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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 6 years

Text

Angst Day

Rating: T

Genre: Angst (duh)

Word count: 3299

Summary: Jennifer keeps seeing a strange man at her work. She decides to finally talk to him.

Read on A03

AN: It's angst day please don't hate me.

I expected that working as a groundskeeper at a cemetery would be pretty depressing. And it is. But there is one thing that’s just...weird.

It started my first Saturday. I was mowing around the headstones like usual. It was getting late, so there wasn’t supposed to be anyone. People usually did their mourning in the middle of the day. But when I reached the end of the grounds, there was one person. A man specifically.

He was, honestly, kind of scary looking. Unearthly pale skin, slicked back raven hair, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. He wore a white button down and grey slacks. He stood there in front of a small stone, just staring at it. He wasn’t really looking it, more looking through it. His expression was entirely unreadable.

I didn’t even realise I was staring at him until him until he turned to me. He narrowed his grey eyes at me and my blood went cold. I ran off before suffering further embarrassment.

It would’ve been weird if it happened once. But it just kept happening. Every Saturday, same guy, staring at the same grave, for two months. He never says anything. Just keeps looking at it. He’s almost always dressed the same, like he’s off to business meeting. But he just stares at the headstone. And he’s there all day, for my entire shift. Never moves an inch.

It’s starting to bug me.

I sit on a bench, munching on my sandwich. I barely notice Olivia sit next to me.

“Hey Jen,” she says, “what’s up?”

My heart stutters out of beat for a second, just seeing her, but my mind too occupied. “Have you seen that guy?”

She looks at me blankly. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Y’know, that guy! He’s here every Saturday, and he just looks at one grave. Doesn’t say anything, just stares at it for, hours! I do a round of the grounds and he’s still there when I get back. I mean, who is he?”

“Have you thought about, I don’t know, asking him?”

I look down at my shifting feet. “He’s, uh, very scary looking.”

Olivia groans. “Good god Jennifer, you are pathetic.”

“Shut up, you haven’t seen him”

She stands up and grabs my hand, hauling me to my feet. “C’mon, let’s go.”

I blink at her confused. “Go where?”

“Go see this mysterious grave! First step to figuring this guy out is to know what he’s looking at, right?”

She stares at me with a big grin, and my heart beats faster. I hope my blush isn’t too obvious. Curse this stupid adolescent crush. I’m 26 years old and this one girl makes my whole world spin out of control. And I can’t say no to her. I sigh heavily.

“Fine.”

She drags me across the grounds (and I let her). I stop when we reach the spot, which I’ve memorised.

“There, that one.”

We walk to it. I brush off some of the red and yellow leaves. Olivia reads it out slowly.

“‘Simon Snow-Pitch,’” she says. “‘Beloved husband, father, and friend. 1997-2086’.” She turns to me confused. “So...it’s a dead guy. We work in a cemetery. It isn't that surprising?”

“But, it doesn’t make sense! The guy who comes here, he’s, 40 at most. This man was 89 when he died. How did they know each other?”

“I don’t know. Old relative?”

“Would you spend an entire day standing in front of the grave of an old relative?”

Olivia shrugs. “Well I wouldn’t. But I’m not this mystery guy. Maybe he would. And maybe, if you talked to him, you could find out.”

I glare at her, but she just smiles and my ill will vanishes. Dear lord, I’m so far gone for her. If only I wasn’t such a coward. I just smile back.

“Fine.”

She slaps my back, send a jolt of sensation through my system. “Good! Now c’mon, we’ve got actual work to do.”

I roll my eyes and follow behind her. But I take one last glance at Mr. Snow-Pitch’s grave stone. I wonder if I’ll actually find out what the hell is going on.

It’s Saturday again. I’m making my rounds with lawn mower, and I see him, looking exactly the way he has for the past three months. I freeze. It takes awhile to work up the nerve. But before I know it, I’m slowly walking towards him.

“Um, hello,” I say weakly.

He whips around to glare at me. “What?” His accent is posh, tone unbelievably sharp. I slink back slightly.

“Uh, sorry. I was just wondering...are you alright?”

He glares harder. “Why is that any of your business?”

