Oz Kiss-a-Thon!
Title: The Power to Heal
Author: Aeo
Pairing: Genevieve Beecher/Tobias Beecher
Rating: PG/PG13?
Warnings: Unbetaed
Disclaimer: Oz isn‘t mine, italicized text quoted from season 1 ep. “Visits, Conjugal and Otherwise”
Word Count: 400
Are you transporting any drugs, weapons, explosives, alcohol…
The words kept pounding through her brain even as Genevieve rushed through the parking lot to the safety of the Mercedes. Where the hell were the keys? She dug frantically through her purse. She had to get out of there. Escape. Now.
Explosives…
She found the key, but her keychain was stuck on the inside of her purse. Genevieve twisted and pulled savagely at the metal and the cloth and the leather. “I’m the damn explosive!” She was screaming in her head, but all that came out of her mouth was a harsh whisper. The wind howled in unison with the gale in her mind so she didn‘t hear it when the purse began to rip. The keys came free suddenly. Genevieve was still pulling so hard the momentum caused her to lose her balance and she tripped over the curb.
The purse flew out of her hands and its contents burst into the air as Genevieve fell. Lipstick and lotion pelted a nearby car like shrapnel. Genevieve landed with a splash in the middle of a muddy puddle. The palms of her hands were bleeding where she scraped them on the asphalt trying to break the fall. Her whole body ached as she dragged herself up to sit on the curb. She pulled up her left pant leg to reveal more blood, a skinned knee.
Genevieve hugged her knee to her chest and almost on instinct brought her lips down and pressed them to the rough flesh right above the scrape. In that moment, Genevieve would have given anything to return to a time when kisses still held the power to heal. All her kisses were empty now, powerless. Hadn’t she already proved that today?
Holly made a painting for you…It’s of our house…You’re not in it. You’re not in the painting.
He didn’t say anything then. He just kissed her. Silently begging her for the healing touch of her lips, but she pushed him away. So he begged less silently.
Please. Honey just hold me. Please.
And she did. She held him and made love to him, but the comfort and the healing didn’t come. It was all empty, like their house, their bed, and her soul. He wasn’t in the painting. He wasn’t in her world anymore and no number of kisses could even begin to erase that ache.