Fire in the sky, a lawless fanfic

AN: I wrote this listening to 'Fire in the blood/Snake Song' from Lawless sounudtrack. Amazing music.
I'm sure you'll notice right away that the rythm of this story is quite disjointed, but please bear with me, because it's supposed to be that way: he is drugged, so his thoughts jump around seeingly without reason. The only connecting line is Maggie.

Fire in the sky

Come walk with me through the pines
In the morning sun.
The birds are singing in the pines
In the morning sun

Come stand with me, my darling one,
Among the trembling pines.
We feel His presence all around
Fire in the sky

Fire in the Sky

His thoughts were hazy, without clear lines separating them. Memories blurred into one another without definition, probably because of the painkillers he was still on. He may have survived those bullets, but the wounds were still painful as hell. He tried to focus, to clear his mind and think, but all he could concentrate on was his brothers and what had happened to them and…

But then he remembered that his baby brother was fine. Jack had been to see him along with Howard, he remembered that, he's just momentarily forgotten. And Howard was fine too.

Maggie had not come around though.

The last time he had seen her face was when he'd left the house that day. It felt like it had happened years ago, and still, it was the most vivid memory he had right now. It was tainted with lines of burning rage, with the kind of fury that had clouded then his mind back then. The violence of that last memory made it easier to recall.

Maggie…

The whole existence of her was shadowed by what she had told him… or what she had not told him, so stubborn and proud even when she chose to tell him things without really telling him, even when there was no more lying she could pull off and they both knew it.

Forrest thought back the beginning of that night.

He had been in the other compartment, unable to see the bar where she was serving his soon-to-be clients. He had only reacted when sounds of struggle reached him. Then he had gotten up fully intending on kicking the cocksockers out. Without Howard there and the whole thing giving him the itch from the start, meant he wouldn't have sold them the booze anyway. Having them getting frisky with Maggie was just an excuse… at first.

He'd been so please to see how she had sliced open the fuckers hand.

Another memory, an older one of when she'd first started working there, blended in.

Forrest had told Jack go over one day and warn her that some clients might get a little fresh on her – a drunk man and a beautiful woman were a sure way to make trouble and Forrest knew that. Of course, who came inside his roof knew that there were rules to be followed in there or you got yourself kicked out with a broken bone or two, but still, better safe than sorry. Forrest had watched from a hidden corner as Maggie smiled at his little brother so sweetly, as if she was honestly amused by his worrying, her smart eyes dancing with amusement as she pulled a small but razor-sharp knife from under the counter (that was not theirs, Forrest had noted – that little switchblade was hers) and handled it with practiced ease.

"I know how to take care of myself Jack, but thanks for sayin'." She had said, winking at his little brother playfully, who had smiled and looked down trying to hide his blush.

Forrest hadn't noticed the gun on the floor that night – Cricket had been the one to point it out for him. That was one of the memories Forrest could recall with clarity: the way he had felt his insides solidify and go cold as the well-known trickle of rage started intensifying. He saw it in his head: the anger in a triangle of fire, floating in the night sky. He focused on it and put a dark box around it making it smaller until a cold blanket ran over him like water and he wanted to fling himself onto the back of the world with both fists crashing down.

Forrest felt the heat drain down into his fists, his eyes had hardened, his tone had gone deadly quiet, losing the small persuasive tilt it had had before, the promise of violence in it as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning.

'Did you pull a gun on this woman?'

Then all hell had imploded and in truth, what had happened to Maggie that night was the end of what he had instigated.

His fault…

Forrest stirred his firsts clenching and felt the wounds burn, despite the sedatives.

He didn't quite understand the grit in his heart. It hurt, but not like his wounds. It was almost stifling, to the point where it got hard to breathe, to swallow. Like a heavy load was lying on his chest and it just wouldn't budge.