“Well, I work here. You’ve been coming here every Saturday for three months, and I keep seeing you, and I just wanted to ask if you’re okay.”

His glare softens slightly, and he takes a deep breath with his eyes close. Slowly he turns back to the grave. “Depends on your definition of okay.”

I take the tiniest step closer to him. “Well, I’m guessing that you’re grieving, so not that okay.”

“I’m not grieving anymore,” he says flatly. “I already did that for the past year. I’m just...not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”

I have no idea how to respond to that, so we go back into silence, both looking at the grave. It’s many minutes before I find the nerve to speak again.

“May I ask,” I say cautiously, “who was this man? To you, I mean.”

His face tenses, lips pressed together and eyes scrunched up. I look down at his hand. And for the first time, I notice he’s wearing a gold wedding band. He spins it and lets out a single long breath.

“He was my husband,” he finally says.

My eyes go wide. Wow, not what I was expecting. “Oh, uh, okay...”

He glares again. His voice is like poison. “What, got something against two men being married?”

I wave my hands. “No! No, of course not! I mean, I’m bi, so it’d be pretty weird if I was against it.”

He softens, the smallest smile tugging on his lip. “Glad that’s not an issue.”

“I just meant, according to the dates on the headstone, your husband was 89 when he died. You don’t look a day over forty. Either you’ve got a great dermatologist or you’re like, a vampire or something.” I chuckle to try and offset the tension.

He chuckles too. “Wow, first guess. Good job. But I’m not totally immortal. I age slower, but I do still age. Just...not as fast as he did.”

I gawk at him. My mind is racing. “Wait, you’re saying you’re...actually immortal? Are you like, a god or something?”

He looks at me blankly, no emotion on his sharp face. “No, you were right the first time. I’m a vampire.”

We just keep staring at each other. He doesn’t start laughing or smiling. So, I think he’s serious. And weirdly enough, it makes sense. The pale skin, the ageless appearance, staying out at all night.

“Wow. That’s, uh, pretty...”

“Weird?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Hey, you were the one who brought it up. I’m just too tired to come up with a stupid nonsensical explanation.” He sighs and looks down again. “He didn’t think it was weird. I mean, he was scared of me when he just suspected, and thought I was going to kill him. But once he knew I wasn’t, that I never would, he was actually...very interested. Kept asking all these silly questions and wanting to touch my fangs. I told him he was being an idiot, and he was. But it was still cute.”

He smiles, genuinely, for the first time since I’ve seen him. It's a sort of calm happiness. I think he’s replaying the memory in his head. Just from that look, I can tell he really loved this man.

“He sounds pretty great,” I say.

“He was. Crowley, he was...incredible. I don’t how an arsehole like me got someone as wonderful as him.”

I take another step towards him. “How, long were you two married?”

He keeps fiddling with his ring, rolling it between his long fingers. “Over sixty years. We had known each other since we were 11 though. But, it was complicated. We didn’t start dating until we were 18.”

“Young love, huh?”

“Mm, very young. I fell in love with him when I was 15. We got married at 22, right after graduation, but I would've done it earlier in a heartbeat. We nearly gave my very traditional father a heart attack though. He kept telling us to wait a little bit longer, until we were older. I promptly reminded him that he married my mother very young too. Put an end to any protests.”

I laugh. “That’s amazing. Nice job.”

“Thanks. He was impressed too. Called me ‘bloody awesome badass.’” He sighs heavily. Slowly, he sinks down to ground, crossing his legs. I copy him. He reaches out and touches the name etched on it.

“I’m not sure why I keep coming here,” he mutters. “My daughter told me I should. Says I should try to talk to him. But I don’t know what to say. What do you say to your now dead husband of sixty four years? Merlin, I’m having an easier time talking to you, and I don’t even know you! What does that say?”

I scoot a bit closer. Our knees brush slightly. He flicks his eyes to me. “I think it means, you miss him a lot. And now that he’s gone, you’re not sure what to do now. Sixty four years is a long time. Now you’ve got to find a new normal, without him in it. Talking to his grave is new, and really hard.”

His eyes flick over to me for a brief second. “You speak like you have experience.”

