Regrets Unspoken
She is a fire, an uncontrolled, untamed wildfire that burns hot, quick, and fast. When the fire dies down, it leaves spots in your vision that you can't clear away. He is the moth, drawn in to her candlelight, but on some days, the moth must fly away. Mi/Fi, Pre-Series
She came to him in the middle of the night, with dark eyes and a shivering frame. He knew without words that it was nightmares again, nightmares of half-known truths, of deaths, and of dreams of blame.
On nights like this, it is only one word she needs to croak out and fights are forgiven and forgotten. "Claire," she says quietly, as she tends to do, and that is all he needs to draw her gently over the doorstep and into the room.
Some nights, all they do is curl up next to each other in the Ireland morning. Her forehead may rest against his chest, and his hand may run over her hair. It tends to be silent, on nights like that, because there is little that can be said to heal wounds.
Other nights, it is a half-remembered dream of kisses and love. One of them, without fail, will be gone in the morning and when they see each other next, it is as if nothing happened. Either way, she comes for comfort in the night, because it is in the night that she does not need to hide.
She came to him that night, and he knew it was the last night.
She is too tired to notice the half-packed bag he threw under the bed, or to worry about the bloodstained clothes in the trash. He is bandaged, that she notices, but it is a fact to common for her to ask about.
When he sees her, standing at the door with her hair dampened by mist, he pulls her in the room. He is grateful to her nightmares tonight, grateful he gets one last chance to see her, one last chance to reconcile.
He lets his fingers trail over her cheek as she silently curls up on his bed. She is like a cat, her dark eyes watching his movements. He is not sure how long she has been so broken, but he knows that she will repair.
She is like a flame, a uncontrolled wildfire that draws him in. She burns him, with her words and actions, but he cannot stay away. He follows her to the bed and lies at her back. His arms wrap around her of their own accord, and she gives a low sigh of comfort.
He does not know why he opened the door for her that night. It will only scorch them both in the end, when she awakens to find him gone. He feels her nestle close to his body and he knew that this is the point where he should leave.
He cannot bring himself to walk away, cannot bring himself to run from her this night. He can give her nothing, now that his cover is blown. No happiness, no more peaceful nights. He knows he is never going to save her again, knows he shall never protect her once more.
So he gives her this night, and gives it to himself as well. She is probably aware that something is different, something is off, but neither of them voice worries. He is bound by his silence and she is bound by her fear.
He does not think she is asleep yet, for every so often she shifts. He runs his free hand through her dark locks to calm her, and he eventually feels her shoulders relax. He both needed and feared this moment, where she falls asleep and he is left free to do as he must.
The man gently pulls away from her and slides off the bed, gathering belongings silently. No sound is made to disturb her, nothing is dropped to wake her. He almost wishes she would wake, if only so he could say good-bye.
But he feels as if this is the better option, to leave her silently. She will move on, their relationship was already at the breaking point. Her brothers would encircle her, like a pack of wolves, and they would keep her close for as long as she would let them.
He deliberates over what to pack, and what he must leave behind. Almost everything he takes with him, almost everything he sweeps into a bag. Almost nothing is left behind to show that the man once occupied this room.
He leaves behind two things, one valuable and one not. On the bedside, he places a snow globe. It is one she had once admired aloud to him, and the memory brings a smile to his face. It is nothing special to look at, a palm tree and several buildings, but it has one word on it. Miami.
And he leaves behind one more thing, one thing that he almost could not part from. He leaves behind her, and with it, his dreams.
He can only bring himself to look at her one time. His hand lingers for a few moments on her cheek, and he murmurs a name, a sweet, sweet name that is filled with unspeakable emotion. She stirs at the sound of the name, but she does not wake. He whispers another word, and forces himself to walk away, forces himself to flee. He does not know that one day he will see her again. All he knows is that he walks away, regrets lingering on the air but duty driving him on.
It is on that night, that Michael Westen, known as Michael McBride, walks away. It is on that night that Michael made a choice, and would later wonder if he chose right.
It is on that night that Michael Westen walks away from Fiona Glenanne, unable to look back.
Author's Note: my friend from New Zealand called me up and challenged me to write a fic without using names expect in the last paragraph. I tried, truly I did mate :) So lots of 'he' and 'she' in here, but I think it gives it a more urgent tone to things. Not my best word, admittedly, but reviews are loved and appreciated. Now that I've posted something a little depressing, its on to happy stuff again. Mmm... Pirates of the Caribbean fanfiction, here I come!
Reviews loved, and appreciated.