's a few more hours?

He won't do anything, not yet. He'll see how Larry likes it when Aden could do something to help, to end his suffering, but won't.

It'll be payback in the most cruel way.

August 28, 2008 11:08 pm

Aden blinks at the styrofoam cup that's been placed on the table in front of him. With as much effort as he can manage he drags his forehead off the wooden table top enough to take in the outline of the officer standing nearby; the one who brought him the coffee.

"You look like you could use it," Fitzgerald says.

Aden tries to acknowledge the unnecessary gesture, but a smile seems foreign, something he's incapable of doing. He manages somewhat of a grimace.

"I wish I could tell you how long it was going to be," she offers, "but it's late and basically everyone has gone home. It could be tomorrow before we get a solicitor."

It should be harder than this. This moment -- these minutes, hours, stretching into days -- should be more than gladly accepting your fate.

Aden always thought he would put up a fight -- that he would stop at nothing to free himself -- that he would plough through the pain and the hurt to come out the other side. But now he wonders if he has any more fight left in him.

Because spending your life hating another person; it’s exhausting.

Aden doesn't say anything, just puts the cup to his lips and takes a sip.

August 28, 2008 2:59 pm

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice wavers, and even though Aden refuses to look at her, he can tell that she's crying.

Belle was not supposed to be here. This was not part of the plan; because Belle is the only person who knows him, knows why he has to do this.

"You know why," Aden grits out, wringing his hands and trying to keep them in check. He keeps telling himself not to act out, not do anything rash, not succumb to the gnawing in his stomach or the voice inside his head that tells him how the story ends, how it all plays out.

"I know what he did to you was h-horrible ... really horrible, but doing this," Belle's voice is now barely more than a whisper, "killing him isn't going to fix things."

Aden shakes his head ferociously, barely stops himself from grabbing at his ears to block her voice out, but she ignores his obvious distress. "You're thinking about taking someone's life, Aden, do you understand that?"

Aden is pacing up and down the small area of the shed. One, two, three, turn. One, two, three, turn. One, two, thr--

"Aden!"

Belle is right behind him, her hands surprisingly strong as she grabs his shoulders and physically turns him around so he's facing her. She's so close and he remembers a time when he would lean over and kiss her, but her cheeks are glistening with tears and her eyes are boring into him and Aden wants to look away.

But he can't.

He can't because the only thing he knows how to do is block out feelings; to erect walls and compartmentalize and only deal with the things he has control over. Belle has always been spontaneous and surprising, the polar opposite to what he normally does, and for that reason he's grateful to have her, but not now.

Now she's ruining things. She begging him to stop and think, like hasn't already.

Aden has done enough thinking -- in this tin shed with the rain now pouring outside, hitting the roof like a hammer on a nail; in his bedroom, late at night, with his pants discarded carelessly on the floor and his mattress still warm and sick with sweat -- and he's tired of thinking and planning, because Belle has tossed all of those things aside.

Aden needs to act, and now.

He knows what he needs to do.

August 28, 2008 7:39 pm

“So, Belle turned up and she tried to talk you out of it,” Fitzgerald surmises.

Aden nods.

"Why didn't you?" Aden clasps his hands carefully on the table, sitting up in his chair, pointedly staring at a mark on the wall just over Fitzgerald's left shoulder. Fitzgerald tries to restrain her sigh, repeats her question. "When Belle tried to talk you out of hurting your father why didn't you listen to her?"

"He's not my father."

"I'm sorry?"

"He's not my father," Aden repeats."Because a father wouldn't allow this to happen. He wouldn't let my grandfather come into my room, come into my bed and -- a father is supposed to protect his son. He's supposed to want to keep him safe and look out for him, not tell me to stop making things up when I tried to tell him what was happening.”

If Aden's sudden confession surprises Constable Fitzgerald she quickly masks her shock.

"He would work and get drunk and pass out on the living room floor. What eight year old boy is supposed to deal with that sort of stuff?" Aden demands, his voice echoing around the concrete room. "Larry Jefferies stopped being my father when he knew what was going on and did nothing to stop it! He did nothing! And he knew! He knew what it felt like, because it happened to him too! What sort of father does that?!"

Aden's head is beginning to pound; every one of his nerves seems to be on edge, pulsing through his brain, surging down his neck, his arms, to the end of his fingers. He bundles them into fists and slams them down onto the wooden table; it's better than punching a hole in one of the walls.

The fury inside him is barely containable, actually palpable as he takes ragged breaths and tries to reign himself in, because Aden has become very good at maintaining focus, of always being in control. But he feels something in his chest, down to the very pit of his stomach, his muscles constructing like a snake coiling itself tighter and squeezing, demanding to be felt until Aden can put a name to it.

