Title: "she dreams in color"
Author:  Mala     
E-mail:  malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom:  QAF
Rating/Classification:  'R', Mel/Linds, Linds/Brian, het/femslash, angst, language.
Disclaimer:  CowLip, not I!
Summary: QAFImprov #8, must use: idealistic - golden - tempt - idolize.  Just a ficlet...taking place, vaguely, around ep. 213.

  She spins fantasies in the center of twilight, curving her face into the place where Mel's shoulder meets her throat,  inhales the scent of sandalwood talc and jasmine and wife. 

  She drapes her arm around slender waist and caresses flat-hard belly with her fingertips, the golden hue of skin and sex seeping in through her skin by osmosis.

  And she dreams of Brian Kinney.

  The sweet-sharp ache of  'What If...?' is her lullaby when she cradles Gus between their bodies and rocks him back to sleep after a nightmare.

  In the middle of the night, there's no one to rock her back to comfort after the nightmares of her own. The ones from which she wakes up gasping and reaching and struggling for the elusive illusion of Normal.

  Normal where she met this beautiful boy at eighteen and thought, so damned idealistic, that he could make her stop craving the taste of woman.  All he did was make her crave him, *too*.     

              The worst and best vision is one of a sunny yellow kitchen.  Of a carelessly tilted Bourbon bottle left on the counter from the night before and a charming and handsome and not-at-all-hungover husband reading "The Wall Street Journal" as their son babbles, banana-smeared and giddy, from his high chair.

  She wakes up whispering his name and tasting the silk-sweat that clings to Mel's spine.

  "You fucking idolize that asshole," she is told, sometimes, in a tone fraught with concern and contempt and resignation.  "I don't know why!"

  She simply shrugs and traces the bitters on her lips and says, "Because he idolizes me, too."

  And because he loves her anyway.  He loves her still.

  He tells her that when he sees the wishful spark in her eyes and lets her lean on him just a second too long.  But she cannot tempt him with her lucid alternate universes and the husky lust of open questions that have no answers.
        He tells her the truth.  He will always tell her the truth.

  And no matter how many times she tells him--Mel, the boys, even the damned furniture and the unforgiving skies--that she values such a trait...in the center of twilight, she fantasizes the lie.



April 15, 2002.

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