Response to challenge 'walls'
A little bit stream of consciousness. Early season three.
There is a wall between you.
You’re not sure what the wall is made of. Sometimes it’s a mirror; you see your own face, and you know that he’s seeing his own face on the other side. At other times, it’s glass, and you look right at him. Sometimes he meets your eyes; more often than not, he keeps going about his daily business, and you wonder if the wall is still a mirror for him. Then you wonder if, when you were staring at your cuts and bruises and that scar in the mirror, it had been glass for him.
He has everything, on the other side of the wall: a job, a home, a loving wife. Sometimes he gets really bold and reaches over to your side, where he pulls a person, a few years, or a bleeding heart away from you. You scold, and cry, and sometimes despair, but he never really gives them back, and you never reach over to take things from him.
Sometimes he’s so happy on his side of the wall that you can’t possibly blame him for leaving you. At other times, when the wall is glass for both of you, you meet his eyes and the sadness in them makes you wonder if he misses you too. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to go back, but the glass is soundproof, and his silent pleas fall on ears too eager to hear them properly.
At times, you blame him for the wall. You know he probably blames you and, when blaming each other gets old, you both turn around to blame Fate. Fate smirks at you and tells you to suck it up. When it hurts too much, you blame Sloane, because life is easier when you can blame Sloane for everything that goes wrong.
You still work well together, but it’s different now. When before you fought side by side, you now fight side by side with a wall in between. He passes you your mission debrief through a slot in the wall, and the slot is too small for a heart to fit through. But you do good work, and that at least is something you can still rely on.
Usually, the wall is some sort of glass. Sometimes, it becomes metal, and you leave it well alone. Occasionally it becomes water and you almost dare to touch it, but shy away for fear of the backlash. There are times when the wall was but mist or fog, and you’d lean over to kiss him. For him, some of those times felt like he was kissing the glass.
Sometimes the wall isn’t there at all. Mostly, you rejoice at that fact; sometimes, that’s when it hurts the most.
There is a wall between you.
You’re not sure what the wall is made of. Sometimes it’s a mirror; you see your own face, and you know that he’s seeing his own face on the other side. At other times, it’s glass, and you look right at him. Sometimes he meets your eyes; more often than not, he keeps going about his daily business, and you wonder if the wall is still a mirror for him. Then you wonder if, when you were staring at your cuts and bruises and that scar in the mirror, it had been glass for him.
He has everything, on the other side of the wall: a job, a home, a loving wife. Sometimes he gets really bold and reaches over to your side, where he pulls a person, a few years, or a bleeding heart away from you. You scold, and cry, and sometimes despair, but he never really gives them back, and you never reach over to take things from him.
Sometimes he’s so happy on his side of the wall that you can’t possibly blame him for leaving you. At other times, when the wall is glass for both of you, you meet his eyes and the sadness in them makes you wonder if he misses you too. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to go back, but the glass is soundproof, and his silent pleas fall on ears too eager to hear them properly.
At times, you blame him for the wall. You know he probably blames you and, when blaming each other gets old, you both turn around to blame Fate. Fate smirks at you and tells you to suck it up. When it hurts too much, you blame Sloane, because life is easier when you can blame Sloane for everything that goes wrong.
You still work well together, but it’s different now. When before you fought side by side, you now fight side by side with a wall in between. He passes you your mission debrief through a slot in the wall, and the slot is too small for a heart to fit through. But you do good work, and that at least is something you can still rely on.
Usually, the wall is some sort of glass. Sometimes, it becomes metal, and you leave it well alone. Occasionally it becomes water and you almost dare to touch it, but shy away for fear of the backlash. There are times when the wall was but mist or fog, and you’d lean over to kiss him. For him, some of those times felt like he was kissing the glass.
Sometimes the wall isn’t there at all. Mostly, you rejoice at that fact; sometimes, that’s when it hurts the most.