By Kristin (Midnight Blue)
Rating: PG
Summary: I'm afraid to let her go
Spoilers: Fallout Parts I and II
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Hank Steinberg, Jerry Bruckheimer, and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: First, a HUGE thanks to Dev for giving this the once-over before I posted. You rock, as always, and I greatly appreciate your support and feedback. Second, I'm actually going to thank ALP and Poppy Montgomery, because their perfect portrayals of these characters makes this show so worth it. And thanks to all my Maple Street groupies, you guys are awesome! Enjoy!
*
I try to imagine my life without her. Her presence is a fixture in my life; familiar, steady. She lingers in my soul, stirring the emotions beneath the surface of my heart I'm not supposed to feel for anyone but Marie.
Marie's face lies safely nestled against our pillows. Our pillows. Her pillows. Maybe they never belonged to me. Maybe she never belonged to me.
It's early and quiet and I can't stay here, pretending, trying, living a lie. It's the easy way out; to be here, to be Marie's husband. But it's not what I want.
I want to see her, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid to see her pale face, too pale to be real. I'm afraid to hear her broken whispers, see her scared eyes staring up at me again, begging me not to leave her.
I'm afraid to let her go.
Her blood was warm on my skin, shocking me awake, to a life I haven't been living for far too long. Her conscious mind had been struggling, in that instant when I held her, to remain alert, to break through the fog calling her, coaxing her into an abyss that wanted to take her from me. She lingers on my shirt, in my hair, staining my skin, my soul, seeping into my blood and falling through the little cracks in my heart.
My thoughts seem to consistently dangle precariously on this ledge between the two women in my life. One second I reach for Marie, the next, I reach for Sam, and hell, so many rocks have fallen beneath me it's a wonder I'm still holding on.
My legs are shaky and weak and I stand awkwardly as I brush against the wall, seeking a strength I don't have. I try to focus on one purpose right now, one thought propelling me forward. It's her. My need to be with her, with Samantha.
I feel like a ghost, shuffling forward on unfamiliar feet, squinting against the sunlight scraping to chase away the darkness enveloping me; seeking a way into the lonely place I've burrowed into since I walked away nine months ago.
The smell stings my nostrils, my vision blurs against the white walls, and I realize I've reached the place I prayed she'd never be in.
I pray for many things now.
I'm just not worth saving anymore.
It's easy to stand here, pretending I'll open the door and whisk her away and give her what she deserves. But the knob is cold, the hallway's getting dark, and my time is running out. I hesitate on the threshold, afraid of where this will take me.
Her breathing is wheezy, pained, laboring between half-gasps and chokes, and seldom staying steady. She's white and still and my breath catches against my lips for a split second when she draws a breath, afraid she won't exhale, afraid she'll leave like every good thing in my life.
I sink into the nearest chair, grateful for the solid comfort.
"I'm sorry, Sam."
I whisper to the air. Her sleep is restless, troubled, but she doesn't stir, and for that, I'm grateful. I need to talk, now more than ever, but the silence is comforting and so I watch her, study her, remember her.
I am sorry for many things. Too many things. I'm sorry for allowing this to happen, for sending her in there, for lying to myself, to her, to everyone at certain moments when the truth was far too painful.
I'm sorry for needing her in a way I shouldn't.
I've said goodbye to her a thousand times, dying slowly with each syllable. She's my sin and my savior and life only allows room for one of them.
I've loved her too much, for too long; for too many seconds and minutes and days until time slowly merged each thought I had of her into one single memory.
It's all I have of her: this one single memory, with a thousand kisses, and tears, and hugs and smiles all wrapped up beneath the faded cobwebs of a scarred heart, a lost soul, an empty life. I've loved her too long.
Her hand is cold and I slide my fingers between hers, brushing a soft kiss against her knuckles and tucking it against my heart. It beats of its own volition, separate from me, separate from my existence. It's been too long since I've felt it, too long since I've lived.
"I don't want to say goodbye."
Simple and easy; far too easy to ever be. My words are hollow and petty, elusive; escaping me when I need them most.
I trail a path with my hand, starting at the tips of her soft hair. We once stood rain-soaked, shivering, our bodies seeking warmth, naturally drifting to each other. Her hair was dark and wet, clinging to her face. She was beautiful then, always has been.
She's alive and that's all I need for now.
My fingers brush softly against her cheek, remembering how soft it felt against my chest ages ago. Her lips quiver beneath my touch, but she doesn't stir. Her kisses were always sweet and melancholy; beautiful and sad at the same time. They tasted of honey and lilacs and salty tears.
I pull her hand closer to my chest, not bothering to wipe the tear slowly burning its way down my cheek.
"I love you too much, Sam."
It's a vow, a conviction, my one truth in this whole damn mess. She lays there, still, unaware; my touchstone, my constant.
The one I can't have.
It's getting dark again, the sun's playing silhouettes against the window, and the silence is wearing upon me.
It's time to go, time to leave. To say goodbye.
To do everything I can't do. To leave her.
To let go.
Let go.
I'm always letting go, always saying goodbye. Maybe I'm letting go of the wrong person. We make choices and decisions and I haven't figured out where I'm going just yet. Maybe this isn't goodbye. It doesn't have to be.
It's always hard.
Maybe I never had Marie.
I drop Sam's hand and stand up, bending over to kiss her forehead. My vision's blurry and I wipe against the tears this time.
Maybe it's been Samantha all along. I'm sorry for loving her too much, too long, too deeply. For needing her and wanting her and coming alive when I think of her.
I never was good at apologies.
"I'll be back soon, sweetheart."
Before I regret it, it's left my lips, surrounding the room and echoing off the walls. It's my promise, my vow, my conviction. If I say it, I'll come back. And it won't make goodbye so hard.
I'm always saying goodbye.
I'm always loving too much, too long, too deeply.
I'm always loving her.
"Sleep well, Sam."
*
FIN