Author: thornbug

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe. Don't make me say it again.

A Lack of Colour

"And so, to end of with a quote by Emily Dickinson, 'We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.' Thank you."

The young woman folds the thin piece of paper into a small square and slips it into the pocket of her heavy coat.

"Mom says it's a nice, but might go over the heads of most eighteen-year olds. I told her that if they were smart enough to graduate high school, they'd be smart enough to understand Dickinson." She giggles slightly to herself and her breath comes out in sugary puffs in the crisp morning air. "Well, maybe not Michael Thorpe. You remember Mike? He's the jock I told you about. I still can't believe he thought that I'd leave Kevin at the last minute to go to prom with him just because his dad owns like a gazillion Wal-Marts or something." She blinks as a light snowflake flutters onto her eyelash. "I got accepted at Columbia," she says softly, as if it's a secret even though there's no-one around to hear. "Mom doesn't know yet. She was so happy about the valedictorian thing and she really wants me to go to Harvard, cause you know, it's closer. But I don't know. Columbia has a really great arts program, and I really want to go. But mom…well, you know mom."

A frosy gust of wind whips past her, causing her to pull her woollen cap down over her ears. Not for the first time, she regrets cropping off her long chestnut tresses for a shorter, pixie look. It was really just to spite her mother, but now in winter with her pale skin and freckles, she suspects she looks like something out of a kids' fairy-tale, like she should be sitting on a mushroom or something equally quaint.

"Sometimes," she sighs and fiddles with the thin gold chain around her neck. "Sometimes I wish you were around to tell her that I was old enough to be free. It's like she holds on so tightly that I can't breathe. And I know she's just scared, especially after…" She looks down at the grass. The snow falling is feather light, but her boots are already covered in a layer of white dust. "It's funny," she says after a while. "You know more about me than anyone. You always have, even when I was little, I told you things, secrets that I wouldn't dare tell anyone else. And you kept them." After a minute or two the snow stops and the wind calms and for a second, she feels the faintest whisper of sunlight on her cheek.

"I saw Peter just as I got here," she says, her tone saturated with hope, as if her voice could will the sun to shine just a bit brighter. "He looks…better," she says, deciding on the word. "He finally shaved off the beard, thank god," she says with a slight laugh. "He's moved back to Boston. I think he wants to be close since Uncle Walter got sick." She pulls her cap further down over her ears and shuffles on her feet. The cold is starting to get to her, but she's not ready to leave, not yet. "He asked me if I decided where I was going to college and I told him Columbia. Just like that. I somehow I knew he'd understand, like you would." She shakes her head with a smile, "He brought you flowers. Pretty ones." She runs her gloved fingers over the cold stone, brushing snow off the top. "He misses you."

She takes a step back and exhales a trembling breath. "We all do. It's like something I once heard Peter tell mom that time he showed up drunk at our apartment. It was just after. I was little, but I remember it. He was so angry. And mom was crying, it was awful. He said, he said the world has gotten duller since you went away. That the colours just don't shine as brightly. I think it's true, Aunt Liv."

Blinking back the tears that threaten to warm her frozen cheeks, Ella pulls the crinkled page from her pocket and lays it down on the grave, right beside the two white tulips.

END