#allbrokenup

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You’re obsessed. Remember your work, Mr. Mott.

Franklin had waited. He had listened. He had endured the reservations and warnings of those along the way.

And now, he was finally going to see her.

She was alive. Tara was alive, and she was so, so close. Closer by the minute, as he drove toward Fangtasia, carefully groomed and dressed in a new button-down and jeans. Nothing too fancy, nothing flashy. He didn’t need to play at showing off in that way. He’d also brought flowers: a self-selected collection of daisies, lilies, lavender, a couple of roses, something that might have been foxglove. He thought they were lovely (not noticing that they were a little bit dead and a little bit ragged). She liked flowers, he remembered.

His senses were sharp, almost jittery. There was an insuppressible thrill of excitement, certainly, but he also found him wracked with nerves, even a bit of foreboding. Franklin still didn't know what to make of the fact that Tara had been turned. The biggest step of her life, taken in his absence and without his blood, changing as she wouldn't before or couldn't before. A part of him still wouldn't believe that she was a vampire, not until he saw her. Everyone could be lying. They could all weaving some enormous joke; people seemed to find the entire matter pretty fucking hilarious. It didn't seem right, her changing like that (she was she is mine, my angry broken could call her an angel beautiful and furious). Felt a little like a betrayal, but maybe she couldn’t help it. Hadn’t he heard it’d been necessary?

But she was still Tara, whatever had happened. He might need to change his plan slightly, but he that was all right. They could make it work. Vampires weren't required to remain with their makers forever. Franklin had scarcely seen his, after all. And once Tara’s maker saw how much Tara wanted to be with Franklin, she would be free. Just like that, they would be together forever.

Just think.

He was dreaming on possibilities when he was suddenly shaken back into reality: he had reached the journey’s end. Franklin parked the car and sat for a moment, gathering himself. So close. So close, so soon--He thought he couldn't breathe quite right. Thought he might just forget how to breathe as soon as he saw her smelled her. Could he sense her now? Hard to tell, too much noise too much crowding too many humans and vampires too many signals current and faded. Her sense was there, though.

What if he didn't say the right thing? What if he hadn't dressed properly? Should he have shaved (it hadn’t helped last time, but there was never any telling)? What if--he cringed, frowned at this--what if she wasn't interested? Maybe she'd found someone else, someone better for her. Not that Franklin truly believed in this possibility, but this was a time of vulnerability, and maybe she had made herself believe that someone else was better. He couldn't tell. He'd been gone for a long time.

No use hashing over these terrible possibilities. Not when they upset him, not when Tara truly Tara waited so close at hand.

He pulled himself out of the car, and any hesitation was broken. He was here. Felt the pavement saw people felt their blood their excitement and most of all understood his proximity to Fangtasia and what it meant. All he had to do was walk up to the door, gain entry, and there she would be.

Just. Like. That.