He should have known, afterwards. He should have read the signs better, should have known how to tie the small discrepancies together. He should have understood, from the way she had been so shaken, so frail-looking for days, weeks after. But he had been so tightly wrapped up in himself, around what had happened to him that he had written off her odd behavior as a consequence of his attack, of her seeing the violence they had done on him and not feeling safe because of it.

Now he understood why she had wanted to leave – the whole extent of why, the realwhy. She had been afraid, as plain and simple as that. She lived alone in that motel and those men were still out there. She had been afraid that they'd get her again and she'd rather leave altogether than admit to her weakness in front of him and his brothers.

Without even knowing, he had offered her the perfect solution…

'I want you to come stay at the station for a while… we don't wanna see you getting hurt.'

He had watched her strength waver then, falter at his words, her tears fall and her voice shake.

'We?'

She had wanted a different word, she had wanted the more personal 'I', she had asked for it, but he'd just looked on at her as she whipped away the tear that had managed to escape.

As he thought back at her tears now, he felt hatred poison his blood all over again, toxic, making it hard to breathe steady. Maggie had a strong spirit in her, she was a proud creature, but in that moment, she'd seemed so very brittle, as vulnerable as a child. The thought of her incredible defenselessness in that moment made Forrest ache to raise those men from the grave just so that he could kill them all over again, but this time make it slower, more painful.

Oh, those men. Their blood on the floor… on the walls… on his hands and his straight razor. Their screams, the moans, the pleadings, they still filtered in his ears on and off like a badly tuned radio and for the first time, Forrest found himself wanting to smile, even though he couldn't quite manage to convince his face to pull it off… probably since he couldn't really feel his face. He hadn't enjoyed what he had done, it had had to be done, period.

But now, he had a whole different perspective on the experience.

Maggie…

His fury and her existence mingled and he didn't want them to. He didn't want to taint her that way. Forrest consciously tried to let go of the anger and focus on her, find her through his rage and hold on to her, to the memory of her face, of her lips and smile, of her tinkling eyes and knowing looks. He tried to focus on her person and the life she had within her… but it was impossible to escape the shadow of her pain. It was something that he could not shake off himself nor protect her from, because it had already happened.

And for the first time he understood what that pull in his chest was. It completely overpowered him, blinding out the anger and the ugliness, weighting in his heart like ten pounds of stones and threatening to destroy him as if grey more powerful with every breath. Yet he didn't fight it, didn't resist as it pulled him apart from the very insides of his being and put him back together again.

Maggie…

If he hadn't been laying down already, he would have buckled under the weight of it all.

Maggie and her smiles, the light that always shone out of her eyes and the way her laughter danced with true merriment. Maggie who was weathered, who had known the world and its dark places better than she would ever admit and the knowledge gave her a razor sharp strength, lent a coldness to her beauty that seemed to make her even more striking.

And even more amazing was the way that coldness melted right out of her when she smile, when she looked at people and let her kindness shine through; because no matter what she had seen, she had chosen to leave it behind and she had the strength to find a reason to laugh the way she did.

Maggie and her unbreakable hope for peace, for something beautiful.

Maggie and her unflinching ability to look at him in the face and try to medicate him after she'd seen him beat down men like it was nothing. She the way she looked at him, as if she wanted to draw him in… or maybe it just felt that way, because every time she did look at him Forrest felt like he had to pace himself or he would make an ass out of himself. He was a quiet man by nature, but in her presence he became even quieter, afraid of what might come out of his mouth, of what his hands might do if he didn't clutch them tightly enough in his pockets, in his lap, holding his hat.

Maggie and her hand in his, her strong handshake that had surprised him, as he held her fingers so very gently, as if afraid he was going to break her fingers with one wrong move. And that other time, her hand in his had been warm, deliberate, almost too much coupled with her smile the soft look in her eyes and the longing there that had become more and more difficult to ignore. The way her thumb had come over his bruised knuckles had left him staring after her a good few moments after she had gone.

