SERIES: Living With Your Ghost
PART: 2 of 5
RATING: PG-13 (Adult thematic material, language, character
death, angst)
PAIRING(s): Currently unsure of pairings, if any.
DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, Myself and FG so far; any other
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CATEGORY: Drama/Supernatural
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE: Alternate canon - set around season
four.
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Laverne is haunted by an apparition.
NOTES: Lyrics by Everclear.
***
It was an incomprehensible fact, but a solid one nonetheless
- Lenny was sitting there at the end of Laverne's couch, watching her with
vivid interest.
"This isn't real!" She heard herself squawk, far
less bravely than she imagined she might sound.
"Hey, Laverne - can you do this?" Lenny passed his
fingers through his face, his features becoming transparent as his index
fingers pierced through his eye sockets, like Moe from the Three Stooges.
Laverne, horrified but fascinated, stared at Lenny
blankly. "Why are you here,
Len? HOW can you be here -" She
patted her belly. "It ain't the
pizza I had last night, is it?"
Lenny cocked his head to one side, examining her. "People stick around when their friends
get hurt, Vernie."
"But why're you haunting me? Are you mad 'cause I killed you? I didn't mean for you to die, Len..."
"I'm fine! I
ain't mad."
"Then why here and not Dominick’s or the Pizza Bowl,
or..."
"I just wanna be with you, Vernie."
Laverne leaned back against the florid arm of her couch
cushions - the couch he had helped move from that old haunted mansion. In response, he moved closer to her, sliding
his fingers across the tips of her toes - the touch was warm as life.
"Len, you're scarin' me..."
"I don't wanna.
I wanna make you happy." He
grabbed her by the arm, pulling her off of the couch. "Come on, let's dance."
"Dance! I got a
concussion -" She trailed off, for, as she stood up, Lenny disappeared.
And she was no longer standing in her living room. The scene had gradually reshaped itself into Fillmore
High's balloon-festooned gymnasium.
Laverne swirled around, her jaw gaping open at the incredible facsimile
of her past - of her high school prom.
She looked at her feet - instead of slippers, black patent heels
shimmered beneath the skirt of a red ball gown.
She kicked her way through the pink and red balloons which had
materialized at her feet, wide-eyed in her disbelief.
Abruptly, Lenny reappeared in front of her. "Any of this seem familiar,
Laverne?"
"It's our senior prom! Aww, you even remembered the
theme - 'Bobby Sox to Stockings.' Shirl
made the Debs fight like heck for that."
"You remember something else?"
"Huh?" His
arm slipped around her suddenly-petite waist. "Ohh..." She realized
why he might recall the senior prom now.
She had allowed him a slow dance that night, and, on the crowded floor,
let him steal a kiss. To save her
reputation, she had kicked him in the shins.
It wasn't anything she'd ever had a second thought about - but to Lenny,
who seemed to live for their momentary passion, it seemed to be a treasured
memory.
"C'mon, Laverne - for old time's sake."
"Well..." she turned in his arms, looping her own
around his neck. Funny, he felt solid
against her skin, as though he was really there...
The foggy air carried the sound of the Platters singing
"Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" - Laverne felt transported back in years,
to a time innocent and perfect lying just beyond her life's troubles.
She looked up, into Lenny's eyes, hazy and blue in death as
they had been in life. Confusion eddied
through her emotions, but she chose to ignore it, raising herself up toward his
mouth...
Their lips brushed - his felt warm, a little rough, tender
as she pressed her tongue beyond their chapped surfaces. She closed her eyes, temporarily submissive
to his touch, and felt his breath on her lips.
"Wake up, Laverne."
The voice was not his.
"No," she whined.
"Laverne, I got your orange juice!"
The scene before her disappeared like a mirage. Laverne'e eyes were wide open and staring up
at her father as he hovered over the couch.
"Ain't you still thirsty?"
Horror and nausea filled Laverne; it had all been a
dream. This was her reality. Lenny was still dead and she was still a
murderer. She would not cry her
frustration in front of her Pop.
"Yeah. I really
need a drink all of a sudden..."
***
A few hours later, Laverne found herself sandwiched between
Shirley and Carmine on the couch, all three of them watching the Friday Night
Fights.
"Go, Ignatowski!
GO, you bum!" Carmine shouted, between sips of his half-warm bottle
of Shotz.
"Don't shout," Shirley admonished. "You'll wake the upstairs
neighbors."
Carmine snorted.
"If they're the kinda people who sleep through the fights then they
deserve to be woken up. Right,
Laverne?"
"Yeah, right," Laverne answered, her attention
already waning. Her belly was full of
chicken soup, and she generally felt lazy and in need of years of hibernation. It seemed like the right time to turn in, as
Shirley and Carmine no doubt wanted a little time alone. She stretched and feigned a wide yawn.
"Well, I'm gonna be gettin' to bed," she stood, relieved when she
experienced no dizzy spell.
Carmine and Shirley traded worried looks. "You sure you wanna go to bed? It might be a little noisy for
awhile..." Carmine uttered.
"Yeah, I'm real tired," Laverne gave an
intentionally-feeble smile. "You
and Shirl have fun without me."
"Laverne," Shirley plead as she daintily found her
feet and placed her arms around Laverne's waist, "as you sure you want to
go to bed alone? You haven't done that
since the accident."
"I'm fine."
Shirley examined Laverne with concern in her blue eyes. She seemed to know there was something wrong,
but Laverne couldn't imagine telling her best friend about her dreams. "Honest, Shirl," she plead.
"All right," Shirley submitted. "But call me if you need anything."
"Okay. Night,
Carmine."
"Night, Laverne - WOAH!
Look at that right cross!"
Laverne left Shirley with Carmine, aware that it wouldn't be
long before the fights were turned off and Carmine was taking yet another cold
shower. She absconded to her bedroom,
turning back her covers and slipping between before turning out the
lights. For what felt like hours, she
lay in the cool, still darkness of her bedroom, thinking of nothing but hoping
for a deep sleep. But instead of rest,
she hovered between sleep and awareness, like a coma victim. In a tiny corner of her mind, she believed
that if she slept very deeply she'd return to that fantasy world where Lenny
was still alive, where her mind improved on the mundane parade of reality. But sleep did not come quickly enough for
Laverne's liking.
And she still had a practically full bottle of pills. And hey, wouldn't two pills make her rest
complete?
He eyes were closed before her head hit the pillow, the
burden she felt lifted joyously away just before a cloud of pink distortion
surrounded her prone body. She was
hoping for more, she admitted to herself, than waking up to her plain old bed.
But he was there, standing at the foot and holding out his
hand - and she was ready to go wherever he wanted her to.
"Time to go dancing," he said. And then she gave him her hand.