[enolive/mphfpc] chasing shadows

time and time again

A/N: I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't like the book but I just watched the movie and out spill my non-book-canon feels so here you guys go (there aren't nearly enough enolive movieverse fics to satisfy me so I wrote my own whoops).

[edit: the books got much better near the end of the series, so I highly suggest you finish]

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His hand wraps around hers with a tenderness that she can feel even through her gloves. He has a firm grasp, fingers clenched, as if he never wants to let go.

She smiles shyly up at him, curious, tentative, searching, and for the first time in years, he turns to her with warm eyes, lips almost curving upwards.

They arrive at the ship, a narrow, wooden board connecting it to the dock. "After you, Olive." Her name rolls smoothly off his tongue, and the way he says it is different. It's sweeter, gentler than before.

Aboard the ship, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the children, they lapse into a comfortable silence. He's perfectly content with continuing what they had before and not ever talking about what had just happened.

But he knows that she'll ask.

And she does.

"I thought you were gone, Olive. Don't–don't do that to me, alright?" His eyes are troubled and he keeps running his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit of his.

"Enoch, Enoch look at me." She settles her hands on his shoulders, forcing herself to look at him in the eye. She's never been this bold. "I'm right here. I won't leave you, okay?"

Her gaze is gentle. "Don't worry about me."

His hand reaches up to brush an auburn strand of hair from her face, then comes to rest on her cheek. Something dark flashes in his brown irises and he flinches away from her.

She withdraws her arms and steps back, eyes turned down, hurt rolling off of her in pounding waves. The feeling is suffocating.

"You're still so cold, Olive."

There's a vulnerability to him, an openness she doesn't think she's ever seen before. He showed her the small part of him that she didn't even know existed. Coldness brings back a haunting memory for both of them.

Her expression softens and she pulls off a glove, her hand held face up. A small flame forms in her palm, flickering with a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges, burning with a fiery white core. Outside, the sky begins to darken, and her fire casts long shadows across the room, illuminating their faces. "There's no need to worry, Enoch. They're dead – all dead. I'm safe."

A comforting heat surrounds them, assuring him of her presence, and when she's certain that he really won't overreact again, Olive closes her hand, extinguishing the light, and puts her glove back on.

Funny, how he was always such a close friend of death's, yet never truly understood why the clients of his parents wept for the deceased. The absence of life was no mystery; he was fully educated on what happened to a body after the soul was gone. He had attended funerals of great-aunts and uncles, smirking and laughing while his relatives cried. But it wasn't until the pale, blue frost curled up the side of Olive's face that he knew what death really was.

For the first time, he was scared.

When he saw her body – still and frozen – a part of him shattered.

She was always so quiet, so subtle from her place behind him that he hardly even noticed her until the moment she disappeared. Shock snapped him back into reality, and if she had died because he couldn't revive the metal elephant in time...

He might have lost himself the same way he lost her.

Forever.

"It's okay to be frightened," she says, voice barely above a whisper. She takes a step toward him, but Enoch moves back, head down.

Olive nods, understanding, if not upset. No matter what happens to them, this is who he'll be – incapable of showing affection, choosing to look away rather than at her. She loves him, and he loves her back; she tells herself that time and time again, but sometimes she wonders if that's enough, if it's even true.

"Thank you, Olive," he manages.

There, again. He keeps repeating her name, cherishing the fact that he can say it, the fact that she's still alive.

A soft smile lights up her face and she pushes open the door, stepping outside. The pungent smell of seawater hits her immediately, and a breeze brushes against her face. The night air is thick with salt and Olive breathes it in deeply. They can make it work. She knows they will.

"Goodnight, love."

Olive inhales sharply, whirling around, but the wooden door is already closed, the pale face already gone.

Love.

A grin splits her face as a warm fire blooms from deep inside of her.

Love.

She faces the closed door, fingertips running along the ridges, her voice ghosting across the surface and slipping inside.

"Goodnight, Enoch."