Maggie and shock that having her around all the time brought to him. Maggie and her rearranging his things and cleaning the furniture, leaving a searing mark of her carelessly given touch wherever she chose to put it, without so much as a second thought as to how she shifted things with it. She branded even the air and that was when he knew that he could not escape her, not when she was everywhere, even in his lungs. The scent that clung around her reminded him of things he'd thought he'd long forgotten, of the heat of summer days when his mother and sisters had been alive and adamant about filling the house with wild flowers and sweet spices.

Maggie and the silks she wore, the delicate shimmery fabrics that were like water on her skin. Maggie and her honest laugh, her teasing smiles, her knowing eyes.

'Dance with me Forrest.'

'I ain't dancing.'

He'd said decidedly… but he hadn't stopped looking at her though. At his refusal she had only laughed, since his brother hastily – and clumsily – took his place. He hadn't danced, but he'd stared as she moved, sinuous like a snake, laughing loudly and in earnest as if she was enjoying herself like a little girl.

But when she had looked at him, that had been no girl behind those eyes. They had been heavy lidded and promising, inviting.

He had looked away... but the way she had looked at him had been burned behind his eyelids.

It was around that time that she started leaving the door of her room open. The first time she had seen her do that he'd felt himself get rooted on the spot, caught between surprise and the fire that coursed in his blood at the sight of her.

He'd closed the door behind himself though. Because he had another rule: stick by your promises.

When he had invited her into his home, he had not done so with the intention of taking advantage of her, of the situation. Every time he wanted to, every time he walked by her door and saw it hanging open, left that way on purpose, every time he itched to go in there, take her invitation and do everything he had ever thought about doing since the first second he had looked at her… he remembered that she was a guest in his house.

It just didn't feel right.

But nights passed and every night for almost two weeks, she went to bed before him and left the door of her room ajar. And whenever he would come up, he would look at her through that opening that she left for him: pause in her doorway to watch the breathing straggle of hair on the pillow, the outline of her long legs under the quilt.

He watched, but he always went to his own room afterwards.

But that one night had been different.

Not because of him though. She had been the one to make the difference.

Even with his mind riddled with haziness and pain, the thought of when she had come to him in the middle of the night stirred him deeply. Forrest felt his palms tingle with the memory of her, the sensation slowly spreading all over him, tightening his skin, even distracting him a little from the pain. The ghost of her deep kisses was still on him, he could almost feel her lips on is, firm, tasting of certainty, the phantom of her touch was as teasing as if she had really been there, touching him for real, and Forrest didn't know - nor did he had enough presence of mind to care - if the thought of that one time was really that powerful or if it was the drugs that were playing tricks on his mind.

That night, like every other night, his feet had stopped him at her doorway. He really had no choice in the matter, he'd given up on trying to avert his eyes after the first ten times he'd failed.

She didn't simply forget to close the door and he knew that. What he didn't know was that as he'd stood there on the doorway looking at the smooth expanse of her back move in time with her breathing, she had been wide awake staring off into space, knowing that he was looking because his heavy footfalls stopping on her door was what she waited for every night.

Knowing and wanting and hoping… waiting for him to finally come in.

He had stood there, one hand on the smooth cold surface of the wood of her door frame, looking at her and feeling his insides twist the pull inside him drawing him to her as it threatened to undo him altogether if he resisted any longer. The burning in his veins intensified, making his blood slowly heat and start rushing faster than usual, his heart beating at a hurried, unfamiliar pace. His stare was intense and gentle at the same time as he looked at her, the deep rooted longing battling fiercely with something else, something more sensible inside him that every night stopped him from pushing the door of her room and letting himself in.

And his breathing had become difficult that one time, as he ached a little more than usual - because every time, that was what it felt like, always a little more than usual. The silence of the house was eerie and the pull towards her was strong, so much that he shied away from its force, because it felt alien and threatening since he was not sure he could completely control it.