He hates him.

Aden hates him.

For what he did, what he didn't do, and what he allowed to happen.

And if anyone asks him if he regrets is actions he will be able to say, "no", because he's done. He's just ... done.

With pretending they were a family, and hoping things would change; or that he could do something to forget what had happened, to put it in the past and move forward. But everything seems to remind him of it. These jolting moments of realization that strike him like lightning and make him want to yell and scream and lash out until the pain is able to stop.

So he did what he had to do, what he needed, for that pain to stop.

And for a moment it did.

August 28, 2008 3:27 pm

It’s a flash of white, burning like fire; the fury coursing through him, making his hand grip the syringe, so tight it’s actually shaking in his grasp. His muscles strain against Belle, who’s pulling at his shirt, grappling with his shoulder, trying to tug him back. He hears Rachel saying something about not wanting to ruin his life over this, that Larry will get punished, but Aden just feels his anger build. His whole chest feels tight, each breath he sucks in rattles around inside his rib cage, sending shivers down his frame as he positions his thumb over the end of the syringe, poises himself up on his knees above Larry’s withering body and watches as Larry sluggishly blinks open his eyes.

They are familiar to him, a mixed of brown and green, and Aden remembers those eyes. The ones that used to creep into his room after dark, that used to hover over him behind locked doors, and that seemed to absorb the little moonlight that leeched through the blinds on his bedroom window.

Those eyes used to smirk at him conspiratorially; tell him that only little kids were dobbers, that what they were doing wasn’t wrong, that it was what grownups did. That it could be their little secret.

But it wasn’t a secret. It could never be just between the two of them, because there was a third. There was someone else who knew all about it, knew what was happening, knew how it felt, and they did nothing to stop it.

The noise seems to disappear, everything dissolving around him as Aden focuses on Larry, and only Larry; the one who he used to believe was his father. The blood has soaked through the bandage attempting to cover his head wound, the meager light of the shed does nothing but illuminate the yellow hue of his skin, and he’s nothing but a shadow of the man Aden once knew -- once looked up to, respected, loved -- but now, with Larry unblinkingly watching him, their eyes locked, Aden feels nothing but pity for him.

The anger has dissipated, the blind hate he felt towards him has vanished and been replaced by sadness, an overwhelming sense of peace as the point of the needle slips under skin and the liquid flows from the syringe and into the vein.

August 29, 2008 12:11 am

"Do you think I'm a bad person? Do you think I'm a bad person for doing it?"

Lara Fitzgerald knows it's against protocol, but she already bucked the system tonight by not throwing Aden in a cell as soon as he was brought in, after his own girlfriend called them, and bringing him coffee and offering him a sandwich after the first hour when she knew they wouldn't be able to get any legal help until the morning; so she slides into the chair opposite Aden and carefully chooses her words.

"I don't think you're a bad person. You were scared and angry and fighting against something that you never should have had to endure."

"Am I going to jail?"

It's the defeat in his tone that does it. That seeps through the tiny crack in her resolve, and she can't lie to him. She can't be the hard-hearted officer she's being paid to be. She leans forward slightly, hopes he can tell that she's telling the truth when she says.

"I don't know."

Silence engulfs them both but for the slight chatter outside the interview room, the changeover of shifts, and when Aden speaks again it’s slightly startling.

"I need to see Belle."

August 29, 2008 8:56 am

As soon as she walks into the interview room Aden feels the weight lifted, feels lighter than before, and feels the warmth of the sun that's now breaking through the single window, where he was only cold before.

And when he starts talking it all comes out in a rush.

"Belle. I've been asking for you. I knew that if I saw you it would be okay, because you understand. You understand, right? You know why I did it, because you know what he did and I had to do it, Belle. I had to because if I didn't then it would always feel like he had this over me, you know? It would be like I let him win because he would just keep on living while I had to force myself out of bed every morning.

“But I don't care about going to jail, as long as you understand why I did it."

Belle is just standing there, unshed tears in her brown eyes and Aden barely manages a hoarse whisper as he begs, "Belle. Belle, please say something."

He reaches out, goes to take a step towards her and Belle visibly flinches, and Aden stops, let's his hand drop to his side.

"You think I would hurt you? Belle, I would never --"

"I know why you did it." Belle's voice cuts through him, leaves him speechless. "But I will never understand. And I don't know if I ever will.”

“Belle, I-”

“I’m sorry,” Belle whispers and she turns, leaving Aden standing all alone, as he hears the door close with a final click.

FIN.

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