[ficlets]
He loved her.
If there was ever one thing outside of the realm of science that he was absolutely sure of, that was it.
He loved Charlotte Staples Lewis so intensely that after her death, every little task became monumental. Sleeping, eating, breathing - he was plagued by nothing other than the thought that he'd broken his promise to her. Juliet tried valiantly to talk him out of it, tried to convince him that he had no control over what happened, but her words didn't help. Nothing did, because nothing would change the fact that Charlotte was gone and he was the only person who could pick up his own pieces and move on.
That's the worst thing about death, Dan thinks. The rest of the world is going to move on with or without you.
Time stops for no man.
(But can he make it bend?)
-
He spent numerous nights writing in his journal in desperation, trying to solve his current problem with equations. Math had never failed him; no matter how long it took, he could always recognize a pattern in the numbers and ferret out a solution in time. He found comfort in the stability of mathematical statements. A proof was always evidence, a formula was always a reliable rule and even though numbers are infinite and abstract, Dan's always been able to grasp them in a way few others can.
Some call it a gift.
Unfortunately, he found no solace in his numbers. Nothing he wrote in his journal made a modicum of sense - it took him two nights to realize he was adding incorrectly.
Some gift, he thinks.
-
"Whatever happened, happened."
He woke up in the middle of the night to the realization that though Charlotte's death was technically in the past, her life was now the present. True, she died in his past, but her own future was many, many chapters from where they were, now.
He's here.
She's here.
Alive.
He told himself he wouldn't do it. He didn't want to be the crazy, scary man Charlotte spoke of as she slipped away - but more than that, he didn't want to lose her.
And then he thinks, maybe if I tell her, I'll just set this whole thing in motion again.
And I'll lose her.
Again.
And again.
And again.
(Bend something far enough and it'll break.)
And he doesn't know what to do, because nothing makes any sense.
That's when he starts to wonder if any of this will actually matter to anyone else, in the end.
-
She approached him, once. He was sitting on the ground with his backpack and journal, staring bleakly at the pages, going over equations that no longer meant anything. He solved them in his head easily enough, but knew they wouldn't ever matter. All his years of work, nullified with a few flashes of light -
It was only when he went to place his journal back in his bag that he realized there was a little girl seated on the ground nearby, rifling through his things.
By the time his mind registered her red hair and blue eyes, she had grabbed hold of his compass and began to turn it around in her tiny hands, watching with fascination as the little arrow inside pointed the same way no matter what she did.
"It's called a compass."
She jumped a little at the sudden sound of his voice (as did he) and looked over at him, blue eyes wide.
He wasn't sure how old she was - two or three, maybe? - but he knew enough that she didn't look old enough to be out on her own like this. He glanced around for any sign of a guardian of some sort, but everyone seemed to be occupied with their own work.
She just had to pick him, didn't she?
"It points North," he explained further.
He knew she didn't really understand. He could tell her anything right now, and she wouldn't understand or remember a thing. He could tell her -
- no, he couldn't.
"Compass," he repeated, pointing to it.
She looked at him, then back to the compass, light eyebrows furrowed. He could tell she was thinking about it, but she didn't say a thing.
He never was any good with children.
-
It's late in the morning when Miles finds him standing on the beach, half-torn papers scattered at his feet.
"Twice."
"What?"
"Damn it, I ain't goin' out there again. This is the third time since last week - I can't deal with him! He doesn't even like me!"
"Well, James, if you hadn't slapped him..."
"Why the hell don't you go, then, if you like him so much?"
"He hasn't been responding to me."
"So what makes you think he'll talk to me? Why don't we make Dr. Venkman over here go?"
Miles sighed, annoyed.
"Fine."
He agreed, if only for the sake of shutting Sawyer up.
"Twice," Dan repeated, eyes unfocused. "I couldn't save either of them."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Theresa."
Miles pinched the bridge of his nose and held back a sigh. "I don't know who that is, Dan."
After a few moments of silence, Dan broke his blank stare and glanced down to the papers, then over at Miles. "Have you seen Charlotte today?"
"... no. Dan, she's - "
"Wearing a blue dress. I saw her with her mother, back by the barracks."
For a second, Miles suspected that Dan had finally lost the last of his marbles. But then he thought back to their first night here, and the way Dan looked at a little red-haired girl who just happened to run past and wave at him -
"Oh, shit. Shit, man, I didn't - is that really her?"
"She took my compass."
-
Eventually, he reaches a conclusion and plans a course of action.
No, he writes sloppily in his journal, hand trembling, this won't matter to anyone except me and her.
I have to do it.
She could remember, this time. She could remember and carry it with her and the next (final?) time they meet, she could hate him. She could look at him with terrified eyes and maybe even turn and run away, but that wouldn't matter.
No matter what the cost - I have to save her.
With a shuddering sigh he closes his journal, stuffs it in his bag, and heads out in search of his compass.
x-posted to mun journal,
If there was ever one thing outside of the realm of science that he was absolutely sure of, that was it.
