“There you are.”
IF YOU GET LOST
YOU CAN ALWAYS BE FOUND
Ross Fitzpatrick & Delilah Fitzpatrick
prompt: ring of sunlight
Someone was talking nearby. The quiet steadiness with which they spoke was like an anchor, a path to follow, light cutting through the blanket of darkness all around. He followed it, like breadcrumbs leading the way, little reminders so he wouldn’t get lost. The weight grew less and less, lifting and lightening with each step he took through the heavy fog that had been holding him back. This close to the surface he could feel something, a touch, familiar and warm, the brush of a thumb across his hand. The voice was clearer, achingly familiar, one he heard every morning and every night, in voicemails when she took her lunch break or when she missed him in the middle of the night. The same voice that he remembered so very dimly, like it was years ago, shouting his name under all those bright lights.
The lights were dimmer now, blissfully so, his eyes too tired and strained to take anything more than the smallest points overhead. That was her doing he suspected, she knew they would hurt him if they were any brighter. Smoke played havoc with the eyes. They stung now, already wanting to close after only a few moments and he had to let them.
In a motion that sapped so much of what little strength he possessed he moved his hand, trying to turn it underneath hers to take hold. Where his attempt failed hers was successful, accompanied by a shallow little gasp that was equal parts startled, disbelieving, and relieved. He heard the little rush of breath that told him she was laughing, but it wasn’t her happy laugh, the kind he could get out of her by picking her up from behind in a bear hug or the kind that spilled out of her so easily when she shared stories about her kids and their misadventures. This was the one that came when she was near tears but trying to fight them off, usually for the sake of someone else.
It was a struggle to open his eyes again -- he was so tired -- but he did it for her, finding her face nearby, looking down on him from where she had risen from her seat beside the bed. She looked how he felt. Exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that sinks into the bones and weighs you down, fills your body with lead and threatens to crush you from within. She hadn’t slept in a couple of nights.
“Hey.” That breathless, shaky laugh again, her free hand swiping under her eyes. “There you are.” She squeezed his hand gently, taking her eyes from his long enough to press a kiss to his knuckles. When she looked at his face again -- she was the only thing in focus he realized; somehow that seemed fitting -- the brave and watery smile was gone and he could see the tears shining in her eyes as she shook her head. “You promised you wouldn’t do this to me. You promised.”
He remembered it now, the creak and groan from above and below, the shout over the radio, the deafening crack and roar of wood and metal caving, the floor vanishing from under his feet as the inferno raged. Dimly he remembered hitting the ground, the shock of the impact and the white rush of pain, but nothing more. Being found, pulled from the building, brought to the hospital -- the machines were beeping somewhere off to his right, he could hear them now; there was a dull pain in the back of one hand where the needle was biting into his skin -- and treated by doctors and nurses. None of that. Only her voice, that shout of his name, trying to call him back before he could slip under but too late.
“M’sorry.” His voice felt thick, rough, unused and scratching against his dry throat. Weakly he squeezed her hand, making her sigh and close her eyes. Squeeze them shut. Tears slipped free.
It hurt to move but he lifted his hand anyway, knowing he shouldn’t for the needle in the back of it, the drip that had been keeping him hydrated while he was out. He didn’t care. His fingers brushed over her hair where it had slipped from its ponytail, fiery but soft to the touch, so much like flame but so much safer. He had always loved her hair. The pad of his thumb brushed a tear from the curve of her cheek and he felt her lean into his palm, saw the ghost of a smile return to her face.
“Just…” Drawing in a deep breath, opening her eyes and fixing her gaze on his face, a wife about to lay down the law, she reached up and brushed her hand over his arm. “Don’t do it again.”
With a shake of his head he promised her he wouldn’t. It was out of his hands, his work so dangerous and unpredictable, but it was a promise he had to make, not for his sake but for hers.