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roesslyngTitle: When the weather turns and they say it must
Fandom: Stand Still Stay Silent
Characters/Pairing: Signe/Michael
Rating: 0+
Length: 750 words
Summary: Well, wood burns, and metal rusts, so darling, what's to become of us?
Other: Flashfic for Synchronised Screaming. Prompt was Michael/Signe - What will become of us? [Original Post]
*Title/description/prompt inspired by a song by Passenger.
When the weather turns and they say it must
Stepped off the boat. Bornholm, solid under her feet. A hollow empty feeling sank in her gut, like it was the last time. Like she'd never see the mainland again.
Funny thing, feelings. They had a way of sneaking up on you.
Keep going, Signe told herself. It'll be fine. Don't worry about a thing, because worrying will just make the problem feel bigger than it is.
She followed the man with the cat carrier. Michael. The guy who had been on the phone with his family. The family that had invited her in after he'd mentioned her situation to them, offhand, in the middle of complaining about something else. About the inconvenience of it all, getting stuck on Bornholm like this.
They were generous people, those Madsens. Taking her in like that without even questioning it. He'd handed her his phone, let her have a bit of back-and-forth with them. Of course you can come and stay with us. Of course. Any friend of Michael's is welcome here. You can stay as long as you have to.
Any friend of Michael's is welcome.
How long does it take to go from wrangling a belligerent customer to calling them a friend? As long as it takes to compliment their cat, apparently. As long as it takes to stop their crying.
Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket and she reached for it but Michael called and she fell into step beside him.
It could wait. It could wait for later.
The texts came in, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.
She turned off the notification on her phone. Eventually. After a while.
It was starting to drive her crazy.
She asked for tasks, and received them, because on a farm there is always something that needs doing and not enough pairs of hands to take care of it.
It was the least she could do. Earning her keep. Payment for their kindness.
She couldn't worry if her hands were busy.
Sometimes during the day she looked toward the mainland and wondered just what was happening over there. Sometimes she reached for her phone and turned it on just long enough to reply.
Don't worry. I'm fine. I'm staying with some very nice people. I'm okay.
Don't worry.
That was what she told herself in the evenings when everyone gathered together under that roof and talked in hushed voices about the warnings. The rumours. That there was something more to this illness. That things were going to get bad before they got better. That there was no telling how bad it would be.
They would have to hunker down and wait and bide their time. It would all blow over eventually. It would. That was what they said. It'll be fine.
The round pale faces around the supper table didn't look half as confident as the words that came out of those mouths.
She sat herself down by Michael's reassuring bulk at those times, and took his big cat into her lap, and listened.
They built a fence around the island.
Or tried to.
Some parts, at least. Where the shore was easiest to access. Where it was dangerous.
You couldn't walk down to the shore any more. Down where the water met the land.
It wasn't safe to leave that part open. There were things there, things that had to be kept out, things creeping ashore that nobody had imagined even in their darkest childhood nightmares.
Signe and Michael helped. When they could. It wouldn't go up if they didn't.
Everyone had to do their part.
Even the ones who, months ago, would have complained and carried on when it came to even the smallest bit of work.
Those ones, too.
When the section of the barrier closest to Rønne was complete she caressed his broad palm without a word. Took his hand and held it a while and brushed the pad of her thumb along the lines.
Michael's hands were roughened now, more than they'd ever been in his life. Hers, too.
Signe didn't look toward the mainland any more.
She'd made a decision when she'd stepped off that boat, when she accepted his offer. There was no going back from that, now.
Signe looked at her hand in Michael's. Linked their fingers.
There was no way to be sure what would happen next. But at least she wouldn't be on her own. Neither of them would. They'd pull through.
Everything would be fine in the end. They'd make it right together.
Fandom: Stand Still Stay Silent
Characters/Pairing: Signe/Michael
Rating: 0+
Length: 750 words
Summary: Well, wood burns, and metal rusts, so darling, what's to become of us?
Other: Flashfic for Synchronised Screaming. Prompt was Michael/Signe - What will become of us? [Original Post]
*Title/description/prompt inspired by a song by Passenger.
When the weather turns and they say it must
Stepped off the boat. Bornholm, solid under her feet. A hollow empty feeling sank in her gut, like it was the last time. Like she'd never see the mainland again.
Funny thing, feelings. They had a way of sneaking up on you.
Keep going, Signe told herself. It'll be fine. Don't worry about a thing, because worrying will just make the problem feel bigger than it is.
She followed the man with the cat carrier. Michael. The guy who had been on the phone with his family. The family that had invited her in after he'd mentioned her situation to them, offhand, in the middle of complaining about something else. About the inconvenience of it all, getting stuck on Bornholm like this.
They were generous people, those Madsens. Taking her in like that without even questioning it. He'd handed her his phone, let her have a bit of back-and-forth with them. Of course you can come and stay with us. Of course. Any friend of Michael's is welcome here. You can stay as long as you have to.
Any friend of Michael's is welcome.
How long does it take to go from wrangling a belligerent customer to calling them a friend? As long as it takes to compliment their cat, apparently. As long as it takes to stop their crying.
Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket and she reached for it but Michael called and she fell into step beside him.
It could wait. It could wait for later.
The texts came in, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.
She turned off the notification on her phone. Eventually. After a while.
It was starting to drive her crazy.
She asked for tasks, and received them, because on a farm there is always something that needs doing and not enough pairs of hands to take care of it.
It was the least she could do. Earning her keep. Payment for their kindness.
She couldn't worry if her hands were busy.
Sometimes during the day she looked toward the mainland and wondered just what was happening over there. Sometimes she reached for her phone and turned it on just long enough to reply.
Don't worry. I'm fine. I'm staying with some very nice people. I'm okay.
Don't worry.
That was what she told herself in the evenings when everyone gathered together under that roof and talked in hushed voices about the warnings. The rumours. That there was something more to this illness. That things were going to get bad before they got better. That there was no telling how bad it would be.
They would have to hunker down and wait and bide their time. It would all blow over eventually. It would. That was what they said. It'll be fine.
The round pale faces around the supper table didn't look half as confident as the words that came out of those mouths.
She sat herself down by Michael's reassuring bulk at those times, and took his big cat into her lap, and listened.
They built a fence around the island.
Or tried to.
Some parts, at least. Where the shore was easiest to access. Where it was dangerous.
You couldn't walk down to the shore any more. Down where the water met the land.
It wasn't safe to leave that part open. There were things there, things that had to be kept out, things creeping ashore that nobody had imagined even in their darkest childhood nightmares.
Signe and Michael helped. When they could. It wouldn't go up if they didn't.
Everyone had to do their part.
Even the ones who, months ago, would have complained and carried on when it came to even the smallest bit of work.
Those ones, too.
When the section of the barrier closest to Rønne was complete she caressed his broad palm without a word. Took his hand and held it a while and brushed the pad of her thumb along the lines.
Michael's hands were roughened now, more than they'd ever been in his life. Hers, too.
Signe didn't look toward the mainland any more.
She'd made a decision when she'd stepped off that boat, when she accepted his offer. There was no going back from that, now.
Signe looked at her hand in Michael's. Linked their fingers.
There was no way to be sure what would happen next. But at least she wouldn't be on her own. Neither of them would. They'd pull through.
Everything would be fine in the end. They'd make it right together.
