Cold
Disclaimer: No character, setting, or situation from Grey's Anatomy belongs to me.
I saw Losing My Religion on Monday, and went a little bit over board with the poetic. Especially the last one.
Drabble one.
His hands were cold. When she'd held them a few hours ago, they'd been warm. After so long, they were warm. He'd been so proud of it. He had warm hands. And now they were cold. All of him was cold. He'd never be warm again. Never wrap his arms around her, never warm their bed, never smile at her. She lay next to him, feeling the cold spread, and thought she'd never feel warm again.
Drabble two.
The arms around her are warm. His heart is beating, she can feel his warm breathe on her cheek and she can't help but try to get closer to him. Closer to the sound, to the warmth her body craves. He is alive, and warm, and there, but all she can think about is the body she left, and how she never wants to be warm again.
Drabble three.
A battle was fought today, and people lost. Tears washed from her face, she is resplendent in her grief, the war widow. They are battle worn and weary, she and her honour guard. They escort her from the field, she will not return. She has nothing left to fight for.
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