Veritas Labyrinth
Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Summary: What is reality? Reality is a figment of your imagination. If what we perceive is often wrong, how can we ever know what's real and what isn't? AU version focusing on Jo and Zane's relationship before and in Eureka, from the beginning of Season Two to beginning of Season Four.
A/N: This is based on a novel I wrote a couple years ago. Since I haven't had the courage to publish it yet, I'd like to get other opinions besides my family and close friends. I might self-publish later on, if I get up the courage. The summary comes from a quote from the TV series Perception.
September 11, 2012
He took her hand, squeezing it softly as the taxi brought them closer and closer to the heard of the Business District. Finally, the taxi came to a stop, and they got out. After the cab left, he pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist, holding her close. He clutched the little girl's hand, keeping her close to his side, as they entered the memorial. They had been there last year, when the memorial opened, just one of a thousand people who had come to watch as the memorial opened to the public on the tenth anniversary of such a tragic day. After passing through the grove of oaks, they made their way towards the granite and stone memorial.
They leisurely wandered along the North pool, where the North Tower had once stood. Eventually, she stopped at one of the parapets of the North Pool. A moment passed, as she stood staring at the names, her eyes going over each one. He joined her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her head. Their daughter tugged on her sweater, but she ignored her, her fingers finding the names of the four she should have been with that long ago day.
"Mommy? Can I see?" He glanced down, before pulling away from her and kneeling down to scoop his daughter into his arms. The little girl leaned towards the parapet, reaching out to touch the stone. "Who are they?" She asked, turning to look back at her mother. She didn't respond, nor did her father. Instead, he pressed another kiss to her head, whispering,
"People outside had a greater sense of alarm and urgency than the people inside who were in the dark. It was a terrible responsiblity for the people on the outside to have to say 'It's worse than you think.'" She looked up at him; she knew he was referring to the phone calls she'd recieved that dreadful day, as she'd tried to reassure her friends, even as she was whispering what she was able to gather from watching the news. It was a miracle that she'd missed breakfast with her friends- having stayed at his place the night before, and had consequently overslept. She'd been just about to head out of the apartment for the tower when he'd turned the TV on and she'd heard the news.
Not long after, she'd gotten calls; frantic, horrified, then calm, she'd talked to her friends until the tower collapsed, at which point she'd fled the apartment, rushing towards the collapsing buildings instead of away from it as everyone else was doing. For days after, she'd helped search for survivors, her military training kicking in, her work with bomb-sniffing dogs being of use as she worked, searching for any sign of her friends within the rubble that had once been the Twin Towers. She'd seen the images of the first responders, of the firemen and women, of the policemen and the search-and-rescue dogs clambering over the rubble, searching for survivors.
Her husband had framed the newspaper photograph of her; standing in her Army fatigues- for she'd done a tour of duty four months prior, in Somalia, and was currently back from deployment- hair pulled back in a messy bun, reaching up to wipe the dust and sweat from her forehead, her dog Ash at her feet, near an opening in the rubble, barking. She was coated in dust, and it was easy to see the tears in her eyes. The photograph, taken by a photography student attending NYU, had been featured on the cover of Time Magazine, on the front pages of newspapers all around the world after the tragedy. The unknown soldier, standing amidst the rubble, coated in the fine, granulated dust of the towers, wiping sweat from her brow, her IEDs-turned-search-and-rescue dog at her feet, both looking weary and heartbroken over the attacks, had generated a search for the subject for years. Two years earlier, she'd been found, and after a heartfelt talk with her husband, she'd given the interview.
Now, she stood, tracing her friends' names with her finger, the engagement ring her husband had given her sparking on her finger. She choked out a sob, the tears blurring their names, and she leaned back into his husband's chest, burying her face in his shirt. Her daughter's small hands reached out to pat her head, and she choked on a sob. "Who were they, Mommy?" Several minutes passed, with her husband hushing their child softly, before she pulled away, wiping her eyes.
As she reached out to trace the names, her tears dripped onto the stone, hitting each name, leaving a silent message for them.
Jadie Blythe
Tamsen Blythe
Caitlan Hertz
Gwendolyn Rowley
"They were my friends, baby." She choked out, turning to her daughter. She pressed a firm kiss to her child's forehead, and whispered, "My very best friends."