Title: lest we forget
Fandom: Romeo and Juliet
Rating: G
Length: ~800 words
Content notes: Just lots and lots of sadness.
Author notes: discussion of canonical character deaths
Summary: Benvolio pays his respects to the dead.


There is little in Verona now that reminds people of the family feud that ravaged the city for so many years. Montague and Capulet signed a peace treaty and vowed to use their money to give the wayward youths of the city hope and occupation. Ten years are a long time in the life of a city, and longer in the life of a man who has worked hard to keep the peace that was won at such high cost.

But there are some scars that run deeper than urban rejuvenation projects can cover, some memories that will always linger. You don't move on from this much destruction so much as you move around it.

Benvolio takes one last look at his lesson plans, then grabs his bag and turns off the light before he heads out. It is the first of November, which is as good a day as any, and has been for the last ten years. They say the veil between the worlds is thinnest at this time of year. Benvolio doesn't know if he really believes that, but it helps with what he wants to do tonight, and it means there will be candles and tea lights all over the graveyard. He makes his way carefully between the graves of those less wealthy, less fortunate than even his friends in the mausoleum at the heart of the cemetery. He enters and takes a moment to light his candle before he proceeds. His fingers run across the cold marble that is so familiar under his fingers after all this time. He closes his eyes and remembers.

Romeo, the golden boy; centre of every party, life and soul of endless summers, and even as a boy, always up to mischief, always running ahead and Benvolio forever playing catch-up, trying to rein him in, except Romeo was like a wild beast in its tracks, not to be tamed.

Benvolio had blamed himself, of course - he should have watched over Romeo better, should have seen it coming and stopped it. Time had brought him to the realisation that Romeo, by that time, had been the master of his own desires, that Benvolio never had been his brother's - cousin's - keeper.

Juliet - a rose cut off in full bloom, her father said. Benvolio barely knew her, and he supposes Romeo did not know much more of her. He's often reflected that their love should have conquered all, if their stars had crossed at a later point in life, if it hadn't been the first rush of blood for both of them, that taste of adulthood that often leaves destruction in its wake - for them, much more than for most.

Mercutio, finally. Even after all this time, Benvolio find this one hard to confront. A million times of reliving the moment Mercutio breathed his last and Benvolio covered his friend's mouth with his own, right there in the street because secrecy had ceased to matter.

For a while, that pain had been the only thing he could feel, and he couldn't believe how he didn't expire from it, it seemed too much for any living soul to bear.

It took time to remember everything Mercutio was beside that, to remember the good times. Benvolio smiles, thinking of all the times Mercutio babbled the wildest poetry and couldn't remember a word of it in the morning, of how he could be drunk under the table one minute and sober up the next by a touch of the hand, a kiss, the promise of Benvolio's flesh.

Just like Romeo and Juliet, they would never have lasted; Benvolio knows that much. But Mercutio, for all his faults, deserved more than to have his life thrown away as collateral in a fight he had no stakes in.

Benvolio stays and watches the candle burn. Some years, the spirits have visited him; some years, they haven't. He's not haunted any more; he receives their visitation as a blessing if they give it.

It happens just before the candle burns out completely - a shock that comes seemingly from nowhere and makes him sit up straight, then a hand gently carding through his hair, making him break out in gooseflesh all over, and a press of lips to lips that makes him ache with how real it feels.

He gasps, wants to drop his head, but there's a hand under his chin and a press of lips to his forehead. No words, just a gentle caress along his cheek, and then the spirit is gone.

Benvolio smiles, then fumbles for his bag for another candle to light himself the way out.