Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/141376.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Ginger_Snaps_Trilogy
  Relationship:
      Brigitte_Fitzgerald/Ginger_Fitzgerald, Brigitte_Fitzgerald/Ginger
      Fitzgerald/Ghost
  Character:
      Brigitte_Fitzgerald, Ginger_Fitzgerald, Ghost_(Ginger_Snaps)
  Additional Tags:
      Yuletide, recipient:Thuvia_Ptarth, challenge:New_Year_Resolutions
  Collections:
      New_Year_Resolutions_2005
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-12-20 Words: 1035
****** Morality Play ******
by koanju_(verstehen)
Summary
     The Wolfsbane was a poison through her veins, but it wasn't the thing
     that was killing her.
"Oh, B, look at you now," Ginger tsked, her tongue clicking between the roof of
her mouth and her teeth. "A drug addict going through withdrawal. What would
our poor bereaved mother say?"
Bridgette had her back turned. She was curled up on the small twin bed. The
white sheets didn't smell as clean as they looked. They smelled like bleach and
it was making her nauseous. Too nauseous to move, that scene, bleach, the
bleeding between her legs and the orange that always clung to Ginger's hair
because of the shampoo she used all mixing together into a noxious sludge that
invaded her nasal passages and burned like fire every time she took a breath.
"Go away, Ginger, you're dead," Bridgette moaned, pulling the lumpy pillow over
her face and trying to muffle the world out. 'Dead by sixteen,' they'd
promised, and it came true. Ginger, dead, and Bridgette dying, little by little
here. If she could get hold of something, anything, to kill herself with before
the other one, the one following, the male she could almost smell he was so
close, got here to this stupid rinky-dink hospital and took her and anyone in
the way between the two of them she would just do it. It'd be so easy. So, so
easy. Even the sheets could make a good noose but there wasn't anything to tie
it off to but the bed and it was nailed to the floor. It wouldn't tip on edge.
She felt lightheaded from the smell and shoved the pillow off her face. Ginger
was wearing a tight blue tank top, the kind she used to mock, the kind bitches
like Trina would wear, but it looked pretty on her with her hair down over her
shoulders. She was still there.
"I said I'd die for you, B. I promised," Ginger said, reaching down and
stroking Bridgette's hair. Could ghosts touch things (people)? There was a
Ghost in the hospital but she wasn't the same kind of ghost the way her sister
was. She was Ghost, a silent watcher, an apparition, but Ginger, she was a
ghost. She was dead. "But I didn't die for you." Her fingers tangled in
Bridgette's messy hair, pulling the tangles and making Bridgette wince. "You're
dying for me and since the Big Buddha made me to take care of you, I figure I
have some things left to do."
"Go away," she moaned again, rolling onto her back and trying to pull her hair
away from Ginger's fingers but it was like weeds or dirt or maybe Ginger's
fingers were tape. Flypaper. And Bridgette was the fly, trapped and caught,
struggling to get away.
"Oh, B, you know I can't do that." Ginger trickled her fingers through the hair
to Bridgette's face, easily, running her fingers over Bridgette's lips and down
her throat to the shirt she was wearing. "There's a few things that are going
to happen to you, B. You'll want them all. You'll want the blood," the fingers
moved over Bridgette's chest, between her breasts. "You'll want the flesh." The
stopped and tickled her waist, where the shirt ended and her pants began.
"You'll want the sex. It's easy being a werewolf, you see, it's primal."
Ginger's face glowed when Bridgette looked up at her in a way she'd only seen
after Ginger had kicked Trina's ass and asked 'Do you think she's pretty?'
"You'll like it, B, you will. I know it. We're sisters, together forever,
remember?" The fingers sneaked under Bridgette's shirt and they felt light and
hot, making her stomach tighten and flinch away. But it felt good too, to touch
her sister again, to feel her right there, hear her, dead or alive. Because
they did belong together or had, maybe.
It was all fucked up. "So? I'm controlling it," she muttered, wanting to slap
the hand away but not.
"Now you're just deluding yourself, B. You're," Ginger leaned forward, her nose
rubbing against Bridgette's cheek and trailing down to her neck as Ginger
inhaled, deeply. "Fucked. You're so fucked you don't even have a clue. It will
only get worse when he gets here." She inhaled again and Bridgette thought she
felt breath, living warm breath on her neck to go with the fingers on her
stomach and chest and her breasts. "So you have a choice, B. You let me, your
sister who promised to die for you, to kill for you, take care of you. Or you
wait until he gets here and trust me, you're not going to like it very much.
You're too controlled, too self-contained and into yourself to like the primal,
B. You're not like me." Ginger's fingers were on Bridgette's nipple now, her
left one, squeezing and pinching and rolling, the way Bridgette liked to do
herself in the bathroom, when she had privacy back home before everything went
to shit. It was like Ginger knew, knew what Bridgette wanted and maybe she did
because she was dead and a goddamn ghost. "What do you say, B? Do you think I'm
pretty?"
"Yes," Bridgette said, honestly, because Ginger was beautiful, even now, even
dead and she had amazing fingers, fingers on her and fingers in her, under her
pants and under her underwear, where nothing and no one but Bridgette's fingers
had gone before, poking and probing and rubbing and it felt so good, like she
was close with her sister again. "I miss you, Ginger," she said, breathless, as
they touched, as she remembered what it was like not to be alone, as she
remembered her sister and Ginger's very being with each stroke.
"I know, B. I'm right here," Ginger said, and it was over, heat rushing
through, from the tips of her hair to the tips of her toes. "And so's she."
When Bridgette opened her eyes, Ginger jerked her head toward the door and
Bridgette looked. It was open, a crack, just a small crack, and she could see
eyes. Ghost's eyes.
She'd been watching them.
The door slid open further and Ghost stepped into the room. "Is that what
sisterhood is?"
 

                                        
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