Heroes: "Where or When" (Sandra/Haitian, PG)
Title: Where or When
Author: airspaniel
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sandra Bennet/The Haitian
Word Count: 1138
Spoilers: Five Years Gone
Notes: Written for rare_heroes Brave New Ship challenge.
Summary: After the end of the world, Sandra struggles to find herself. And she remembers...
Credit cards hit the tattered hotel bedspread, followed by a driver’s license and a fan of small photographs.
A blonde girl, smiling excitedly as she wears her cheerleading uniform for the first time.
A boy with strawberry blonde hair and sad eyes, posing for a school picture. He never did like having his picture taken, she thinks.
A dog, all fluffy fur and vacant smiling eyes, next to an enormous blue ribbon. There is a woman in the frame she recognizes. Her name was Sandra Bennet. She supposes it still is.
A happy couple on their wedding day, colors worn and faded, paper wrinkled. They kiss, and something is missing. She thinks the man should be wearing glasses.
Horn-rimmed glasses. The feel of lips on hers and eyes full of love.
Pictures of a life she barely remembers.
And eyes the color of steel, wet, “Sandra, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”
The door closes behind her and her life is over.
She doesn’t want to remember the rest. She cuts up the photos and the credit cards, throwing the pieces into the small trashcan by the bed. The driver’s license she keeps, slipping it back into her wallet.
She’s just going to forget her name anyway, so it might as well be the same one she’s been forgetting for years.
Sandra wipes the tears from her eyes and moves on.
-----
She doesn’t remember what brought her to New York City, and she isn’t surprised. It seems like her memory bleeds out these days, all the evidence of her life seeping away.
The city suits her, hollow and destroyed, trying so desperately to rebuild itself. To remake itself even bigger, brighter, more glorious and awe-inspiring than it ever was.
She supposes she should feel inspired by its example. But all she feels is tired.
The perky young barista hands her a vanilla latte, and she takes it gratefully. Hopefully the caffeine will help ease this migraine she’s been fighting. She rubs her temples, trying to relieve the pulsing pain.
Strangely, she wishes she had a dog to pet.
Instead, her hand finds her purse and opens the orange bottle. She pops two of the pills, chasing them down with half of her coffee. The hot liquid burns her throat, but she relishes the sensation. It takes her mind off the headache.
She sits in the window of the Starbucks, staring absently at the people passing by. Nothing but suits and tourists.
And she still can’t remember why she came here.
Then she sees him. Just a flash, a second of obsidian skin against a white button-down; the barest flicker of eyes like midnight. And she knows.
She leaves her coffee on the table when she runs to catch him.
-----
“Wait!” she calls, breathless. Her head is pounding and her heart is pounding and the concrete is pounding under her feet, but she keeps running.
It’s like he’s deliberately trying to avoid her, crossing in and out of crowds, into side streets. She follows because she has to. Because she has to know.
His head turns, just for a moment. Surely he must have heard her.
He walks into the park, and even as he disappears from view she knows, she knows he’s waiting.
She runs faster.
-----
He stands on a pathway framed by black trees, immaculate in white, hints of gold shining at his belt and his cuffs. The setting sun catches his face, and his sable skin looks like velvet.
His beauty makes her heart ache.
And she remembers…
Her breath is gone, chest heaving with exertion, and she tries to catch it. It catches in her burning throat when his eyes meet hers.
The man stares at her cryptically, a mixture of surprise and sadness.
“I know you,” she whispers. “I know I do.”
He doesn’t respond, piercing eyes still searing her to the bone. She wishes he would say something, anything; tell her she’s not crazy. Tell her he remembers, too.
But she knows he doesn’t speak. She can’t remember his voice.
Her blue eyes turn to water even as she smiles, really smiles, for the first time in years.
Hands shaking, she reaches for him, taking one dark hand between her own. He gasps, softly, as her skin touches his.
“I remember your hands,” she sighs. “You were always so gentle with me.”
She presses his palm against her cheek, closing her eyes at the contact. The things she doesn’t remember don’t matter anymore. Not here, holding onto his wrist so tightly.
His hands are trembling, too, as he holds her face; as his other hand comes up to smooth her wild hair back.
She opens her eyes now, and he’s so close. Close enough to kiss, close enough to see through her eyes into her very soul.
And it’s exactly the way it should be.
She closes the distance, bringing her lips to his, all the need and loss and emptiness in her threatening to tear out through her mouth.
He is stone for a moment, and her heart falls. “Please.” She breathes, over and over, barely a sound against his closed lips. “Please, please, please…”
His lips part and he takes her in, kissing her so sweetly and so deeply that she can feel the hollow places inside her filling up. Like he’s pouring light into her. Like he can give her back all of the memories and feelings and sensations that she has missed so much all these years, just with this kiss.
He tastes like the air before a thunderstorm.
Her hands wrap around his neck, winding her body closer to his. A strong hand falls to her waist, holding her just as tightly.
The other still cradles her face, long fingers resting against her temple, and the rightness of it makes her want to laugh. She arches into the kiss instead, moaning around his tongue; never wanting this moment to end.
He pulls back and stares at her again, dark, endless eyes sparkling with unshed tears. His thumb traces the curve of her jaw, ever so gently wipes her tears away.
“I’m sorry, Sandra. I’m so sorry.” His voice is deep and musical, but the words sting her, and she recoils as if she’d been slapped.
”Sandra, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And another pair of piercing eyes misting as they stare at her, broken behind glass. The last time before the door closed.
The wind whistles loudly in the leaves, and she is alone, standing in the path between the tall, black trees.
He has left no trace, the man with the midnight eyes.
She raises a hand to her lips, trying to remember the feel of the man who has just kissed her. His taste. His warmth.
She can’t. She can’t remember anything.
