Multi-Fandom One Shots

The Spirit Is Willing (Moira O'Hara)

You inherited the house in all its Edwardian glory. Living alone was nothing new to you, though you were used to being alone. That is, until you discovered the help. You had the vaguest memory of a redhead and a blonde looking after you in your youth and it seemed the maid from your infancy had aged 40 years in a fraction of the time. In any event, you weren't always alone at home. 

She popped up when you felt most alone, it seemed. Like the day you called out of work, staying in bed because that was all you had the strength for. You knew she worked Monday through Thursday, but you weren't expecting her in your room. Her worn hand landed on your shoulder, the other pulling the cover from over your head. "Miss..." Moira called sympathetically. She settled on the edge of the bed, holding your face next. "Why are you not  at work?"

You couldn't bring yourself to look up at her. You shrugged, following the design of her skirt with your eyes. 

Moira clicked her tongue and leaned back. She stared at you for a long moment and you stared at her. She had her ruby hair in its usual braid-bun, a few strands framing her perpetually concerned face, her brilliant blue eye and other pure blue. 

Once your gaze met her neck, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to pull the blanket to hide you again. 

The ginger moved faster than you and she had a hidden strength. With that, it was easy to keep you from hiding. "Come now." She got back to her feet, taking your hands, covering you with words before she had to break out those muscles again. You were on your feet in no time, stunned and pouting. She dragged you downstairs and out into the garden. "Tend to your garden," the maid recommended. 

With a sigh, you went to brush past the woman and return to bed, but Moira caught you by the shoulders. 

"Weed the garden, little Miss. Get ready for the season," she insisted. 

You pressed your palms to your forehead, taking a big breath. "Alright," you whispered, relieving the aid who worried briefly for her job. "I need my gloves," you continued to say quietly. 

Moira nodded and headed to the corner of the yard, to the shed. You were right on her tail, taking the accessories once she had them. She watched you work in the rising heat, admiring as you stretched to get the seeds. She disappeared from the doorway, emerging not long after with a pitcher of ice tea. It was an oddly domestic scene and you felt the melancholy release your heart. You thanked her silently, with an arm around her waist, then your head on her shoulder. 

*

You didn't leave the house much, working from home too. You met the only neighbor not too intimidated by the house to meet you. She was one for backhanded remarks, in particular toward Moira so you never warmed to her. But something about the isolation had gotten to you and you'd started having nightmares. It didn't disrupt your work, but you worked more in the fresh air and you left the house more. 

Moiraine didn't know what your nightmares were about as you refused to tell, but she saw their effects. She knew the evil of this house well and prayed neither it nor its inhabitants were messing with you. She sat with you at night, not that you were aware, to offer what comfort you could but she always disappeared if you woke up. This time, she was expected to be there and you had fallen asleep on the couch. She walked slowly up to the couch. Looking around the room for Dr. Harmon. 

You were jerking, swatting, mumbling. You threw your head back and almost flung yourself off the couch. Moira lunged forward and caught you, pushing you onto the cushions. Your eyes popped open and you looked over your shoulder at the frightened ginger. 

Moiraine stepped back, releasing you. She'd almost let her younger self show, but you'd see it already if you were attracted to her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. You were having an energetic nightmare."