Departed Loved Ones
I don't own Ginger Snaps
. No harm intended or money made. MAJOR SPOILERS for Ginger Snaps
FFA pairing: Andrew Wells / Brigitte Fitzgerald
It was the anniversary of Ginger’s death and Brigitte had come to the bar to be alone. Unfortunately Andrew, an even bigger loser than she’d been back in Bailey Downs, had followed her and now refused to go away in spite of all the hints she had dropped. Working for the Council was one of the best things that had ever happened to her, but sometimes they drove her up the wall—there were things they just didn’t understand, Andrew especially.
Except maybe Andrew did understand. He silently pushed a shot down the bar to her. It wouldn’t get her drunk, not with her werewolf physiology, but it was a nice thought and maybe she wanted company after all.
“Ginger was the most intense person I’ve ever met,” Brigitte said, not looking at her companion. “She never did anything halfway. She dragged me along in her wake, you know? Just being around her made me feel more alive. Even after I knew she’d gone crazy, I loved her like air.” She could feel Andrew’s attention on her words, although she didn’t look up.
“I know what you mean,” he said. Brigitte felt a brief flash of anger, because how could he possibly know what it was like to lose a sister like Ginger? She felt her lips curl back in a snarl, but Andrew wasn’t looking at her.
“Warren had vision,” Andrew said after a pause, and Brigitte recognized the same tone in his voice that echoed in hers. “Warren was going places, and he was going to take us with him. Me and Jonathan. I thought he was the coolest. Like, even cooler than a Jedi.”
“What happened?” Brigitte asked, her curiosity piqued in spite of the date.
“He went crazy,” Andrew said flatly. “He killed some people. The first was an accident, I think, but after that...” He shrugged.
“That’s what happened with Ginger,” Brigitte said. “She got bit by a werewolf and we couldn’t handle it. She’d have these rages and just attack people.” Brigitte stared moodily into her drink. Andrew shifted his weight beside her, and she flicked her gaze up to meet his eyes. “She never attacked me, though. Not until the very end. She loved me.”
“Warren didn’t love me,” Andrew told her in a voice surprisingly free of bitterness. “I used to think he did, that we were like Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn or like Legolas and Gimli or something. But now I don’t think that he cared at all. He was just using m-us. Willow flayed him alive.” Andrew’s voice got softer; Brigitte could only hear because of her enhanced senses. “I still miss him sometimes.”
Brigitte nodded almost involuntarily. “I had to kill my sister,” Brigitte told him. “I miss her, too. Always.”
Andrew touched her shoulder briefly in a rare tactful gesture, then signaled the bartender to bring them more drinks.