Work Text:
Ghost of A Chance
by Pirate Turner
Sometimes she could still smell him. It would start with the faintest tinge of the crisp, clean scent of Irish Spring, and she would stop and sniff, remembering the night he had had to borrow her shower for his own had been broken. He'd been exhausted and felt disgusted with his own hygiene after their last battle, and she'd wrinkled her nose and given permission with an air of begrudgement. Then she'd spied the bar of Irish Spring in his hand and immediately began to tease him. She could still hear the lilt of his sexy voice in her head now, telling her once more that there was nothing like the green of the Irish and she should try it. She'd dared to ask if that was an invitation, and he'd quickly shot her down.
She'd continued to tease him about his soap until he'd walked out of her life, and even then, she'd never been able to place the other scents about his person. She was certain one was the cologne he wore, something imported from Ireland, she presumed, but the other she had only ever been able to define as uniquely him. It reminded her of nature, and too often, the aroma had whisked her to an image in her mind's eye that she would never have dared to admitted to longing for, Sean standing bare in a deep, green forest, his hands open, his handsome face lit up in a broad smile, and her name being called from his lips.
Emma sighed as she stopped in mid-stride, her eyes drifting shut. She could smell him now, that deep, rich, intoxicating aroma that was so surely Sean Cassidy. She savored the moment, allowing herself the rare luxury of a moment spent in false hope that she might yet open her eyes and find him standing before her. She'd give anything to see him just once more, even if he were still condemning her.
Her blue eyes broke open, and she sighed again as children rushed by her, all for whom she cared for but none of whom cared for her. A few of the other adults were heading out to take them on a supervised trick or treat trail while others prepared for a party. Emma had elected to stay at home on surveillance duty, knowing no one truly wanted her.
She turned to stare out into the rays of the setting sun, and for a moment, she thought she felt a hand on her shoulder. She blinked hard against the emotions that swelled within her as she remembered the time that Sean had actually taken her into his arms and comforted her. That was when she had at last began to hope that he might feel something for her, a friendship if not any spark of love, but she had only been fooling herself.
No one loved her. They might want her assistance. They might need her powers or her money. But no one would ever love her. It didn't really matter, she thought, straightening her shoulders and trying to keep from giving in to the urge to look behind her as she felt a presence behind her and fingers growing more heavy upon her shoulder. It didn't matter at all, because the one whose love she'd craved the most was gone from her forever.
Laughter bubbled from the children rushing by, and Emma closed her eyes again. Before coming into her powers, she'd been laughed at far too much, and sometimes, like now, the mere sound still threatened to take her back to those days. They said she was mean. They said she didn't have a heart. Let them think what they would, she thought, finally succumbing and glancing behind her to see that, indeed, there was no one visible standing behind her. That way, at least, they wouldn't know she suffered from a broken heart.
She turned to gaze back out the window, thinking of all the things she'd heard said over the years about Halloween. All Hallow's Eve was supposed to be a magickal night where the dead could communicate with the living. She wondered if Sean had tried to reach Teresa or any of the kids of Generation X. She knew better than to think he'd ever try to reach her for she did not matter to him; the woman he wanted was long gone, too. She smirked. They were probably enjoying paradise together while she lingered here, thinking of and missing him every day and night of her life. No, he'd never waste his time trying to contact her, she thought again, much to a ghost's chagrin.
Emma frowned and pressed a hand to the cold pane of the window before her. For a moment, she'd thought she'd heard a voice in the howling wind outside, but no, it was just her overactive imagination. {Best watch that,} she reprimanded herself. {You've not got Jubilation to blame for such silly thoughts any more.} She turned and walked away, trying desperately to pull her mind together and refocus her attentions on anything real and concrete for nothing good ever came of allowing one's imagination to wander. As with so many other things, it only ended up causing more pain.
The End