I had an thought earlier today while doing a picrew of Ava
I haven't shared images, "pictures" of Ava or Todd here, but you may remember that Ava has white hair, and you may have guessed from the desert snipper that Ava always dress in full-black outfits. Todd, while dressing similarly, does have a few things in his outfits that make him stand out; including his jacket. While Ava's is completely black, Todd's jacket is leather brown - darker because of time, it's worn out, but it's still visibly brown. It's the most obvious feature for anyone who see the two accross the street: Ava is the shadow, dark mass with a white patch - her hair; Todd is somehow more appealing - more human-like. Brown jacket, brown hair, not always wearing gloves, more likely to smile.
But mostly, brown jacket. It's important to him, he got it as a gift from his mother, and nothing could make him part from it.
Nothing, except maybe one thing. One person.
He only told her once how important that jacket was to him. How much it meant to have it gifted to him, to own it and wear it, how it helped him thorugh the darkest moments, the bloodiest nights. He told him all of that while they were fighting - more than a week of silence followed that argument.
She never forgot. He never talked about it again.
Until he did. IT had to do with Ava's jacket being torn, or something of the kind, and her admitting that it was nothing more than fabric, that she could replace it and not care much.
"Take mine." he had said.
"Ava, I'm serious," he had nodded, taken off the jacket, "take it. It's yours."
And she, her usual, brutal self, had declined.
"Keep that shit to yourself. You know what I always say about that thing."
They were masters of double meaning and subtle hints. But sometimes, frankness was the only option.
"Yeah I know, but I don't care, I'm giving it to you anyway. It's yours now, no taking back."
And she had rolled her eyes, and he had given her the finger. Even after all these years, he could always find a way to reach her. He could always bring warmth to that cold, cold heart.
"Whatever. You'll have to keep wearing it for now, because I still have a jacket, and you clearly have none to replace this one. Plus-"
"-brown suits me more? Hard agree on that."
And there it was. A smile, shy, but genuine and amused. His was always brighter. He was the brighter one. The touch of colour in a world full of darkness.
She pretended not to hear what he said after - the mere thought of it would twist her stomach and she hated it.
But the inevitable must happen. She couldn't change his fate.
Sitting on the edge of the hole she had just dug, staring mindlessly in the emptiness, she could hear the sentence again and again and again, repeating itself like a twisted curse.
"When I'll die, you'll be able to wear it. I won't be here anymore to tell you not to stain it. You'll do with it whatever you want."
And she would stare, finally, at that bloody jacket.
Literally, bloody jacket. Covered in dark red stains, one that wouldn't come off even if she tried to clean them off. And there she would sit, facing the dilema: to bury him with his memories of home, of love, and family - all of these things she ripped him off from, all of the things now forever stained with the blood that she spilled; or take it.
Take the jacket, and rob him from the last thing he had ever owned, therefore taking away everything from him: his home, his family, his safety, his life. His jacket. Take it, and carry forever the burden of his fate.
She could leave the jacket behind, and break her silent promise, but allow him to keep his fondest memories.
Allow him. Even in death, she would make decisions for his. Even in death, he wouldn't have a say in his fate.
She could take the jacket. It was her burden, after all, her promise to keep. But the idea of leaving him without any protection, without any memory...
And for what would feel like hours, she would torment herself with a decision that should have been avoided.
Somehow, it should have been avoided.
