Work Text:
10 years ago: 2 ½ years before Alastor’s disappearance
“And then, he came back completely high on something and spent the rest of the evening talking to me while the show was going on! I could hardly make out one bit of the plot because he would not stop rambling, no matter how many times I told him to be quiet!” Rosie recounted exasperatedly, gesturing dramatically with both hands.
Alastor chuckled softly, crossing one leg over the other. “Did the security guys ever kick him out?”
“Oh, they didn’t have many of those around. Instead, everyone else who was in our viewing-box just got up and left to find seats elsewhere. I can hardly blame them. And the dinner afterwards was even worse; the whole evening was dreadful, really.” Rosie shook her head sadly, sighing. “Finding a man to date is just about impossible.”
The two of them had gone out for dinner and drinks at Rachel and Richard’s, one of Rosie’s favorite local restaurants. They were seated at a table outside, watching the day turn to evening in Cannibal Town and sipping their drinks: Rosie, a blood orange margarita, and Alastor, a rye whiskey.
“He is such a fool,” Alastor said with a scoff, “to get the great honor of a date with the one and only Rosie Fierstein and to waste it only talking about himself and getting high? Not too many are blessed to get to spend time with you, and he just threw it away. I would certainly rather die than behave in such a manner on a date.” He knocked back the rest of his drink.
Rosie blinked at him with some interest. “Oh? And how do your dates usually go?”
Alastor suddenly wished he had ordered another drink. Or had just drunk less, to keep his mouth from running ahead of his brain. “I don’t go on any dates, you know that.” She had asked him about his love life before, and he had deflected and changed the subject back to her almost every single time.
“Come now, Alastor,” Rosie chided him. “Surely there must be someone who caught your eye, in over a hundred years? You must have dated at least once.”
Alastor had tried to date before, many times, and afterwards he did his best to bury those experiences deep inside his memory. He had no desire to unearth them now, for Rosie or for anyone else. His tone was rather curt when he responded. “Well, yes, I have dated, but that hardly matters. None of those relationships went anywhere.”
“Oh?” Rosie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Why not?”
Don’t tell her, the sensible part of himself warned. She’ll never understand. He shrugged. “I suppose… I don’t know why they didn’t work out. It just never does for me.”
Alastor knew Rosie, and he knew there would be follow-up questions. He glanced around the area almost desperately, as though he were fishing through the air for an interesting topic to distract her, and yet he was coming up empty. He was about to try to deflect by asking her another question about her own date when she asked, “Have you ever been in love, Alastor?”
Alastor’s once-dead heart seemed to stop for a second time. Why that question? Why did she have to be so observant? He forced his smile wider and responded hastily, “Of course I have been in love before.”
“With whom?”
Dammit, he had not thought this through nearly well enough. No one else other than Rosie would even think to ask him these questions. “Well, there was a lovely sheep girl by the name of Laila, in Cannibal Town, who um…” the alcohol must be making his brain sluggish, usually he was much quicker on his feet, “...was in need of assistance, so I saved her from a bunch of thugs who were harassing her, and we… fell in love.”
Rosie’s expression was one of absolute disdain. “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. I can tell when you’re lying to me, Alastor.”
His mouth was suddenly very dry. She had told him, over and over again, how much she hated lying. She didn’t tolerate it from her fellow Overlords, from her staff, or from him, her best friend. He lied to her knowing she would see through it, in the hopes she’d be angry enough to end the conversation. A deliberate act of self-sabotage.
He sighed heavily, hating that he could not hide the heat rising in his cheeks behind a smile. “Right. I am sorry.”
Rosie took another sip of her margarita before continuing, “I’ll ask you again, have you ever been in love?”
Alastor’s eyes met the stunning black depths of her own, feeling hollow and oddly tired. There had been so much hiding and dodging of questions, year after year, just for her to find out the truth anyway. He was a fool to think he’d ever had a chance. “No,” he stated, flatly. “Never.”
There was a pause as Rosie seemed to be thinking about that, analyzing it. She was so different from certain other Overlords, who preferred to strike first, think through the consequences later. She calculated before she struck, and almost never missed her mark. He expected her to scold him again for his half-hearted attempt at deception, and turned his attention to his hands, where his sharp nails were digging into his palms hard enough to sting. But instead, Rosie tilted her head slightly to the side and said softly, “Well, I think you’ll get it someday.”
