“And so it ends. The Van Creed factory in ruins, Moriarty is dead sort of, and the canisters are gone.” He sat in the graveyard in quiet contemplation, listening to the soft sounds through the snow of the city as asleep as it ever bothers to be.
So many parallels to his past had come up in the past couple of months, events repeated, figures he’d known before ressurected in the same roles, but with different faces. It was times like this that made him feel that maybe he was getting too old, but always he still had something to live for. Family. That had been the ultimate difference between himself and Moriarty. While he felt he understood Moriarty’s pain, he’d even stood in his shoes ages ago, instead of giving in to it, he’d found the strength to turn back. His brain in a jar… he only hoped Moriarty could learn the positive from the experience, but he doubted he would. Such things tended to only make the bitter more bitter. Hope did indeed change things. It was more than just wishful thinking, it was faith that in the end everything would turn out alright. And hadn’t it? Didn’t it always?
What could be said that hadn’t been said? What could be done that hadn’t been done? The whole town had shared the sentiment of relief, it seemed, things were abuzz for a short couple of days and already it was quieting and so there he sat. And so he spoke nothing of it as others buzzed around him with the excitement. Twice now he had lived through such earth shattering events. Perhaps he had lived too long, he thought, when history repeats itself right before him.
His blind eyes closed as that soft, gentle smile spread over his lips, listening to the quiet, smelling and sensing the presence of those gone past before, the noisy quiet of the graveyard and the snow. How fitting at the peak of winter to be the turning point. Soon would come the spring with the promise of new life. Life, a loving family, a city full of interest and excitement. Nah, he wasn’t getting too old. There was always something to live for.
He stood to walk from the graveyard, brushing his gloved fingers over a few headstones along his way to the gates before his footsteps turned southward to head home to Stormy and the kids. Christmas after a disaster is survived and done so well, always the happiest time to be a father.
((Felt like I had left so much unsaid in the whole storyline and didn’t post up much of what I encountered on the notning, but really loved the story, Loki! Really enjoyed participating))