He loved Charlotte Staples Lewis so intensely that after her death, every little task became monumental. Sleeping, eating, breathing - he was plagued by nothing other than the thought that he'd broken his promise to her. Juliet tried valiantly to talk him out of it, tried to convince him that he had no control over what happened, but her words didn't help. Nothing did, because nothing would change the fact that Charlotte was gone and he was the only person who could pick up his own pieces and move on.
That's the worst thing about death, Dan thinks. The rest of the world is going to move on with or without you.
Time stops for no man.
(But can he make it bend?)
-
He spent numerous nights writing in his journal in desperation, trying to solve his current problem with equations. Math had never failed him; no matter how long it took, he could always recognize a pattern in the numbers and ferret out a solution in time. He found comfort in the stability of mathematical statements. A proof was always evidence, a formula was always a reliable rule and even though numbers are infinite and abstract, Dan's always been able to grasp them in a way few others can.
Some call it a gift.
Unfortunately, he found no solace in his numbers. Nothing he wrote in his journal made a modicum of sense - it took him two nights to realize he was adding incorrectly.
Some gift, he thinks.
-
"Whatever happened, happened."
He woke up in the middle of the night to the realization that though Charlotte's death was technically in the past, her life was now the present. True, she died in his past, but her own future was many, many chapters from where they were, now.
He's here.
She's here.
Alive.
He told himself he wouldn't do it. He didn't want to be the crazy, scary man Charlotte spoke of as she slipped away - but more than that, he didn't want to lose her.
And then he thinks, maybe if I tell her, I'll just set this whole thing in motion again.
And I'll lose her.
Again.
And again.
And again.
(Bend something far enough and it'll break.)
And he doesn't know what to do, because nothing makes any sense.
That's when he starts to wonder if any of this will actually matter to anyone else, in the end.
-
She approached him, once. He was sitting on the ground with his backpack and journal, staring bleakly at the pages, going over equations that no longer meant anything. He solved them in his head easily enough, but knew they wouldn't ever matter. All his years of work, nullified with a few flashes of light -
It was only when he went to place his journal back in his bag that he realized there was a little girl seated on the ground nearby, rifling through his things.
By the time his mind registered her red hair and blue eyes, she had grabbed hold of his compass and began to turn it around in her tiny hands, watching with fascination as the little arrow inside pointed the same way no matter what she did.
"It's called a compass."
She jumped a little at the sudden sound of his voice (as did he) and looked over at him, blue eyes wide.
He wasn't sure how old she was - two or three, maybe? - but he knew enough that she didn't look old enough to be out on her own like this. He glanced around for any sign of a guardian of some sort, but everyone seemed to be occupied with their own work.
She just had to pick him, didn't she?
"It points North," he explained further.
He knew she didn't really understand. He could tell her anything right now, and she wouldn't understand or remember a thing. He could tell her -
- no, he couldn't.
"Compass," he repeated, pointing to it.
She looked at him, then back to the compass, light eyebrows furrowed. He could tell she was thinking about it, but she didn't say a thing.
He never was any good with children.
-
It's late in the morning when Miles finds him standing on the beach, half-torn papers scattered at his feet.
"Twice."
"What?"
"Damn it, I ain't goin' out there again. This is the third time since last week - I can't deal with him! He doesn't even like me!"
"Well, James, if you hadn't slapped him..."
"Why the hell don't you go, then, if you like him so much?"
"He hasn't been responding to me."
"So what makes you think he'll talk to me? Why don't we make Dr. Venkman over here go?"
Miles sighed, annoyed.
"Fine."
He agreed, if only for the sake of shutting Sawyer up.
"Twice," Dan repeated, eyes unfocused. "I couldn't save either of them."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Theresa."
Miles pinched the bridge of his nose and held back a sigh. "I don't know who that is, Dan."
After a few moments of silence, Dan broke his blank stare and glanced down to the papers, then over at Miles. "Have you seen Charlotte today?"
"... no. Dan, she's - "
"Wearing a blue dress. I saw her with her mother, back by the barracks."
For a second, Miles suspected that Dan had finally lost the last of his marbles. But then he thought back to their first night here, and the way Dan looked at a little red-haired girl who just happened to run past and wave at him -
"Oh, shit. Shit, man, I didn't - is that really her?"
"She took my compass."
-
Eventually, he reaches a conclusion and plans a course of action.
No, he writes sloppily in his journal, hand trembling, this won't matter to anyone except me and her.
I have to do it.
She could remember, this time. She could remember and carry it with her and the next (final?) time they meet, she could hate him. She could look at him with terrified eyes and maybe even turn and run away, but that wouldn't matter.
No matter what the cost - I have to save her.
With a shuddering sigh he closes his journal, stuffs it in his bag, and heads out in search of his compass.
x-posted to mun journal,