Starry, Starry Night
By Fewthistle

Author's Note: This is a sequel of sorts, to Dark Fields of the Republic , an Olivia-centric drabble. This is from Alex's perspective, out there among the dark fields.

There were too many stars; billions of them. This far north, the sky seemed so close, a deep indigo dome, curving above her; a basilica of the Master's hand. Even here, on the deck of this house that was not her home, it felt as if she could simply reach up and touch the heavens, pluck out one of those myriad lights, hold it in her hands. Maybe then she would be warm again.

It didn't seem to Alex as if she had been warm for so long. The chill of the concrete beneath her as her blood flowed out, hot and sticky into Olivia's hands, the cold of the bullet in her flesh seeping out, like the spreading stain of crimson on her blouse, had never fully left her.

Fitting that she should be hidden out here among the snow drifts and glimmering trees of ice. Perhaps they had seen it somehow, detected the frost that was covering her soul, inch by inch, and thought to make her feel at home here.

There shouldn't be this many stars. Walking out into the Manhattan night, even in the chill, clear air of December, there were never this many stars. In fact, only the brightest could be seen, the ones who tried the hardest, intent on cutting through the haze of smog and streetlight. A lot like the city itself, where only those with the most dazzling light could be seen, outshining the rest. Here, amid the rolling fields of the republic, even the smallest, most distant suns showed their glory. Far too egalitarian for her tastes.

She could almost picture herself, a character in a child's book, standing on the rounded curve of the world, nothing above her but the frigid expanse of space; so empty, so cold. A cold that reached tendrils of air down toward this unprotected tip of the planet, leeching in through the thick layers of her clothes, through the thin layer of whiskey in her blood.

Pushing herself unsteadily to her feet, she walked to the railing of the deck. She downed the last of the amber liquid in her glass and set it down carefully. Shedding the heavy suede and fleece of her coat, she raised one booted foot to the top of the rail, her hand seeking purchase against the side of the house. Grasping an edge of the siding, she managed to pull herself up, balancing precariously on the slick wood, still covered in a thin layer of snow.

She reached out her other hand, reached it high, her whiskey focused gaze distorting the distance between her gloved hand and the deep blue of the sky. Just a little closer. She tottered, slipped, landed with a thud on the hard wood of the deck.

She lay there a moment, the cold beneath her and the dull ache in her back taunting her foolishness. She chuckled softly, almost hearing Olivia's voice in her head, laughing at her, brown eyes sparkling with amusement, teasing her temerity, her hubris at trying to capture a star. Some things never change, she thought ruefully.

Getting to her knees and then to her feet, she brushed at the patches of damp along her legs and back. With one last glance skyward, she pushed open the sliding glass door and disappeared into the deceptive warm darkness of the house that would never be home.