Title: From sand to stone (Doctore)

Rating: T

Notes: originally written for the livejournal community spartacus2010's first comment ficfest. Prompt: Doctore. Meditations on a dead beloved. Written before the prequel aired. For those who already read it at livejournal: adjustments and a few additions. Nothing major, yet visible.

Summary: Post prequel. He would think of her every night.

OOOOO

Sparing a quiet moment thinking of his wife every night was a ritual Oenomaus had found he needed. His shattered heart found peace in doing it.

Yet it had taken him time to understand that. The first months following Melitta's tragic demise, darkness would find him fiercely trying to free himself from memories of their time together, too painful to bear. For many nights Oenomaus prayed to his gods, pleading them to make time pass quickly and allow his heart and mind grow numb to the pain, for the void left in his heart was too big, too dark, too painful.

His pleas found no ear, because the pain only grew. Oenomaus lost focus, he let his whip free more than he would ever allow himself, spilling blood of gladiators during training without fair cause, a mood unworthy of a Doctore, in any other ludus, or circumstance, surely severely disciplined by the lanista. Distraught by his father's cruel death, same as Melitta's, Dominus had permitted it, leaving him some time to come to reason on his own. The man had even spared words of kindness. Even Domina's eyes had bore pity for him. Melitta had been her trusted slave. He had thought that would keep her safe. Naevia, the young girl he had seen slowly turning a woman, had replaced her. Normalcy had returned to the house of Batiatus, and that was expected from him too.

He was expected to move on.

Yet Oeanomaus' was a lonely path. Dominus had his wife to support him. The trainer had lost everything he held dear, forced to walk a steep way. Gannicus gone too, he found none to whom he could turn ears. Yes, there was Barca, yet the man had but regained smile in fighting after losing Auctus in fair combat; Oenomaus would not burden him with added memories of love lost. And Auctus' slayer, Crixus, skilled like few, surely soon to rise as the new champion of Capua… he deserved his respect, yet as a brother, not a friend. Crixus knew nothing of love, he had embraced the ludus as his new house, all senses set on the arena and the glory. What could he know of friendship and love? No. No ears to turn to.

So why could he not return to normalcy? To smile? To grasp life with a firm grip again? Why did he have to sit alone every night, his heart clutched by some unseen force making it hard to breathe?

It would take him long nights to realize. He had wanted to let go of the past, refusing to cherish the good memories because they burned. He saw it one night. He was not running from memories, he was running from himself. He had become a new man, Melitta had melted into him as he had left his print on her. That was instilled in Oenomaus deeper than the mark of the brotherhood. And he had been neglecting it when he should have embraced it.

One night it just happened. No reason present. It happened. Oenomaus opened his heart again, let the memories flow and spared a moment for his wife. For the first time in moons, a smile reached its way to his mouth, and never wished the memories to slip between his fingers again.

Oenomaus would never let a night pass without sharing a moment with his wife. With a part of who he was.

Fin.