Post by wordy on Jan 23, 2013 9:37:03 GMT 10
Title: time after
Rating: G
Prompt: #76 new beginnings
Summary: After lifetimes, Niko still searches. Reincarnation!fic.
The coffee is weak, and too hot. Niko resigns himself to resting the styrofoam cup on his knee, letting the heat seep through his trousers to burn the top of his thigh. The waiting room—and how utterly fitting that is, he thinks with a smile—breathes quietly under bright lights, the receptionist talking low into the phone, a child playing with blocks in the corner, the elderly woman across from him with wrinkled hands clutching her handbag.
Crane—Isaac Crane in this life, or so the plaque on his door indicates—is familiar at first glance, sharp eyes and steady hands. Niko shouldn’t be surprised, but he is, and pleasantly so. One gains a sense of humour after looking in the wrong places for year after year. His eyes follow Crane across the waiting room, absorbing the tie clip, the pen cap peeking from his shirt pocket, the shoes that may have been fine quality once but are worn down and old, clearly chosen for comfort.
Niko watches him say something to the receptionist, and smile, then turn to the room and call forward the child with one crooked finger. Their eyes meet, briefly, and Niko’s throat tightens. Then the mother and child are ushered into Crane’s office and the door closes behind them. Niko breathes again. He wonders if Crane has a jar of lollipops on his desk.
His coffe is still hot, but cool enough to drink. Niko raises the cup to his lips. He has nowhere to be, not for a good while yet. He has waited long enough.
Rating: G
Prompt: #76 new beginnings
Summary: After lifetimes, Niko still searches. Reincarnation!fic.
The coffee is weak, and too hot. Niko resigns himself to resting the styrofoam cup on his knee, letting the heat seep through his trousers to burn the top of his thigh. The waiting room—and how utterly fitting that is, he thinks with a smile—breathes quietly under bright lights, the receptionist talking low into the phone, a child playing with blocks in the corner, the elderly woman across from him with wrinkled hands clutching her handbag.
Crane—Isaac Crane in this life, or so the plaque on his door indicates—is familiar at first glance, sharp eyes and steady hands. Niko shouldn’t be surprised, but he is, and pleasantly so. One gains a sense of humour after looking in the wrong places for year after year. His eyes follow Crane across the waiting room, absorbing the tie clip, the pen cap peeking from his shirt pocket, the shoes that may have been fine quality once but are worn down and old, clearly chosen for comfort.
Niko watches him say something to the receptionist, and smile, then turn to the room and call forward the child with one crooked finger. Their eyes meet, briefly, and Niko’s throat tightens. Then the mother and child are ushered into Crane’s office and the door closes behind them. Niko breathes again. He wonders if Crane has a jar of lollipops on his desk.
His coffe is still hot, but cool enough to drink. Niko raises the cup to his lips. He has nowhere to be, not for a good while yet. He has waited long enough.
It's quite tempting to write more, but I'm not sure if I will or not. I'll see how it goes. 
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!