Non-challenge - What Will Be
Title: What Will Be
Characters/Pairing: Owen, John (Owen/Guinevere, John/Blodwen)
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst
Summary: Owen had no comfort for John.
Notes: For over_look.
"Morning," Owen says, when John joins him up by the wall, looking down at the sheep. He ignores that John's eyes are red-rimmed, ignores the wildness in them. He hesitates for a moment before he does it, but then he shifts slightly, so that they're shoulder to shoulder, their arms pressed together. I'm here, the gesture says, and John turns and smiles at him, just a little, just once, in recognition, and that smile lights up his darkened face for a moment. Only for a moment, though, and then it's gone, and John whistles for his dogs, ready to get on with the work of the day. They part then, of course, and it's evening when John comes to stand beside him again.
"Does it get better?" he asks, without preamble, and though he's been expecting the question since he heard the news, he still sucks in a startled breath, looking down at the muddy grass at their feet. He lets the pause stretch long before he even tries to answer, and there's a lump in his throat. The heaviness will never go away, he thinks, and tries to form an answer that isn't quite so pessimistic. "No lies, now," John says, with just a hint of humour, as if reading Owen's thoughts.
"It... Sometimes, you forget," Owen says. "Sometimes you can forget for days, weeks... but not at first, at first you'll think you see her everywhere, even though you can know for sure... you forget, and you wake up thinking everything is fine, and then you remember that it's not. You realise things... you remember all the things you could have done, and you kick yourself for not doing it, and..."
John's hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "The world has not been kind to you, Owen Davies. I almost forgot."
Owen looks up at John, bleak for a moment, and then smiling to soften it. "You have your own grief, John. It is alright."
"It's not," John says, with the tiniest shrug of his shoulders. "But for me, I think, it will be."
Characters/Pairing: Owen, John (Owen/Guinevere, John/Blodwen)
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst
Summary: Owen had no comfort for John.
Notes: For over_look.
"Morning," Owen says, when John joins him up by the wall, looking down at the sheep. He ignores that John's eyes are red-rimmed, ignores the wildness in them. He hesitates for a moment before he does it, but then he shifts slightly, so that they're shoulder to shoulder, their arms pressed together. I'm here, the gesture says, and John turns and smiles at him, just a little, just once, in recognition, and that smile lights up his darkened face for a moment. Only for a moment, though, and then it's gone, and John whistles for his dogs, ready to get on with the work of the day. They part then, of course, and it's evening when John comes to stand beside him again.
"Does it get better?" he asks, without preamble, and though he's been expecting the question since he heard the news, he still sucks in a startled breath, looking down at the muddy grass at their feet. He lets the pause stretch long before he even tries to answer, and there's a lump in his throat. The heaviness will never go away, he thinks, and tries to form an answer that isn't quite so pessimistic. "No lies, now," John says, with just a hint of humour, as if reading Owen's thoughts.
"It... Sometimes, you forget," Owen says. "Sometimes you can forget for days, weeks... but not at first, at first you'll think you see her everywhere, even though you can know for sure... you forget, and you wake up thinking everything is fine, and then you remember that it's not. You realise things... you remember all the things you could have done, and you kick yourself for not doing it, and..."
John's hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "The world has not been kind to you, Owen Davies. I almost forgot."
Owen looks up at John, bleak for a moment, and then smiling to soften it. "You have your own grief, John. It is alright."
"It's not," John says, with the tiniest shrug of his shoulders. "But for me, I think, it will be."