No matter how much he wanted to be there under her covers, no matter how much he wanted that skin under his hands, he respected himself more and he couldn't just bend his own rules only because it would have been easier that way.

He walked away, stumbling into his own room. He got himself out of his pants and into his nightshirt with slow movements, his mind still on the stark whiteness of her skin against the darkness of her room. She was luminescent, like he imagined pearls would look in the dark.

His hands felt numb, and his muses ached strangely, as if he was tired, except he was anything but, mind alert and awake despite all the work of the day.

He got into his bed and laid on is back, unable to find a comfortable position but unwilling to move. He felt as through if he didn't lay still and stiff he might do something stupid tonight, so he locked his hands over his stomach and waited until his body relaxed and…

The floor creaked, a light tapping sound that was almost imperceptible coming to his strained ears: the sound of small bare feet against the wooden floor. Then the door of her room whined as it opened, and just like that, every nerve he had in his body stood up straight, firing up in his system. But he didn't quite believe it until he saw the darkness break against her naked body, making his heart pick up the pace instantly, the blood rushing in his hears.

She was gloriously naked and fearless like a goddess as she stood there in front of him.

'You just gonna watch me forever?'

Her voice was even, but there was this little note of accusation in it – or was it annoyance? - as if she was finally tired of waiting for him to come to her.

She should have known that he wouldn't have, that she would have to be the one to bring him around, ensnare him with her full desire, without holding anything back. He would be there to meet her, he would want - she could see it in the way he looked at her. That was why she had been so confused over him dragging this out.

But tonight, she had understood something important: he was not keeping her waiting on purpose. He simply would not come inside her room, taking a silent invitation for what it was. He had his rules and his code and his peculiar sense of honor that he was going to hold up because he had invited her into his home and that meant something real to him, because he had not done it as a ploy to get her into his bed. He would not even attempt it, not even when she made it clear that she wanted it.

Maggie had realized that night that if she kept waiting for him to come to her, she might as well wait forever.

'Uh…umm wait, what are you doin'?'

She didn't even bother answering. What did it look like she was doing?

He had stutter the words out, as she came closer, lifted his blankets and slid underneath and then literally on top of him, her soft breasts pressing against this chest, molding, the warm beating of her heart against his thrilling him.

When he felt her breath his lips, Forrest knew that he was not going to oppose her, knew it in the way his hands moved as if without his permission, sliding on her skin as if drawn there, pushing the covers down as his palm went from her back to lower. She was warm despite the chill of the night on her nakedness. With a fluidity that shocked the breath out of him, she put her mouth on his, slanting their lips without a trace of gentleness and with all the burning fire of raw need. She didn't waste any time in teasing him; she snared his upper lip between hers and pulled, sliding her tongue inside his mouth the second he gave her the chance, making him vibrate like a live wire, his arms tightening around her convulsively.

She sank herself into him with a delicious moan, tongues wrapping together as he kissed her back with the same fire she was burning him with. His hands spanned all one her back and she found herself being pulled into him tightly, the heat of him reaching her to her bones, driving away the cold that had set deep into her, the fear that lingered from bad memories. His presence was real, his body heavy and solid just the way she wanted it, as her hands came up to his chest, to his face and the back of his neck, trying to get closer, to hold tighter. The moan he made were deep set into his chest and vibrated into her, making her shiver like water in his hold.

It took nothing for him to turn them around and push her on the bed, holding his weight off with one elbow as he tried not to squish her and kiss her as hard as he could at the same time, one of his legs between hers, the softness of her thighs shocking him silly for a moment. But his care was thrown to the wind when she sneaked both her arms around his ribs and both her legs around his hips, and pulled him to her with the kind of strength that Forrest was not familiar with: soft and insistent, a gentle touch that commanded immediate obedience.

He smelled of sour corn, dirt and sweat and she kissed him harder and breathed him in as if her existence depended on his lips, as if she had thought of nothing else for months. She put her mouth on the crook of his chin and softly kissed the scar from one end to the other as her hands trace the rest of him, familiarizing herself with his body, with his strength.