“Get what? Love?”
“Of course, my dear.” She graced him with a gentle smile. “It has a way of finding you when you least expect it.”
Alastor gave a laugh that faded out into another sigh. “At this point, I might as well give up. If love were going to strike me, surely it would have happened by now.” They had been friends now for over a decade. Exactly how long was this supposed to take?
Rosie had clearly noticed him clenching his fists, because she took one hand in hers and gently coaxed it into a more relaxed position before interlocking her fingers with his own, as she had done before countless times. “Well, that’s quite alright if it never happens, you know. You don’t need to be in love romantically when there are so many other wonderful kinds of love to choose from.”
Alastor smiled halfheartedly and nodded, giving her hand a squeeze. The other kinds of love were not what he was looking for. He had a few friends, he used to have his mother; but what he needed was the one person whom he would love forever, that he would cherish and comfort, and would be his and only his until the end of his existence… that was what he craved. A wife. Or a husband, he supposed, if he were to fall for a man, though that seemed unlikely. But he had never been in love with anyone, and what person would choose to be with a man who did not love them? It was an impossible proposition to make of anyone: a hopeless dream. The corner of his smile twitched before he forced it back in its place.
Almost everyone else glanced quickly at him, and then away; Rosie was the only one who studied him like he was a painting hanging in a museum, or a book she didn’t want to put down. “But that’s not what you want,” she said, her voice tinged with faint sadness. “You want to be in love.”
Alastor saw no point in continuing to lie to her. He just looked at Rosie, beautiful Rosie, sitting right next to him and yet feeling so far away, and nodded once. It could have been you, he thought. It should have been.
“Oh, my dear,” Rosie sighed. She pulled her hand away from his, and his hand twitched as if it too regretted the loss. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Alastor said, too quickly, before he’d even had time to think of a response. He hated being pitied, hated it, but he did not hate her. What else was she supposed to say, to a confession like that? This anger he felt now was deeper, older, and had settled into his bones a long time ago. He smiled wide enough to show his teeth and cleared his throat before continuing, as his voice had come out a little muffled by the radio static. “It hardly matters. You and I both know I’ve never needed anyone, and I prefer to be independent. It’s probably for the best anyway.”
Rosie nodded slightly, and yet he could tell she did not believe a word of what he had just said. It was a gesture to placate him, not one of true agreement. He felt condescended to, like a small child. Perhaps that was all she saw him as, now that he had told her: an immature boy, incapable of love or anything else that came with it. Unworthy of her charm and sophistication. But her next words were laced with the same kindness and grace as before. “I hope you will keep your heart open, Alastor.”
“For you, my dearest, I will.” He could do both, couldn’t he? Give up on love entirely, and still keep his heart open to the possibility? An odd, contradictory state to be in, for sure. Distracted, he didn’t notice how her eyebrows had raised at his response. A sly thought crossed his mind, and he found himself voicing it, “If I should ever fall in love, you will surely be the first to know.”
“The first?” She inquired, with some confusion. “Wouldn’t you be the first?”
Alastor shook his head, tilting his head at a slight angle. “Oh no, you’ve always been faster at figuring out things about myself than I am. In the event that I do fall in love, would you be a dear and let me know? So I can make the proper arrangements?”
Rosie laughed then, shaking her head. “Of course, Alastor. I’ll let you know.” After a pause, she offered, “If you ever fall in love, I could give you relationship advice just like I give to everyone else in town. Any trouble you might have, you can come to me and we’ll sort it out.”
Alastor wondered how that would work, going to his girlfriend for advice about his relationship with his girlfriend. Well, I suppose it would be best to go straight to the source of the issue, he thought. He restrained a chuckle… he couldn’t tell her. It was just a comforting fantasy he indulged in from time to time, and Rosie deserved nothing less than a man who loved her completely. He knew that.
But if only… if only…
“Thank you, Rosie.”
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, and they sat in silence for a long time, watching the sun set behind the skyscrapers.