A/N This story hit me at three in the morning in my half-term holiday I wrote it up after my exams had finished in one idle free lesson.
This wasn't what she needed.
Not what she wanted. It was just a chance, a chance to forget, to pretend that he was someone else, someone she had long wished she could forget.
The truth was she didn't want to forget. Who would want to forget his hair shining in the sun his brilliant smile, his unending bravery and compassion, the very same bravery that had left her cold and alone.
It was moments like this that she could close her eyes and remember, remember the calloused fingers skimmed her skin, the bright blue eyes clouded in love, the fire red hair so soft to the touch, his broad shoulders and comforting weight.
She always kept her eyes tight shut. If she didn't it was too hard to pretend. Her illusion shattered. The fingers to soft, the eyes too green, the coal hair too coarse, the weight just wrong and the frame to small.
This wasn't what she wanted, just a replacement for a man who died for his best friends in the heat of battle, comparing life to a chess game.
This wasn't what he needed.
How he still wished he could get what he needed.
The fire had left the eyes of his love and he was left with a shell and a replacement.
The replacement had replaced everything. Long copper hair with short brown curls beautiful soft subtle curves with an awkward hourglass, the beautiful soft pale skin with a coffee tan and the eyes of light and fire with eyes full of sorrow and pain.
This wasn't what he wanted, just a replacement for a beauty lying without mind or soul in a hospital never to awake again.
The passion they learned to share was free from love. It was comfort, comfort and guilt.
Husbands are not remembered in the beds of grieving friends. You cannot take a lover when the one you should be with is alive.
But they had to.
This wasn't what either of them wanted, just the next best thing.
A/N I quite like this. Did you?