A/N: Hi, readers! How about another episode of Farcie? Seriously, writing this upset me more than writing A Life Well Lost. I know, I know. I'll get to the point. I don't own Psychonauts, Tim Schafer and Doublefine have control, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Standing Here Today
Raz swept his wind-blown hair out of his eyes. The sun was setting, and he had to get back to his apartment at HQ soon. Milla would start to worry and Sasha would look for him if he wasn't home by seven for dinner, and this was not a place where Raz wanted to be found.
She had not died in vain. Those were the last words Raz heard before he left the funeral. Tears no longer streaked his face, nor did the pain still bring him to his knees. It was enough to leave an aching spot for the rest of his life, but Raz knew that his sweetheart would not want him to mourn her death today. As he stood before the headstone that gleamed cobalt and silver in the dying sunlight, Raz felt a warmth pass over him. The cold breeze did not chill him any longer when he thought of her. Their youthfulness could be seen in life and love, and the relationship was tumultuous at times. It didn't hurt their chances of staying together, though. Lili once said, "I don't do boring. If you weren't stupid and didn't argue with me, you would be even more stupid and have nothing to say." When she told him this, it took Raz two full minutes before he understood what she had said and replied with a loud, "Hey!" The memory made him smile. The emerald grass bent and swayed as a strong gust burst through, but Raz could not be moved. The artificial hue of the lawn screamed of death, but the shining column that did not quite reach Raz's shoulders only murmured. He could almost see Lili's face in the granite that glowed with a bluish tint. His hand reached for her instinctively, but the image disappeared and his tanned, slender fingers came in contact with nothing but cold, hard stone.
Truman Zanotto did not blame Raz, of course. It was only two years ago when the boy saved his very life. Still, it did not take away any of the hurt when the Grand Head of the Psychonauts lost his baby on a mission with a partner who was, too, just a child. They were almost to safety, but Raz could not help Truman's baby girl as their nearly-caught villain placed a well-aimed psi-blast straight to her heart. Raz, frozen earlier from an atypically powerful confusion bomb, was strapped in Psitanium restraints and screamed Lili's name as he was forced to watch her death. Sasha and Milla had come to the rescue, along with Truman, who knew something had gone wrong from both his psychic abilities and the extra intuition that comes from being a parent. The sinking feeling in their stomachs had confirmed the scene that awaited them. On the light, cement floor of the madman's lair, Lili lay at their feet with half-closed eyes and a chest that did not rise or fall, despite the fact that Truman had held his breath to wait for hers to come. It had not. The only sight or sound to be noted was Razputin's quiet sobs emerging from his trembling body, which was trapped in a glowing, full set of Psitanium hand and leg cuffs on the bullet-scarred wall before them. Truman stumbled down to his daughter, and Raz forced his gaze away. Sasha Nein felt just as guilty.
"It was my fault, Truman. I take full responsibility." The German did not blame Raz either. "He was only a boy, Truman. I saw his immense talent, but the mission would have challenged even Milla and myself." The words echoed in Raz's ears. He could not register their meaning, but he could pick up on the mild shake in the German's voice. Up until then, Raz had never seen Sasha upset. As Milla ran to undo the manacles, her partner removed his dark glasses and looked at Raz. There was pity and love in his moist, hazel eyes. Pity and love for a prodigy and his skilled, young girlfriend who was sent to her grave at eleven years old overwhelmed both mentor and student until they could no longer look at each other. Milla levitated Raz's stunned body into her arms and whispered gentle things to him.
"Shh, baby. It will be okay." Her voice trembled and hot tears soaked through Raz's torn sweater with the Psychonauts emblem near his heart. Milla sat him down on the dusty ground but did not let him go. He cried into her shoulder, and suddenly, there was nothing that could stop either of them from letting go. Sasha was visibly shaken but he composed himself for Zanotto's sake. The Grand Head held Lili's limp figure to his chest, weeping over the girl and wetting her hair, which was falling from its pigtails and hanging over the masculine arm that held her. Shreds of her dark-green, Psychonauts sweater clung to her black jeans and her father's baby-blue t-shirt, which was now stained darker from the leaking roof of the dreary hideout. The fact that the child's shield, which was seconds too late, had reflected shreds of the blast into her assailant's heart did not matter right now. It will matter tomorrow, when Truman will see in a report that the scraps of energy ended up killing the bastard who had killed his Lili. Using clairvoyance, he saw the entire struggle. He saw that Raz had nearly destroyed their target but also how he failed to protect his partner when he was telekinetically shackled to the wall and forced to observe the quick shot of dark red energy that ended the girl's life. Any bitterness associated with the boy's inability to save his daughter dissipated as he gazed into Lili's half-closed, dull eyes. They loved each other. There was nothing Raz could do to break free; there was no point in placing blame. It would only cause more pain.
"Razputin," Truman called weakly, "come here." Oh God, Sasha thought. He is going to rub salt in the wound, and there is nothing I can do. Milla held her partner's hand, knowing otherwise. She leaned her head on his shoulder and shivered slightly. Sasha removed his coat, the thick, black leather warm and dry, and helped Milla put it on. She did not expect the jacket to be so heavy. It weighed her down immensely, and it reminded her of the time she lost her own children. It was the kind of weight even the strongest individual would collapse under. Raz shuffled forward, slowly, but his timidity was not needed to show his remorse. Truman turned around, his lips upturned in a weak smile to calm the boy.
"No, no. It's okay." He reached his arm out and lightly grasped Raz's shoulder. The two looked at Lili together, hoping, waiting, weeping. They knew she wouldn't wake up. "She loved both of us. I want you to know…" Truman stopped and faced Raz again. He paused to collect himself. "I want you to know that this is not your fault. Too many agents blame themselves when something goes horribly wrong and someone ends up…like this. Sometimes, things like this just happen." Truman could not hold himself together any longer. He burst into tears and knelt forward, curling up on the dense, cement floor with Lili in one arm and Razputin, sinking to the ground with him, in another. Raz nodded miserably, grateful for forgiveness yet feeling deserving of none. He looked to Sasha, who bobbed his head in agreement. Not your fault. It seemed too easy to say. This is not my fault. The words sound vacant, and they echo in my ears. It's not my fault. He took one last look at Lili, mumbled an apology that was inaudible and broken with emotion, and walked back with Truman, Sasha, and Milla out of the emotion-drenched room to the jet. Truman carried Lili in his arms, unable to let his baby go.
He will probably cry tomorrow. Not today. He felt too close to her today, as if she had not died but was only waiting for tomorrow to fall asleep forever. Tomorrow, when he rolls over in bed and sees the photograph of Lili's auburn hair and dark, hazel eyes, he will see that she is gone. Today, it is past seven, and Milla is worrying. Sasha has put on his heavy, leather jacket and stepped outside. The cemetery is no longer restless in the dying sun. The wind, having finished blowing away the fears of the living, has quieted itself to bring the peace of the deceased. Here, in the bright-green hills that hold a million memories, there is a stillness that cannot hold tomorrow's sadness. Here, amongst flourishing trees and smooth stone, tomorrow will never come. Here, today, when the smiles of the buried are not yet smiles of our memories, when their deaths are not endings but beginnings, is the only time that matters. Raz knows that beyond the glimmering cobalt and silver headstone, Lili is glad to see him standing here today.
A/N: No…Toni Morrison's style isn't incorporated here at ALL…nope. Hehe….Whelp, I hope you enjoyed this little story of mine. Ta-ta for now!
-Farcie-