I shrug. “My mum died when I was 18. Car crash, just an accident. I know what it’s like to lose someone suddenly.”

He sighs. “It wasn’t sudden, though. I’ve dealt with sudden, when my mother died. Simon, he just got sick. He was old, we knew he wasn’t going to make it. I prepared myself, our children, our grandchildren. But...”

“But it still felt like the whole world was crashing down, huh? No matter how ready you were.”

He looks at me. But his eyes are round, the steely grey of them softened. He nods slowly. “Yeah actually, it did. Still does, even a year later.” He shakes his head. “It’s so, weird. I’m always able to talk to my mother’s grave. But I always have something to tell her. I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Well, you said your mum’s death was sudden. So you didn’t get a chance to say the things you wanted to. His wasn’t. So, is there anything you felt you left unsaid?”

His hand freezes on the grave. It slowly falls down into his lap. He chews at his lip, brow furrowed together. “I don’t think so. We talked all the time. Nothing important went unspoken. And, when he fell ill, I told him I loved him, how much I’d miss him. And he...he said he loved me too. But that I shouldn’t stop living without him. And that he’d know if I stopped, because he’d be watching over me like a hawk. That even in death he wouldn’t let me get away with fucking up my own life.”

He chuckles, and I see a single tear fall down his cheek. He doesn’t move to wipe it away. Just keeps looking at the stone. “I held his hand, you know. He wasn’t conscious near the end. He just looked like he was asleep. I could tell he was still hanging on for me. So I told him, ‘you can go now. I’ll be okay. I love you, I always will, but I’ll carry on.’ And...he just stopped breathing. He let go, because I told him he could. But I couldn’t let go of his hand. I didn’t for another hour until our children said we had to go.”

The tears keep falling. He finally does something about them, delicately flicking them off his face. “Fuck, I haven’t cried since the funeral. Now I’m sitting here pouring my soul out to a stranger and crying like a baby. And I don’t even know your bloody name.”

Slowly, I turn towards him. I offer my hand. “I’m Jennifer. Jennifer Lowell.”

He looks at it cautiously for a few seconds. Then he grasps it. His skin is as cold as ice. (Of course, he’s a vampire .) “Basilton Snow-Pitch. Most people call me Baz.”

I shake with him once and we let go. We sit knee to knee, staring at his husband’s grave. Baz goes back to tracing over the letters. He stops crying, but the tears cling to his face.

“So,” I say slowly. “You took each other’s names, huh?”

Baz smiles slightly, just a bit. “Yeah. He insisted. Said if we were going to be married we were going to have the same damn name. It was ridiculous, but so was he, so.” He shrugs.

“It’s sweet. He sounds very sweet.”

“He was, in the most stupid, reckless ways possible. Even when he was being an idiot, he was being a kind and thoughtful idiot.”

“And you told him that?”

He smiles wider, so much his cheeks must hurt. “All the damn time.”

“That’s good. It’s good he knew.”

“Yeah. I’m glad I got to tell him. Even...even if I can’t anymore.”

I know the double meaning in his words. I remember feeling the exact same way when my mother died. How much it hurt when she was gone. But how thankful I was to have her in my life in the first place. I reach out my hand again, palm facing up. Baz slowly takes it, lacing his fingers with mine.

“How did you two meet and get together?” I say quietly.

He chuckles with a head shake. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“You already told me you’re a vampire, and I believed that, didn’t I?”

Baz scoffs, but then sighs. “Very well, if you insist.” He looks up at the dark sky. “We went to this special school, believe it or not, for magicians. We both were mages. And this magic ritual made us roommates. I remember seeing him and just thinking what a mess he looked like. And he was a mess, of course. Was for his whole life. But Merlin, he was a beautiful mess, even then.”

I giggle. He continues with his story. Going beyond their first meeting into a harrowing tale of wizards and wars and holding each other up when their worlds fell apart. It’s hard to wrap my brain around it. But I do. Because it’s a beautiful story of true love in the face of impossible odds. I hang on every word.

I walk Baz to his car. I’m laughing as he details the time Simon nearly burnt their house down trying to make French toast.

“I can’t believe you two survived!” I sputter.

“Me neither!”