He almost completely fell on her when she sneaked her warm hand into his underwear and tightened her fingers firmly around the length of him. The shocked noise that strangled in his throat would have been amusing if she hadn't been feeling as if her skin was on fire. Her name fell from his lips and hung in the darkness, half a warning, half a plea and Maggie tried to answer by catching his mouth again, but didn't relent on touching him steadily, feeling him hot and heavy in her palm, the sensation making her heady, making her burn, until his big hand caught her wrist and brought her arm up over her head.

The breath that left his lungs shook on its way out.

This was not like anything he had ever had before. There was fire in his blood, burning slow and steady and making his head spin as if he was drunk on white lightning. His chest heaved and with every breath it made contact with hers and he couldn't help leaning into her a bit more. He wanted to stay light on her body, hold her like you might hold a bird in your hands. But when his hands skimmed her skin, she moaned in his mouth, inflaming him with furious desire that did nothing for his patience. It seemed to loosen him instead, fueling desperation, straining his control.

When he went to mold her breast softly, she arched into his palm, her back lifting off the mattress as she bit his lip, the hand on the back of his neck tightening, pulling him to her as her nails whispered on his shoulders, making him shiver. She was fire in his hands, shivering and slippery like a snake, but burning like lighting, intense like a thunderstorm.

He kissed her then, all over, the scent of her as fresh and intoxicating as he had thought it would be, running his teeth on her soft skin, biting the underside of her breast, sucking her nipples into his mouth and sliding his tongue over her flesh. Never before her he felt a taste so luscious, never had he had to take more care to how hard he bit, how strongly he held on, because he felt like he could eat her whole and was afraid that if he let go entirely, he just might.

The only time he pulled his mouth away was when she pried his shirt off him with a speed that almost made him smile.

But he did smile for real when she pushed at his shoulders with her hands, wanting him to lay back. He took the direction and fell into his back, and she came with him as if she was glued to him, as if it took her to conscious effort to follow him. Not even the air of the room came between them, she was that sleek. She straddled him again, this time sitting on him right where it mattered, making him grind his teeth and groan deep in his throat as she ran her hands all over him, kissing his chest, tracing his nipples with her tongue, with her teeth.

Forrest sunk his fingers into her fiery hair and pulled her up to him, impatient for her mouth.

She wanted to pace this, he'd let her, he'd let her do whatever she wanted, because whatever she wanted was fine with him, more than fine really, but in exchange for control he wanted her mouth. On his. Pushing and playing just like that. He had not known before just how thrilling kisses could be, but she kissed so deeply, so assuredly that he wanted it every second, wanted his tongue in her mouth, wanted to pull at her lips and feel the sighs that close to his face, wanted to swallow her every sound.

It wasn't difficult to find his way inside her. She was quick to get what she wanted and they found out that they could move in sync, knowing what the other wanted exactly when they wanted it. She sucked in a sharp breath when she took him inside her in one swift motion, impatient as never before, because this was him, but not expecting for the feeling that stabbed her senses violently, making her toes curl.

His hands flexed on her hips, fingers tightening enough to leave bruises as his head fell back against the pillow with a deep groan, face pulled into an expression that would be thought as pain - if it hadn't been for the noises he kept making. What a glorious sight he made, face drawn tight, his bottom lip occasionally between his teeth as he tried to focus. Maggie fought to keep steady, to keep looking, because the more she looked the more she knew she didn't want to miss this. The sight of him coupled with the feel of him full and hard and heavy inside her were inebriating.

Her breathing picked up, became louder, shallow, and she shifted, pushing more firmly into him, but he held her steady, unmoving as he tried to get himself back together, adjust to the burning feel of her that fit him better than anything he could have possibly imagined, the liquid heat of her scarring him in ways he didn't know existed. Scorched, starved, she brought her mouth to his, kissed his upper lip, making him relax, reach for her so that she could tease him with her lips, with her tongue barely skimming his, urging him to move, her sigh turning into moan when he did.

