Motorcycle Drive By

by Timesprite

 

 


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Disclaimer: All characters contained here in are the property of Marvel. *mutter* No profit is being made, don’t sue.

Notes: A short sequel to ‘The Prosecution Wins’ A little bad language, so be warned. Much thanks to Raven and Thren for the betas. The title is from a song by Third Eye Blind.


The Ocean crashed against a shore she could not see from her vantage atop the cliff. Small trees and shrubs clung to the short slope that ran before her, then fell away to the rough grey waters. It was a bleak November day, with low clouds and a chilling wind that brought with it the possibility of snow. At the moment, though, it was just raining. She turned up the collar of her jacket to keep the icy water from running down her neck, her hair sodden and brushed over one shoulder to keep it from slapping in her face. Wet gravel crunched and squelched beneath her feet as she moved closer to the wooden rail that surrounded the roadside outlook, a black Harley Davidson parked a few feet behind her.

She wasn’t sure why she’d decided to take the bike instead of the battered old jeep parked in her driveway. She’d known the weather was supposed to turn bad, but truth be told, she really hadn’t cared. She’d had to get out of that house... its emptiness had been suddenly acute and she didn’t want to deal with the emotions. Unfortunately, the rain had done nothing to douse the burning emptiness she was feeling.

It wasn’t just that she missed him, though she did with a magnitude that staggered her, but it seemed that in walking out of that house; she’d left a good part of herself behind. Was she haunting him like he was her?

She frowned, irritated by the fact that she was even thinking of him. It was over, after all. She’d made sure of it. Suddenly, the water streaming down her face was hot tears instead of cold rain.

“Shit,” she mumbled to herself, wiping at her face with the clammy sleeve of her leather jacket. “Damnit, why can’t you leave me the hell alone?” She shouted at the sky, as if the wind could carry her words across the country to him.

She wasn’t angry, though. Never had been, really. The hot words had been cover for the grief that had threatened to break free. She felt something snap within her, and echoed loudly in the hollow place there. She leaned heavily against the rail and watched the ocean, numb inside and out, wondering why. Why did she always end up alone? Luck? She laughed darkly, almost silently at the irony of it all. Just her luck.

She wanted to hate him, wanted to with all her heart. She wanted to blame him for all her pain, for what she was feeling now, for forcing her hand like he had.

He’d never even noticed. Not until she’d been walking out the door. Reality had slapped her harshly in the face and left her feeling bruised. She’d get over him, she told herself futilely. Soon, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Soon, she wouldn’t have his ghost dogging her steps. Soon, she’d feel alive again. The rationale ran circles in her head. Soon, soon, soon. And each day was the same. Soon.

She laughed again. “Hear that Nate, you son of a bitch? Soon!” She was sure he’d find this all very amusing. She straightened and walked back to the bike, soaked and stiff with cold. “You’re so fucked in the head,” she told herself as she pulled out, gravel spinning from the tires. “A real piece of work.” The wind swallowed her words.


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