Ficlet: Requiem
'Ship: Mina/Galvin, of course.
Author's note: Written for on_thecouch 41.1: Out of Time
You close your eyes even though you can't see him even with them open because maybe that way you'll stop the tears from spilling over and down your cheeks. Distantly, you are aware of Ruby muttering denials, buried though they are in Luke's shoulder, and the soft creek of the sleeve of his leather jacket as he strokes her hair. They have each other, the children, and you draw closer to the still form in your arms like some twisted Pieta.
For all your losses, you never quite understood the deeply personal fury he felt over Maggie's death. Never felt that personally robbed of --
Of what?
You've always known this day would come. Always known you would outlive him and be there in the English rain he despised when they put him in the ground. You kept him at arms' length for so long out of fear of this day, yielding only recently to large hands and fierce kisses you'll never feel again. On some level, you knew that when it would come, it would be as sudden and hard as that first kiss in the Stacks. You knew that he would burn up and not, like Jonathan, fade away.
He's still warm, warmer than you are, and you want to shake him violently for being so stupid. Shake him until his teeth rattle and he catches you by the upper arms and says your name over and over until you stop. You'd give absolutely anything to hear him say your name again, his American tongue wrapping strangely and affectionately around the vowels. His head lolls against your shoulder and there's a rage building within you as strong as this crippling grief, anger white-hot and icy cold and consuming.
The frost will settle over you again eventually, because the icy depths of winter always follow a summer's heat wave, but for now, everything burns. The frost will come again and bring numbness in time, in its own sweet time.
You knew there would never be enough time. The blood on your hands is from holding his wounds together for as long as you could, but it's your guts that have been torn apart.
Author's note: Written for on_thecouch 41.1: Out of Time
You close your eyes even though you can't see him even with them open because maybe that way you'll stop the tears from spilling over and down your cheeks. Distantly, you are aware of Ruby muttering denials, buried though they are in Luke's shoulder, and the soft creek of the sleeve of his leather jacket as he strokes her hair. They have each other, the children, and you draw closer to the still form in your arms like some twisted Pieta.
For all your losses, you never quite understood the deeply personal fury he felt over Maggie's death. Never felt that personally robbed of --
Of what?
You've always known this day would come. Always known you would outlive him and be there in the English rain he despised when they put him in the ground. You kept him at arms' length for so long out of fear of this day, yielding only recently to large hands and fierce kisses you'll never feel again. On some level, you knew that when it would come, it would be as sudden and hard as that first kiss in the Stacks. You knew that he would burn up and not, like Jonathan, fade away.
He's still warm, warmer than you are, and you want to shake him violently for being so stupid. Shake him until his teeth rattle and he catches you by the upper arms and says your name over and over until you stop. You'd give absolutely anything to hear him say your name again, his American tongue wrapping strangely and affectionately around the vowels. His head lolls against your shoulder and there's a rage building within you as strong as this crippling grief, anger white-hot and icy cold and consuming.
The frost will settle over you again eventually, because the icy depths of winter always follow a summer's heat wave, but for now, everything burns. The frost will come again and bring numbness in time, in its own sweet time.
You knew there would never be enough time. The blood on your hands is from holding his wounds together for as long as you could, but it's your guts that have been torn apart.