Rinoa/Caraway: Don't Take Me Away From Here
Title: Don't Take Me Away From Here
Claim: Rinoa/Caraway
Rating: K (some language)
Prompts: Pale, fear, dying (#23, #2, #83)
Note: Chronicles the day Julia died, and should be subsequently read alongside 'The Half Hour'
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Rinoa wondered if her Father would notice the dried blood on her face. She worried because if he looked at her with sadness, then it would be real, and she couldn't pretend.
They had wrapped a blanket around her and gave her some sweet tea for the shock. Sympathetic nurses sat with her, occasionally patting her knee and smiling with a kind of tainted warmth. There was gossip and thinly veiled speculation everywhere since they announced the patient. Who wouldn't be curious? Everyone knew her name.
Rinoa shut her eyes.
The radio was on. Some nameless jazz piece, something forgetful and melancholy.
He crashed through the doors of the hospital, wild and erratic (and acting not much like a Caraway, but more like a man). Rinoa knew it was him, knew that energy.
“Take me to her.”
It was a demand.
She could see her hand and the glint of her silver wedding ring. She waited for it to move.
They advised against it, brought numerous doctors out who nervously adjusted their glasses and pens under his gaze. Some hid behind clipboards, quoting foreign terms such as BP and oxygen levels and organ damage. Words that meant nothing but everything, because they were sketches of what was the truth but not the truth in itself. The truth, to them, was too horrific to mutter in his presence.
How long till she could go home? She wanted to go home.
“Take me to her, you fucking idiots!”
He sounded like a monster. Rinoa imagined his black tongue, spitting out blood and fire. Her cheeks burned with an odd sense of shame at his actions.
She didn't like this song. It made her feel sad...
She felt so sad.
He was so angry, Rinoa's tummy felt bad when she looked at him.
A pure, warm red trailed down Julia's wedding finger. Rinoa spoke her name in a whisper, afraid of disturbing her.
No one was doing anything, they were letting him explode. Rinoa let out a sob and drew her knees into her stomach, trying to make the horrible feeling stop. Just be quiet, accept it, do nothing (it's what you usually do, anyway).
Nothing. Just nothing. She wanted more than anything to touch her Mother's hand. She was so sad.
Rinoa closed her hands over her ears. So sad, so sad, so sad her tummy hurt and she started to sob quietly.
How long had she been there?
The glass was shattered everywhere, lying on her lap like miniature stars. Her whole body hurt. Was this what it was like to die?
She walked out onto the corridor, clutching her tummy and looking at him. His hair was wet with the rain.
She could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance, like an approaching growl of an animal. The rain ran heavily against her window, morphing the outside world into odd colours and shapes.
She ran her hand against the cold glass, waiting for someone to appear, just waiting for so long with the stench of death in the car.
A whir of orange light blinded her. Breathless faces emerged, arms outstretched, and the smell of rain mixing in with the smell of iron.
They held her in their arms, shaking.
“Where's my daughter?”
“She's fine, some superficial wounds...”
It'll be okay, it'll be okay.
...Will it? Do you promise?
His eyes snapped towards hers'. He had never seen someone look more afraid of him. He stared at his hands, feeling them shake with adrenaline.
He could hear her voice all over again, minutes before she walked out the door.
“Stop shouting, it scares her!”
“Rinoa...” He whispered, but she was lying on the floor.
In her mind she saw her Mother's last smile, the way she fiddled with her wedding ring, the smell of her breaths on her cheek-- telling her how much she loved her.
Don't take me away from here and just--
Promise me, promise me, promise me it'll be OK...?