A/N: Thanks to Lauren for the beta…and for helping me come up with the idea in the first place. Oh, and CSI doesn't belong to me. But that should be common knowledge. heart
He stood in the background, unwilling to make himself known to the people who had known her so well. The air was still, and the scene was somber. The mahogany shone with the streaming sunlight. He wished it were cold. He wished it were Massachusetts. He squinted as another bright ray hung in the air, cheerful, despite the environment.
Massachusetts became her very well. To see her lying there, in a barren desert with hardly any beauty but the neon lights and the awe-inspiring sunrises and sunsets, it seemed sacrilegious. She should be in a place adorned with bloomless trees, a gentle white blanket coating their extended arms. It should be snowing, he mused, and the snow should settle above her. It was the kind of minimalist beauty that he had found in her.
His turbulent feelings began to cause conflict within him again. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be witnessing this. He had loved her, but he had broken her heart. He at least knew she had wanted him, and yet, he did nothing about it. He was a coward. He was a fool. And now, his karma had circulated. She was breaking his heart. She was shattering it in innumerable ways.
It was your choice to come here. Do you think the others want you here? No. You're an outsider. They know who you are…and they know what you've done. Constantly, the conflict waged within him. He could do nothing but witness it. He was helpless.
He watched as teary-eyed family members walked up, one by one, to say their last regards. That was precisely the reason he had come here. Clad entirely in black, with black sunglasses, he felt cold and detached. He loved the feeling. He had relinquished his walls minutely, too slow to her liking, and their connection was lost. Not entirely lost, but it seemed broken beyond repair. And now, they would never fall down. They would never relinquish any power. His emotional defenses had become weak over the years, due to her. But now, she had gone, and he felt empty. He would betray no emotion. He would be stoic and methodical.
He would work. Constantly, he would work until he felt fatigued enough to fall into an unpleasant sleep. Sleep was for the weak. Sleep was for the weary. And if he could work enough to find solace in weariness, maybe God would grant him a reprieve. He doubted it. He needed it.
The close friends and family members began to file away, weeping. He sighted people he knew, and they too followed the line, and embraced her for a final time. They too began to pass, begrudgingly leaving her. And then they began to make their way to him. The woman spoke first. "Aren't you going to say good-bye?" He said nothing. "She loved you. She really did. I could tell." And the two men patted his shoulder consolingly, before leaving.
As the people began to filter away, and the chairs emptied, he slowly walked towards the gleaming mahogany. It was as if he was approaching his judgment, his fate. He stood there, breathing the unbearably heated and humid air. The man across from him watched him sadly. "You should say your good-byes, son." With a lingering glance, his eyes flickered closed, and he turned on his heel and walked away.
He wished it were Massachusetts. He wished it were snowing. He wished he had the courage to produce a scarlet rose to lay on the mahogany. He wished he had the courage to kiss her. Mostly, he wished that what he had was of substance, rather than imaginings and wishes, and things he should have done, but didn't.
Maybe if he had the courage, he would have kissed her and loved her the way he fantasized. Maybe if he had been more observent, he would have noticed when she had begun to fade. However many times he wished upon a star or on candles or through prayer, it still wouldn't change her. She'd still be cold. She'd still be there. She'd still be gone.