new short Erik/Charles fic
Just posting this here because I think it got lost in comments somewhere. Also, mcfassy Film AU Fest reminder--you're still welcome to sign up, as last-minute as you want, as long as works go up by the end of this Sunday!
Title: And Find Me There
Word Count: 444
Rating: G
Disclaimers: characters belong to Marvel, not me! Title from Live’s “Run To The ( Read more... )
Title: And Find Me There
Word Count: 444
Rating: G
Disclaimers: characters belong to Marvel, not me! Title from Live’s “Run To The ( Read more... )
It doesn't matter, not at all. They're perfect complements for each other, support in all the best ways, tangible and not. I think Erik's non-response--there's nothing to explain--is one of my favorite lines ever, actually!
Back to poking at the Continuation, in between student appointments...
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Michael stared at the clock. The alarm was about to go off, one minute away, and he tried to figure out how to reach it before it could shrill the alert into the gilt-edged and languorous air. This proved to be a complicated puzzle, because James was anchoring his arms; and the noise crashed into the silence like an avalanche.
James flinched, blinked, opened his eyes; “Fuck,” Michael said, with emphasis, and lunged across him to smack the offending machinery until it stopped. “Sorry, sorry, go back to sleep…”
Tropical-water eyes considered that comment for a second; and then James raised an eyebrow at him, eloquently.
“Oh-here-but you really can go back to sleep, we’ve got time, or at least another five minutes of time, you can have that…” But he was handing over the bedside water anyway, talking.
James took it out of his hand, took a sip, swallowed. Coaxed the first words of the morning out of his throat. “Don’t we have to be on time? We are sort of the most important people of the day.”
“We are, yes. That means they’ll all not mind waiting for us. More?” The bottle was nearly empty; he’d collected a full one before bed, as usual, but James had been drinking out of it before falling asleep, claiming to be thirsty. It might’ve been true, or might’ve been a desire to appreciate the gesture; James did that, sometimes, he’d learned. A nonverbal thank-you, with a smile.
James was fine, these days, these mornings. No pain glittering sharply around the corners of the words. Simply easier, with a sip of water, wetness, lubrication, for that first speech.
James’d told him that much on a misty morning, the daylight wreathed in shimmering grey, volunteering the information in response to Michael’s unspoken questioning glance at the bottle on the nightstand. Michael’d brought him water the next night. And the night after that. All the nights, so that James could awaken with it beside him every day.
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And this is the perfect little gesture with the water - a lovely example of Michael's love and care. Although the fact that James needs the water every morning, and probably always will, will never not be a little bit heartbreaking. For us the readers and for both of them...
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And this is the perfect little gesture with the water - a lovely example of Michael's love and care.
This was actually one of the older pieces that I had written, for this, at least the core of it. It's about healing, I think--in the way that Joss Whedon once said about his character River from Firefly: you don't become whole because you magically wake up no longer broken, you become whole because the people around you decide you aren't broken and maybe never were. (Love the Whedon.) They have their routine, now; it's not exceptional or pitiable or any of that, it's ordinary extraordinary life, full of unspoken, unremarked, entirely appreciated, tokens of love.
It is absolutely bittersweet--though much more sweet than bitter--but you can't go through something like that and not be changed, after all. It's physical because that adds an extra little sting of poignancy--there's always a reminder. But it's a reminder of survival. :-)
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