With every push of his hips upwards, she grinded into him, meeting him, eventually falling into a rhythm that drove them both to breathlessness and desperation.

Maggie sat up on him, using her hands on his broad chest for leverage, for control and rolled her hips into his making him twitch and arch into her, groaning deep in his chest. The sounds he made were intoxicating, the power she had over him was delicious and heady, because she knew that he had the same hold on her and it was fine. It was gritty and sweaty and real, exactly the way she wanted it.

His movements became more insistent, faster and harder and she could swear that she had never made those sounds before, or every felt anyone reach so deep inside her in so many ways that it made her almost sob of pleasure. Her neck gave out and she hung her head back, her fingernails scrapping his chest. She felt his hand come to tangle in her hair and he made her look at him.

His eyes were ablaze, shining in the dark like a wolfs' and she felt herself start shaking because of the intensity of him, of everything. His name fell from her lips and she was so far gone that she didn't know what she wanted from him anymore, just that she wanted him there with her, to share this strangeness she was feeling, this infinite sensation...so his name kept falling from her lips and she could to do nothing about it.

Her hand came up to cover his that had settled on her breast. She brought it to her face and sucked his thumb into her mouth vehemently, rolling her tongue around it, scrapping her teeth over it lightly.

Distantly, yet closer than her bones, she felt him groan deeply and all at once, just as she thought that she couldn't hold herself up anymore because she was shaking so badly, he was all around her, his massive arms circling her, her back found the mattress just as her eyes found his face an inch from hers. If she had had the strength or presence of mind, she would have wrapped her legs around him and her arms around him, but as it were, all she could do was breathe and try not to be too loud because his hand had found her thigh and was holding onto it with bruising force that felt like desperation, moving against her so hard and so fast that she thought she might lose her mind.

The only contact with reality she had was his hand wrapped tightly with hers above her head, fingers entwining and holding on for dear life as she let him pull her under and wherever he wanted to take her.

His face was right above hers and every once in a while in the flurry of movements she tried to catch his lips, but it was all too fast, a whirlwind of sensation and violet emotions, until the world came to stand still and her whole existence could have fitted into the head of a needle. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on as tightly as she cold, head hidden in the crook of his neck, because she felt she was going to float away if she didn't hold on. She fell, far and hard, the scream muffled in his skin…

He couldn't help himself after that. The pull of her was too powerful, too hypnotic. The way she trembled all over, shivering like water in his arms, the way she tensed and her insides gripped so powerfully, as if she wanted to lock with him that way forever... it was simply too overwhelming.

When she called him, he didn't hold back, he let himself fall right with her, the blinding pleasure that had started at the base of his spine overtaking him entirely and erasing his vision as surely as if someone had kicked him in the back of the head.

She felt his back go rigid as every muscle in him strained. The pillow he bit the muffle his long groan did nothing for him, because she felt the reverberations of it slide from his chest to hers and shivered, holding on to him tightly, kissing and sucking his neck, rubbing her hand on his short hair and at the back of his head.

He fell on her completely and was heavier than she first thought, so much that she could not take a full deep breath... but she liked that momentary feeling. She liked the reality of him, the firmness of him, his presence there with her, real and unshakable. His breathing was still harsh and fast and he kept holding her hand above their heads, his hold still strong, his other hand sliding from her thigh to her hip, waist, skimming her breast and coming to cup the side of her face lazily just as he shifted a little to the side, enough to get the brunt of his weight off her, while still being almost on top of her, as if he liked the feel of her real underneath him just as much as she did.