Only a flash of obsidian skin, and the glint of sunlight on gold.
Author: airspaniel
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sandra Bennet/The Haitian
Word Count: 1138
Spoilers: Five Years Gone
Notes: Written for rare_heroes Brave New Ship challenge.
Summary: After the end of the world, Sandra struggles to find herself. And she remembers...
Credit cards hit the tattered hotel bedspread, followed by a driver’s license and a fan of small photographs.
A blonde girl, smiling excitedly as she wears her cheerleading uniform for the first time.
A boy with strawberry blonde hair and sad eyes, posing for a school picture. He never did like having his picture taken, she thinks.
A dog, all fluffy fur and vacant smiling eyes, next to an enormous blue ribbon. There is a woman in the frame she recognizes. Her name was Sandra Bennet. She supposes it still is.
A happy couple on their wedding day, colors worn and faded, paper wrinkled. They kiss, and something is missing. She thinks the man should be wearing glasses.
Horn-rimmed glasses. The feel of lips on hers and eyes full of love.
Pictures of a life she barely remembers.
And eyes the color of steel, wet, “Sandra, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”
The door closes behind her and her life is over.
She doesn’t want to remember the rest. She cuts up the photos and the credit cards, throwing the pieces into the small trashcan by the bed. The driver’s license she keeps, slipping it back into her wallet.
She’s just going to forget her name anyway, so it might as well be the same one she’s been forgetting for years.
Sandra wipes the tears from her eyes and moves on.
-----
She doesn’t remember what brought her to New York City, and she isn’t surprised. It seems like her memory bleeds out these days, all the evidence of her life seeping away.
The city suits her, hollow and destroyed, trying so desperately to rebuild itself. To remake itself even bigger, brighter, more glorious and awe-inspiring than it ever was.
She supposes she should feel inspired by its example. But all she feels is tired.
The perky young barista hands her a vanilla latte, and she takes it gratefully. Hopefully the caffeine will help ease this migraine she’s been fighting. She rubs her temples, trying to relieve the pulsing pain.
Strangely, she wishes she had a dog to pet.
Instead, her hand finds her purse and opens the orange bottle. She pops two of the pills, chasing them down with half of her coffee. The hot liquid burns her throat, but she relishes the sensation. It takes her mind off the headache.
She sits in the window of the Starbucks, staring absently at the people passing by. Nothing but suits and tourists.
And she still can’t remember why she came here.
Then she sees him. Just a flash, a second of obsidian skin against a white button-down; the barest flicker of eyes like midnight. And she knows.
She leaves her coffee on the table when she runs to catch him.
-----
“Wait!” she calls, breathless. Her head is pounding and her heart is pounding and the concrete is pounding under her feet, but she keeps running.
It’s like he’s deliberately trying to avoid her, crossing in and out of crowds, into side streets. She follows because she has to. Because she has to know.
His head turns, just for a moment. Surely he must have heard her.
He walks into the park, and even as he disappears from view she knows, she knows he’s waiting.
She runs faster.
-----
He stands on a pathway framed by black trees, immaculate in white, hints of gold shining at his belt and his cuffs. The setting sun catches his face, and his sable skin looks like velvet.
His beauty makes her heart ache.
And she remembers…
Her breath is gone, chest heaving with exertion, and she tries to catch it. It catches in her burning throat when his eyes meet hers.
The man stares at her cryptically, a mixture of surprise and sadness.
“I know you,” she whispers. “I know I do.”
He doesn’t respond, piercing eyes still searing her to the bone. She wishes he would say something, anything; tell her she’s not crazy. Tell her he remembers, too.
But she knows he doesn’t speak. She can’t remember his voice.
Her blue eyes turn to water even as she smiles, really smiles, for the first time in years.
Hands shaking, she reaches for him, taking one dark hand between her own. He gasps, softly, as her skin touches his.
“I remember your hands,” she sighs. “You were always so gentle with me.”
She presses his palm against her cheek, closing her eyes at the contact. The things she doesn’t remember don’t matter anymore. Not here, holding onto his wrist so tightly.
His hands are trembling, too, as he holds her face; as his other hand comes up to smooth her wild hair back.
She opens her eyes now, and he’s so close. Close enough to kiss, close enough to see through her eyes into her very soul.
And it’s exactly the way it should be.
She closes the distance, bringing her lips to his, all the need and loss and emptiness in her threatening to tear out through her mouth.
He is stone for a moment, and her heart falls. “Please.” She breathes, over and over, barely a sound against his closed lips. “Please, please, please…”
His lips part and he takes her in, kissing her so sweetly and so deeply that she can feel the hollow places inside her filling up. Like he’s pouring light into her. Like he can give her back all of the memories and feelings and sensations that she has missed so much all these years, just with this kiss.
He tastes like the air before a thunderstorm.
Her hands wrap around his neck, winding her body closer to his. A strong hand falls to her waist, holding her just as tightly.
The other still cradles her face, long fingers resting against her temple, and the rightness of it makes her want to laugh. She arches into the kiss instead, moaning around his tongue; never wanting this moment to end.
He pulls back and stares at her again, dark, endless eyes sparkling with unshed tears. His thumb traces the curve of her jaw, ever so gently wipes her tears away.
“I’m sorry, Sandra. I’m so sorry.” His voice is deep and musical, but the words sting her, and she recoils as if she’d been slapped.
”Sandra, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And another pair of piercing eyes misting as they stare at her, broken behind glass. The last time before the door closed.
The wind whistles loudly in the leaves, and she is alone, standing in the path between the tall, black trees.
He has left no trace, the man with the midnight eyes.
She raises a hand to her lips, trying to remember the feel of the man who has just kissed her. His taste. His warmth.
She can’t. She can’t remember anything.
Only a flash of obsidian skin, and the glint of sunlight on gold.