TWW FIC: Flowers in the Dirt
Title: Flowers in the Dirt
Author: shutterbug_12
Characters: Josh/Donna
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Only borrowing. No infringement intended.
Summary: For the past five minutes, the doctor’s voice looped in his mind.
Author's Note: AU for Memorial Day/NSF Thurmont (before Josh visits Donna in the OR). Written for tosca1390 at ww_secretsanta. Thank you so much to my beta magisterequitum. Feedback and concrit is love.
"Sir? Mr. Lyman?"
"Wh--what?" Dazed, Josh turned and swayed on his feet, throwing his arm out toward the wall. For the past five minutes, the doctor’s voice looped in his mind. Donna’s doctor. Unable to remove the clot--traveled--resuscitation was unsuccessful. Did everything--I’m sorry.
"I’m sorry?" he asked, barely able to focus on the nurse in front of him.
She extended a bouquet of roses. "You left these at the desk," she said, her voice soft.
When his eyes fell upon the bundle, he blinked, his mind suddenly blank. Unable to swallow. All the air punched out of him. His windpipe, his chest--his whole body--felt crushed, and he silently, mechanically, reached for the flowers. Sour acid rolled up his throat, and he forced it down. Oh, God. Oh, God. No, no. Stop. It’s not--she’s not--these were for her. They were for her.
His hand curled loosely around the flower stems as the nurse turned away. He tightened his fist. Thorns pressed into his palm.
I never should have left. I never should have left her. He squeezed a handful of his hair as he walked away from that corridor. From that wretched, unbearable space. From Donna’s mother. From Donna’s body. He shut his eyes and choked on a shallow breath, desperate to block that image of her body. God, her body.
Blame and doubt swirled in his brain as his feet carried him toward the exit. Be careful, she’d said. The last words he had heard from her as he’d turned in the doorway and offered her a soft smile. I’ll be back in a bit, he’d promised, certain she’d be asleep--and alive--in her bed when he came back to her. He’d been sure.
Outside, her name trailed into a whimper as he forced air past the sharp knots in his chest. When he unclenched his hand to scrub tears off his cheeks, her roses fell and bounced on the concrete. Soft and delicate. Beautiful. Dead.
A sudden explosion of fury drowned out the sounds of his wet, thick hiccups as he raised his foot and stomped on the bloom of a rose. Then a second. Then a third, until too many tears blurred his vision, and he blindly pounded the sidewalk. I sent her. I sent her there. I killed her. God damn it. God damn it.
"God damn it." His foot twisted over the last round bloom before he stumbled backwards and crashed into the wall of the hospital.
"I sent her," he breathed, his back to the wall as he collapsed to the pavement. He pulled his knees to his chest and slowly tilted his face to the black, starless sky. Between noisy, broken breaths, he whispered, "I loved her. I loved her. Oh, God, I loved her."
A month later, he sank to his knees beside her headstone. With his palm flat over her name, he murmured the words that he’d cried to the dark German sky--as true and desperate as they had ever been--before he carefully laid twelve red roses on the still-soft dirt.
Author: shutterbug_12
Characters: Josh/Donna
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Only borrowing. No infringement intended.
Summary: For the past five minutes, the doctor’s voice looped in his mind.
Author's Note: AU for Memorial Day/NSF Thurmont (before Josh visits Donna in the OR). Written for tosca1390 at ww_secretsanta. Thank you so much to my beta magisterequitum. Feedback and concrit is love.
"Sir? Mr. Lyman?"
"Wh--what?" Dazed, Josh turned and swayed on his feet, throwing his arm out toward the wall. For the past five minutes, the doctor’s voice looped in his mind. Donna’s doctor. Unable to remove the clot--traveled--resuscitation was unsuccessful. Did everything--I’m sorry.
"I’m sorry?" he asked, barely able to focus on the nurse in front of him.
She extended a bouquet of roses. "You left these at the desk," she said, her voice soft.
When his eyes fell upon the bundle, he blinked, his mind suddenly blank. Unable to swallow. All the air punched out of him. His windpipe, his chest--his whole body--felt crushed, and he silently, mechanically, reached for the flowers. Sour acid rolled up his throat, and he forced it down. Oh, God. Oh, God. No, no. Stop. It’s not--she’s not--these were for her. They were for her.
His hand curled loosely around the flower stems as the nurse turned away. He tightened his fist. Thorns pressed into his palm.
I never should have left. I never should have left her. He squeezed a handful of his hair as he walked away from that corridor. From that wretched, unbearable space. From Donna’s mother. From Donna’s body. He shut his eyes and choked on a shallow breath, desperate to block that image of her body. God, her body.
Blame and doubt swirled in his brain as his feet carried him toward the exit. Be careful, she’d said. The last words he had heard from her as he’d turned in the doorway and offered her a soft smile. I’ll be back in a bit, he’d promised, certain she’d be asleep--and alive--in her bed when he came back to her. He’d been sure.
Outside, her name trailed into a whimper as he forced air past the sharp knots in his chest. When he unclenched his hand to scrub tears off his cheeks, her roses fell and bounced on the concrete. Soft and delicate. Beautiful. Dead.
A sudden explosion of fury drowned out the sounds of his wet, thick hiccups as he raised his foot and stomped on the bloom of a rose. Then a second. Then a third, until too many tears blurred his vision, and he blindly pounded the sidewalk. I sent her. I sent her there. I killed her. God damn it. God damn it.
"God damn it." His foot twisted over the last round bloom before he stumbled backwards and crashed into the wall of the hospital.
"I sent her," he breathed, his back to the wall as he collapsed to the pavement. He pulled his knees to his chest and slowly tilted his face to the black, starless sky. Between noisy, broken breaths, he whispered, "I loved her. I loved her. Oh, God, I loved her."
A month later, he sank to his knees beside her headstone. With his palm flat over her name, he murmured the words that he’d cried to the dark German sky--as true and desperate as they had ever been--before he carefully laid twelve red roses on the still-soft dirt.