He turned to look at her, his hand getting the wet curls off her face, after they had soaked in her sweat. She answered his eyes, holding his stare as her hand slid from the back of his neck to his shoulder and settled on his arm, on a patch of skin she kept going back and forth on. He turned a little more to the side, let go of her hand and sneaked that arm under her neck like a pillow, pulling her close with the other, draping it across her middle. Maggie moved with him as if she knew exactly what he wanted and fit into him with a sigh, not bothering to untangle her legs from his. She was perfectly comfortable just like that, with him draped all over her like a living blanket. She sneaked one arm around him and pushed her chest to him, resting her forehead right over his heard, its steady beat finally returning, strong and stubborn under her lips.

Forrest had fallen asleep with her like that, wrapped around him, and woken up the next morning to find her meshed on top of him, head over his heart, hair tinkling his chest as her fingers went back and forth between his wrist and palm, occasionally intertwining with his. He caught them and held on, showing her he was awake, and felt her smile stretch as she kissed the skin of his chest she could immediately reach.

He hummed, his fingers tightening their hold around hers and her smile widened, ending with a sigh.

'You shouldn't keep a girl waiting.'

She had a tease ready for him as soon as he opened her eyes, and he liked that. He had smiled is first smile of the day upon hearing those words. Even now, they echoed in his mind, the same way she had spoken them, so very softly, as if they were meant to live inside a dream.

Maggie...

"Forrest?"

He jerks awake, her voice still the same but not as it was in his foggy memories, different.

Clear and immediately close.

Real...

This was not in his head.

His eyes opened slowly, his vision was not clear enough to discern her immediately. But her flame-red hair were a stark contrast to the whiteness of the hospital walls, so no matter how fuzzy her image might be, he knew it was her.

He tried to say her name, but her fingers came to his lips to stop him… and then spread on his whole cheek in a caress so light that he barely felt it.

Maggie almost broke in tears all over again at the way he turned his head barely towards her palm.

"Shshsh, you mustn't try to talk." She said softly, keeping her voice down so that it wouldn't waver, but the effort was useless. The tears that ran down her cheeks and that he could not see showed in her voice.

His brothers had told her that Forrest had been in and out of consciousness and he kept murmuring her name every once in a while, calling for her in his feverish dreams.

"You'll be fine, you hear me? The doctor said you're doing well, your fever is down and your wounds are healing just fine…" Her voice broke again and she stopped before he noticed, wiping her tears and trying to keep the gesture hidden.

He opened his eyes and they were stormy, so dark that the grey of his irises was almost black. But he saw her and he made to call for her again, and again she stopped him, this time with a kiss, wet by her tears. His response was so weak that it was barely there, but Maggie felt it anyway. She kissed him over and over again, all over his face.

"Sleep, Forest." She whispered close to his ear. "The more you rest, the sooner you'll heal."

He hummed in response and she took his hand.

"I'll be here when you wake up…" She murmured, sure he was already sleeping. But he hadn't been.

Through his haze, he heard.

AN: These phrase are direct quotation of the book.: -

'He saw it in his head: the anger in a triangle of fire, floating in the night sky. He focused on it and put a dark box around it making it smaller until a cold blankness ran over him like water and he wanted to fling himself onto the back of the world with both fists crashing down.'

'He wanted to stay light on her body, hold her like you might hold a bird in your hands.'

Lie in circle on the sunlight
Shine like diamonds on a dark night.
You can slip and try to find me
Hold your breath and fled deny me
Makes no difference to my thinking
I'll be here and you start sinking.

AN: These phrases i used are direct quotation of the book:

'He wanted to stay light on her body, hold her like you might hold a bird in your hands.'

'... watch the breathing straggle of hair on the pillow, the outline of her long legs under the quilt. Sometimes, Forrest stood there for so long that he forgot to sleep at all and the light down the curtains and the dogs barking down the street made Maggie shift and he would go into his room for a fresh shirt and walking out back he would pump icy water from the well strip down and scrub his body with fresh water and a lump of pumice. When Maggie came downstairs Forrest already had bacon and potatoes frying on the stove, his face impassive as ever, his eyes clear. Whether he slept or not, it was impossible to tell by just looking at him.'