Past Lives Linked
Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Summary: They had never met until she walked into the bullpen. But somehow, when they made eye contact across the office space, he knew her, though he'd never met her before. As it turned out, some lives are linked by much more than just a first meeting. Some lives are linked by the past. McGiva.
"We may not live in the past, but the past lives with us."
- Samuel Pisar (1929 -), Holocaust Survivor
Israel
The breeze tugged at the curtains, sending them fluttering above the floor. Like a camera drinking in the opening of a film as it pans about the room, the breeze moved through the space, brushing lightly at the crumpled sheets and dancing over the clothes strewn about the floor before making its way into the small hallway towards the living room. The smell of coffee danced on the edge of the wind, before moving out to the small back steps, where the current occupants of the house sat, sharing a cup and watching the desert before them.
The woman shifted until her back lay against his side, head resting on his shoulder. She sighed, reaching a hand down to take his with a gentle squeeze. He glanced down at their hands, returning the squeeze, before bringing her hand to his lips. They sat in silence for several minutes, before he asked,
"What are you thinking?" She sighed, letting her gaze drift off into the distance.
"That something will go wrong, and we will be captured and then separated before we are killed."
He shifted, tugging until she faced him, and met her gaze. It was haunted, her eyes seeing the horrors she'd witnessed all those years ago. It was a look he desperately wished he could erase, but he knew it wasn't that simple. She had seen things, had borne witness to tortures that would drive any sane person into the asylum. But so had he; he himself had witnessed horrors he would never forget, could never erase from his memory, though they would fade with time. After a moment, he lifted her chin. "Hey, look at me." Slowly, their gazes met, and he gave her a soft, reassuring smile. "It's over, remember? No one can hurt us here. We're safe." Gently, he brushed a tear off her cheek. "And we're together."
She nodded, finding comfort in his words before leaning up and kissing him. He tasted like coffee, and sunshine, and sex, and after a moment, she pulled away and climbed to her feet, holding out a hand.
He took her hand, climbing to his feet and following her back into the house, casting one last glance over his shoulder. It didn't seem real that they were actually here, in this dry, hot country, that had- while not fully welcomed them with open arms- allowed them entrance as they, like hundreds of others, sought refuge. It had been months since they'd arrived, since the end of the horrors, and yet, he could still, on exceedingly hot days, smell the unforgettable stench of flesh burning and taste the dry, rancid dust of human ash on his tongue.
It was those exceedingly tough days and nights that he sought out the sweet taste of her skin and the smell of her hair; reaching out for the feel of her body beneath his to reassure himself that they were alive. It was those times when he buried himself in the softness of her flesh that he realized just how lucky they were. They, unlike millions, had managed to escape, to survive, despite the hell they'd endured along the way.
He would never forget the terrors that had welcomed him as he'd stepped off the train with hundreds of others; the sight of thousands already subjected to Hell that waited to greet the new arrivals- bodies so thin, how they held their heads up was a mystery, the familiar striped uniforms given to all upon arrival hanging off these walking, living skeletons, and eyes so big and desperate in sunken faces, drinking hungrily in the clothing those that stepped off the train wore- vultures sizing up new meat, waiting for the right moment to strike.
"Hey, are you all right?" He turned back to her; the worry in her eyes deepening at the look on his face. He forced a tight smile, squeezing her hand and pulling her close.
"I'm okay, I promise. Just... got lost in the past for a moment." She nodded as he kissed her. She slid an arm around his neck, holding him to her. When he finally pulled away, she met his gaze and then tugged him into the house. He followed her into the kitchen, taking a seat at the worn oak table as she let go of his hand and made her way to the stove.
"What shall we have for lunch? We don't have much, but-"
"Compared to before, it's a feast, right?" He finished. She stopped, hand on the burner knob. He soon heard her choke on a soft sob, and quickly got up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry." His arms slid around her waist, holding her to him as he buried his face in her hair and hummed softly to her. She took his hand, squeezing gently.
"No, it... it is not you, I... I just... I never thought I would ever see food again, as silly as that sounds." She turned her head, meeting his gaze once more. He shook his head.
"No, it's not silly. After what we went through, it's a normal fear, a rational fear. There were days when I considered the linen of our uniforms over the meager rations we were given." She chuckled softly.
"I spent one night hiding in the sewers and... at one point... even the rats that shared the pipes with me looked... what is the word... appetizing?" He pressed a kiss to her forehead; her eyes closed on instinct. When he pulled away, he took her face in his hands.
"We will never go through that again, understood? Never again. We survived Hell, and because we survived... now we will thrive." She nodded, burrowing into his chest.