Always Waiting, Always Watching
How long has it been? Days? Moons? Lifetimes?
He doesn't know.
Maybe it's only been an hour. Maybe it's been longer than centuries.
However long it's been, it doesn't matter, because he'll wait for an eternity. He's always waiting, always watching.
Many pass by. Some shine the brightest white, others exude the darkest black. All scowl at him, laugh, sneer. All walk away, never sitting down to engage him in conversation or simply be there, silently showing their support.
He doesn't expect them to. His allies scorn him for love, his enemies for evil.
Their opinions matter nothing to him.
But even though he sees everybody else, he never sees Her.
A line, an unbreakable wall, divides the space between them. Even together, they won't be together.
But all he wants is to see Her. Nothing more. If a glimpse is all he gets, then he can accept that.
So he sits and waits. Always waiting, always watching.
Her mother comes. She stands at the tree line and stares at him for a long time. He looks back with a hollow gaze, a desperate plea in his eyes. He doesn't know he long they remain there, simply gazing at each other.
Eventually she leaves, a heartbroken look etched in her face.
He doesn't move. Always waiting, always watching.
Her father comes. He paces at the border, spitting and hissing, a flood of hateful words and curses spewing from his mouth, all aimed at him. Blaming him for everything wrong in Her life. Saying he was glad he ended up there. At one point, he even lashes out and leaves a claw-mark across his face. He just sits there and takes it, head bowed, shame breaking over him.
Eventually he leaves, his anger broken, guilt written in his features.
He doesn't move, even with blood dripping down his muzzle and splish-splashing onto the ground. Always waiting, always watching.
Her sister comes. She comes right out, her paws on the very edge. He lifts his head to look her in the eyes, and she meets them, anger burning in her blue eyes. She says that he doesn't deserve Her. She snarls at him and says that She's better off without him. He flinches, doesn't move. He knows she's right. He knows that She deserves a tom much better than him. But he doesn't say anything. He's not giving her the satisfaction of seeing her words' effect on him.
Eventually she leaves, her expression carefully blank, returning the favor. They have nothing more to say to each other.
He doesn't move, even with her words ringing in his head, echoing on an endless repeat. Always waiting, always watching.
Their son comes. He's the first. He sits down, and he talks to him. Tells him of his time on the other side. For the first time, his rhythm breaks. He smiles, he talks, he laughs. He listens to him talk, relishing the sound of their son's voice, of this simple pleasure that he never took the time to appreciate before.
Eventually he leaves, a sad smile drawn on his muzzle. He promises to talk to Her, and then he's alone again.
He doesn't move, even as countless moons pass, even as he waits for their son to come back, to just chat with him like a father and son should be able to do. Always waiting, always watching.
But She never comes.
So he doesn't move. Even as seasons turn and lifetimes flash by, even as his emotions turn from grief to rage to grief again, he won't give up on Her. On them.
Even if She never comes, he'll be sitting here, always waiting, always watching.