Hi guys.


Trying a little something different here (thanks to one of my lovely reviewers over at FF.net).


This a continuation of Imitation of Life, only this is Theresa's story (and Fox's story and Ethan and Gwen, etc.). There'll be mentions of Sheridan and Luis and Marty and the others that starred in IOL, but like IOL made mention of Theresa, Fox, and the rest but didn't focus on them, POL (lol) will focus more on Theresa and the people moving in her circle.


There'll be a little Theresa/Fox, Theresa/Ethan, Gwen/Ethan, Gwen/Fox, Kay/Fox (as alluded to at the end of IOL), any and all combinations of the characters. However, the story is told mostly in Fox and Theresa's points of view, with the occasional exception.


I've never written a fic starring Fox so heavily so your feedback is much appreciated. That little Game of Love ficlet doesn't count because I started this fic first. ; )








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Title: Proof of Life
Rating:PG (?) for this chapter
Warnings: character death
Characters/Pairings: Alistair, Fox, Gwen, Little Ethan, Jane, Theresa, mentions of Ethan
Summary: The devil wore many disguises.















~1~





The devil wore many disguises.

Fox knew this because he saw sin and hellfire and willful unrepentance every day when he looked into his grandfather’s cold, calculating eyes.

Alistair Crane was powerful, larger than life, indestructible.

Until he wasn’t, Fox mused with a wry smile, watching as those cold eyes morphed into something more human, and the hands that had wrought so much pain and ruin in their lifetime drew back feebly, clutching at the black hole where a heart was supposed to be.

“You…” Alistair’s rasping gasp was weak, pitiful, laden with accusation. Spittle flew from his lips as he collapsed into the chair at his back, and his fingers fumbled futilely for the pills that were supposed to be there but weren’t. “Where?”

Fox withdrew an amber bottle from his pocket and tossed it into the air, handily catching it and lifting it up to eye-level. “Nitroglycerin,” he read. Taking in his grandfather’s graying complexion and the sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled for breath, he pretended to be concerned. “You need this, don’t you, Grandfather?” Walking closer to the imposing wooden desk (Alistair Crane’s throne), he set the bottle down, just out of the old man’s reach. “Or you’ll die.” Perching his long frame on the edge of the desk, Fox regarded the old man with mock sympathy. “Your chest hurts, does it? What does it feel like, Grandfather? Is it a stabbing pain, or is it more of a crushing feeling? I’m curious. They say these things run in the family.”

Alistair stared back at him with hatred (and something akin to pride?) in his eyes. “You,” the word escaped on a thin breath but was undeniable. “Like me.” His hands struck out like uncoordinated claws.

Fox raised a brow when his grandfather managed to knock the bottle of pills over, and he watched the old man chase the elusive bottle across the gleaming surface of the desk. “Maybe so,” Fox admitted, standing up and moving to look out the window, where Little Ethan and Jane played, Theresa’s sad, lonely figure watching from the shade of the gazebo. “But my motives come from a place you’ll never understand.” Leaving the window, he captured the bottle in his hand and offered it to his grandfather, just as the door to the study burst open.

Gwen took in the scene before her with wide brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was just looking for Ethan.” Her eyes lingered on Fox’s face, searching, and she moved deeper into the recesses of the dark room, finally looking down on Alistair’s ashen face, his hands twisting clumsily at the bottle of pills. “Here, let me help you."

Alistair’s eyes gleamed triumphantly at Fox when Gwen took the bottle from him, easily twisting the cap off, and harsh, hard-fought-for breaths puffing from his lips, he held out a shaky hand.

The pills scattered like candy across the floor at Alistair’s feet, and Fox shared a long look with Gwen.

“If you see Ethan…”

Fox nodded, and the door closed behind Gwen with a quiet click.

The devil took his final breath.
































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Feedback is much appreciated.

Thanks so much for reading!!!