Author's note: This is my first fanfic, based on Eight Days of Luke. Pearl is the name of Alan's mother-it wasn't specified in the book any where. I can probably write more chapters but I'll need some reviews first. Note: THERE WILL BE NO SLASH WHATSOEVER!!! Sorry to disappoint anyone.

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to Diana Wynne Jones and Norse myths, but they are temporarily my puppets and will do my bidding. MWAHAHAHAHA!!!


Astrid slumped against the wall. The tears kept coming-they wouldn't stop, not since that day a week ago.

She couldn't sleep-every time she closed her eyes she saw his face, beaming up at her like he had when she announced the move to Alan's place. The trust in his eyes, the trust he had in her.

Someone knocked at the door and Astrid made a pitiful attempt to wipe away the tears. Pearl (the random name I gave Alan's mother) stuck her head through the doorway.

"Astrid, dear," she said kindly, "come down and have something to eat before the car comes to take us to the funeral." Astrid nodded and Pearl smiled before leaving.

Pearl was mothering Astrid a lot-it made them both feel better about the accident.

Wiping the tears away she stood up and glanced at her reflection in the mirror before looking away and wishing she hadn't. A week of mourning had left its mark.

Straightening the black dress she was wearing, she closed her eyes trying to focus on anything but David, his face haunting her. Giving another quiet sob she reached out to grasp the tissues.

She wasn't sure if she could manage through the funeral-could she pretend to feel sick?

But no, she owed this to David, it was all her fault... her grasping hands met a hard surface and she looked down, blinking, to see a matchbox. Her mind filled with an image-a pale, red haired young boy surrounded by adults, pointing and accusing him. Luke.

She had almost forgotten Luke-it had been a year since it happened and they hadn't seen him since. She and David… wiping away more treacherous tears she pulled out a match. Would Luke answer? Could he?

Luke, fiery, mischievous Luke, self proclaimed most cunning of the Norse gods, and David's one time closest friend.

Dabbing away more tears with a tissue, she was about to light the match when Pearl stuck her head around the door again.

"Astrid, dear, come on, you don't want to be late for the funeral." Astrid nodded.

"Y-yes, I just w-want to h-have a q-quick s-smoke first." She dug in her purse for a cigarette. Pearl frowned.

"Now dear, you know how David felt about your smoking. What would he say if-"

"Well it doesn't really matter now, does it?" Astrid hissed spitefully, and then blushed. "Sorry, Pearl-just… one?"

Pearl frowned, and then nodded. "OK, dear. Quickly." Smiling at her gratefully, Astrid struck the match, whispering "Luke."

Nothing happened. Astrid gave a quick sob then stood up. "OK, Pearl, I'll be there in a minute."

That was before she heard the tapping at the window.