Love In A Fallout Shelter

A/N: *Sigh* My incompetence never ceases to amaze me. The last chapter is not called “Soft Smoking Ash” it is, as it says in the drop-down box called “Meetings with God”. This chapter really is called Soft Smoking Ash though. Promise.



I also seem to be writing this chapter just now because I know I should be reading the rest of American Gods (Neil Gaimen) but as it is in my nature to do, I am doing something else instead. I have such a short attention span it is rather unbelievable. I blame twitter, trying to fit your life into 140 characters is not healthy. I even got distracted from writing this chapter halfway through and watched “Rocky Horror Picture Show” instead.



Le1 chi: Thank you! The only problem with it is I think people with think of Bart Simpson every time they read my story :P



Lisa: Thanks :D Stay tuned, I get there in the end!



Missyxxmicha: Hot man smex? Surely not, not in the slash section. XD but in all seriousness there shall be some explicit steamy scenes coming your way!

(I always take my time, I run on Sunday service)



~

“Don't dream it, Be it.” - Frank N. Furter, Rocky Horror Picture Show



Episode Four: Soft Smoking Ash

“Bartholomew! Bartholomew! Where are you?” echoed down the long tastefully decorated hallway. Paintings of long dead patriarchs of the Myer family hung oppressively, a constant reminder to those who lived in the manor of their status in high society.



Bart hated walking down that hallway, he hated feeling inadequate under their speculative faces.

However his favourite room in the whole manor was at the other end of it; the library. It was the only place he could come where nothing was expected of him. He could read a book, or he could just look out the window at the grounds below and imagine he was somewhere else.



Today he was reading “Don Quixote”, or rather he was until the maid started calling for him.

“Bartholomew! Bartholomew! Where…Oh, here you are,” Sylvia was the only member of staff working today, she also happened to be the only member of staff Bart actually liked. Though she was insistent on calling him his full name and not Bart like everyone else did, besides his mother, of course. She patted some imaginary dust off her apron and leaned over Bart’s shoulder. “What’s on the reading list for today then?”



Bart smiled up at her, shifting his weight on the ledge of the window so Sylvia would have a place to perch also. “Don Quixote, I’m nearly finished. I started a couple of days ago, I saw the moving picture about it last week and checked to see if we had it.”



“Is that French?” Sylvia squinted her eyes, trying to test if the writing was in fact English.



“No,” Bart giggled “it’s Spanish. Papa only had the original and not the English translation.”



“Ah! I see, very good. Now, as much as I believe that a boy should have time alone, you spend to much time alone.” She crooked her arm around Bart and pulled him closer to her body, letting his head rest on her bosom. Bart twirled his fingers in her curly chestnut hair, as he had done since he was but a baby.



“You are nearly a man now, eleven years of age. Have you thought about at least trying to make friends? Maybe you will meet a girl.” she tickled his sides playfully.



“I have tried Sis, but all the people I meet who are my age are insufferable bores. They only want to show off their fortune or are only trying to befriend me because their father says it will be for their families benefit if they had ties to the Myer family.” Bart sighed and closed the book in his lap gently. “No one likes me for who I am, only for who my family are. Except you Sis, you’re my only friend.”



Sylvia nodded and petted his soft blonde hair, “All things in time Bartholomew. You will meet someone one day who will like you for who you are. I promise.” She clapped her hands loudly, startling Bart. “However, that day is not today, as you will be busy helping me clean the manor and will be to busy to make friends.”



Just then she picked him up and threw him over her shoulder and carried him towards the door. “No, please Sis! Anything but that!” he struggled and grabbed the frame of the door, but Sylvia tugged until his grip slipped and they were once again walking past the faces of his ancestors.



~



Ten Years Later



The noise woke Bart from his already fitful sleep. The sirens wailed as if in pain, through the siren he could here the distant buzzing of planes. He immediately ran to the polished wooden doors of his bedroom and threw them open, running into the landing barefoot and still in his pyjamas. Bart was running towards his parents bedroom to warn them before remembering they were at their London home doing business. He turned a sharp corner and ran towards to servants sleeping quarters, the sounds of bombs going on from the nearby town making him run all the faster.



“Sis! Sis! You here?” the door to Sylvia’s room was locked shut, he banged on the door to wake her. She often slept with earplugs in as she is a very light sleeper and they could be blocking the noise outside. He kept banging on the door and calling her. If she did not come soon he would have to go down into the bunker without her. Bart started knocking against the door with his shoulder. Eventfully he heard the door click and it opened, with a sleepy looking Sylvia in the frame.



She reached for her earplugs, “Bartholomew, why are you waking me up at this…oh no!” The bombs were getting closer and more frequent, grabbing Sylvia’s hand they ran down the corridor together, heading towards the library. He had insisted to his father that the bunker be built underneath the library. He figured the place that kept him safe as a child would protect him as an adult as well.



There was a bright flash at the nearby window, Bart and Sylvia both covered their faces with their free arm and flinched as the glass shattered and fire leaped onto the curtains. He heard Sylvia scream as an overhead beam fell but a foot away. He broke out into a run once more, still holding tight on Sylvia’s arm.



There was another explosion, the far side wall blew open and fiery rock spewed forth, Bart pulled his only friend closer to his body and shielded her from the rocks and embers. There was no time for words, they had to move now or they would surly die. Once more they ran, fire seemed to peruse them in their flight. Bart could see the oils on his forefathers paintings bubbling and running. Turning them into horrific demons who wanted to see them burn alive.



He let go of Sylvia’s hand to open the library door, she was a ghostly white and shivering despite the scorching heat. The metal door handle burned his hand as he twisted it, throwing open the door.


Time slowed down at that moment. He could see the grotesques faces of his relatives grinning at him. The fires that jumped from surface to surface freely and seemed to approach with alarming speed. He heard another thunderous boom. He saw the wall swell up like a balloon and burst open like a volcano, he saw a large piece of wall hurtling towards Sylvia’s scared shivering body. He blinked. When he opened his eyes Sylvia was crumpled on the floor, the top half of her skull caved in on impact with the opposite wall. Bartholomew screamed in pain, although not physical. He ran into the library for the last time, opening the hatch beside the writing desk.



In the dark, he mourned the loss of his only friend.