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mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for Dracula ; Jonathan/Mina ; The vampire is dead, and life continues on in his shadow.
Seven years had passed since they had crossed paths with the Count: Mina and Harker did not speak much of what had happened. It dwelled in the the past where it belonged, but even still, things arose that reminded them of it, things unspoken, agreements made without words, things which echoed the past to which they did not close their ears, yet to which they did not respond, either. His business continued to thrive, but never again, if he could help it, would Harker venture too far afield to handle any estate acquisitions. Or if he did, he heeded local customs and legends. Never again would he regard their hushed tales of creatures in the dark as mere fancies to give the young folk a tingle of fear: he had seen the inspirations for such tales.
Mina did not keep young Quincey, their boy, from being any less than a boy should, letting him muck about the garden or curl up with a book and a cuddly toy whichever he felt the yen to do, but she always called him into the house as soon as the sun started to dip toward the west. If he spoke of fearing monsters in the shadows, she would reassure him that she and his father would keep him safe. But even still, once the boy had fallen asleep, she would peer into the cupboards and corners and under the bed, double-checking the latches on the windows.
Mina herself continued her work, now as her husband's secretary, keeping the business in the family, despite the raised eyebrows that people gave them when they described their arrangement. Whoever heard of a wife working with her husband? But these backward thinking reactions did not faze her: she had lived through things that made these shallow notions fade. She had endured cruelties toward her body and soul that made these foolish reactions seem like the mewling of spoiled children, and suffered at the hands of a being whose cruelties made those of humans seem like a toddler flailing in temper.
It was an unspoken bargain, that the demon would live in their memory, leaving the present unscathed, but not unscarred. They simply would not let the scars mar the life that they had chosen for themselves.
Seven years had passed since they had crossed paths with the Count: Mina and Harker did not speak much of what had happened. It dwelled in the the past where it belonged, but even still, things arose that reminded them of it, things unspoken, agreements made without words, things which echoed the past to which they did not close their ears, yet to which they did not respond, either. His business continued to thrive, but never again, if he could help it, would Harker venture too far afield to handle any estate acquisitions. Or if he did, he heeded local customs and legends. Never again would he regard their hushed tales of creatures in the dark as mere fancies to give the young folk a tingle of fear: he had seen the inspirations for such tales.
Mina did not keep young Quincey, their boy, from being any less than a boy should, letting him muck about the garden or curl up with a book and a cuddly toy whichever he felt the yen to do, but she always called him into the house as soon as the sun started to dip toward the west. If he spoke of fearing monsters in the shadows, she would reassure him that she and his father would keep him safe. But even still, once the boy had fallen asleep, she would peer into the cupboards and corners and under the bed, double-checking the latches on the windows.
Mina herself continued her work, now as her husband's secretary, keeping the business in the family, despite the raised eyebrows that people gave them when they described their arrangement. Whoever heard of a wife working with her husband? But these backward thinking reactions did not faze her: she had lived through things that made these shallow notions fade. She had endured cruelties toward her body and soul that made these foolish reactions seem like the mewling of spoiled children, and suffered at the hands of a being whose cruelties made those of humans seem like a toddler flailing in temper.
It was an unspoken bargain, that the demon would live in their memory, leaving the present unscathed, but not unscarred. They simply would not let the scars mar the life that they had chosen for themselves.