We burst into hysterical laughter. We stop at his black BMW. Baz sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I should get home. Tasha is probably very worried.”

“Your daughter, right?”

“Yeah. She’s been fussing over me for the past year. I keep telling her I’m okay, but she’s so worried.”

I shrug “Maybe she’s just channeling her grief into worry?”

He nods slowly. “Probably. Easier to fuss over me. Still, I should get home.”

“Yeah.”

We look at each other for awhile. His face isn’t blank, but just calm. I hold out my hand again. “It’s been nice meeting you, Baz.”

He takes it. “Likewise, Jennifer.”

Oh, fuck it. I surge forward and hug him. He inhales sharply, completely frozen. “You’ll see him again someday,” I whisper. “And you’ll carry on until then. I know you will.”

I feel him slowly wrap his thin arms around me. “Thank you,” he says, voice cracking a bit.

I pull back, holding his shoulders. “If...you ever need to talk again, or just want to meetup, you know where to find me.”

He nods. “I do. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He climbs into his car and with one last wave, he drives off. I let out a long breath. My whole world feels like it’s changed. There’s magic and vampires and dragons. But more miraculous than that, there’s true love. Real, honest to god true love. Simon and Baz had it, no doubt. I can only hope to find something even close to what they had. But I have more hope now. And that’s enough.

After I’m done my shift on Monday, I go to Simon’s grave. It’s weird. I never knew him when he was alive, but I feel like I do know him. I know that his favourite food was sour cherry scones (even in his eighties), that he was a brilliant swordsman but a shit wizard, that he sang Blackbird by the Beatles to his kids every night, that he never met his parents, and so much else. It makes me wish I did know him when he was alive.

“Hey!”

I turn to see Olivia running towards me, bronze curls bouncing with her. I grin. “Hey, Liv.”

“You’re back here, huh?”

I look down at the grave. “Yeah.”

“Did you talk to scary guy?”

“Uh-huh. He’s not that scary, once you talk to him.”

“Did you get your answers, then?”

I smile wider and nod. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

Olivia tilts back and forth on her heels a bit. “Anyway, my shift’s done. So I’m gonna head out.”

She starts to leave. I keep looking at Simon’s headstone. I remember what Baz told me, how Simon fought his fears to kiss him the middle of a fucking forest fire. If he could do that, I can get over my own hang ups.

“Olivia wait!” I chase after her. She turns in place. “My shifts over too. Do you want to go somewhere? Like go get drinks?”

Her eyes go wide. “Are, you asking me on a date?”

I bite my lip, looking down at my hands. “Uh, yeah. You don’t have to say yes though, I-”

“Yes.”

My head snaps up. Olivia is grinning with all her face. “What?”

“Yeah, let’s go. I’d love to.”

I sigh, all the tension escaping my body in one breath. “Alright. Let’s get changed out of these coveralls and go.”

She nods vigorously. “Okay. Meet you in the parking lot?”

“Sure.”

Olivia leans forward and kisses my cheek. My entire body freezes up in shock and joy. She pulls back, still grinning. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah.”

With that, she dashes off, practically skipping. I giggle. God, the chances. Maybe Olivia is my Simon, maybe not. But I should at least try. Simon and Baz tried and it paid off. Hopefully, it’ll pay off for me too. I turn to look at Simon’s grave. Who knew a dead man I never met could be inspiring.

“Thanks,” I say.

A gust of wind brushes by my ear, and for just a brief second, I swear there’s a rough but warm voice in it. The smallest whisper tickling my ear drum.

Thank you, Jennifer. For helping him when I can’t.

I look around. I’m the only one here. Slowly, I look up at the white clouds above. Well, if magic and vampires and true love are real, why not heaven?

“No problem, Simon."

AN: I'm sorry! I know it's sad, but at least it's hopeful right? I apologize if this made you cry to much. I know I was bawling when I wrote it. Also I know it's weird for Jennifer to just immediately believe him, but hey, I would. Maybe she would too. So I couldn't finish a fic for tomorrow or the day after sadly. (University=death) But the fave trope one is evolving into a longer fic that I may post later. I'll be back on the 3rd with flowers! :D

#carry on #carry on countdown #coc 2017 #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #angst #death

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