A/N- A more subdued piece. It may be sad, but it's a poignant reminder of what Stitch may face along his path, and what we may face along our own. Please feel free to read and review "Facing Immortality."

Facing Immortality

He held her hand. The wrinkles were new, but the grip was old. It had been so long. He worried that she had left him behind. That she had forgotten. He never had.

It had been so long. The world had grown. She had travelled it. He had stayed behind. Too much to do. The world had grown. She had saved so many in it. He had stayed behind. Too many to help. She had found love. A love he could never give. He had been heartbroken. She had seemed happy. Consolation enough for him.

She had returned to their little town. Not so little anymore. Buildings stacked high to escape the ocean. The ocean that had devoured his beach. He would sit on the pier, close to the old shop. Ships would hover by. Ocean spray would coat his nose. He would sneeze. She would have laughed.

There was no laughter in the bed. Wise eyes were closed. They had always been wise. A twitch in a finger. He was startled. The only one in the room. Except the sun. Bright and warm, it shone through bay windows. The sun's rays crawled along the floor, up the post, onto her skin. The light was trapped in new wrinkles. He ran his hand along them. Her eyes were closed. He sighed.

All the others were gone. Taken by time. By ocean. By life. They would not take him. Could not take him. He had watched the others leave. He had watched the others go. Each time, he knew it was inevitable. And each time, he was heartbroken.

Powerful and powerless, he watched the world grow. And he watched his world shrink. He had paced the beach, what little remained. Stared at the churning waters. At the hovering boats. At the gleaming skyscrapers. At the old shop. He was heartbroken.

He had kept the house. The house on the hill. The ocean left it alone. Bay windows were washed. Floors were scrubbed. He did enough to keep it together. Even as they left. Even as they went. His world had shrunk, but he had kept the house. He had hoped she would come back to it.

And she did. And she had been alone. Just like he was, a long time ago. Her world had shrunk. She found him on the pier. A greeting, old and new. There was no sadness in her voice. And she told him everything. He sat by her feet, just like he did, a long time ago. She painted a picture with reds of passion, blues of harmony, blacks of grief, and whites of joy. She took him from town to town. Country to country. She showed him the people she had helped. The people she had saved. Her work had been so important. So meaningful. He sat by her feet and smiled.

She told him of the world far away in time and place. Of the cities in the skies. Of the ships in the stars. Of the people who had accepted her. Of the people who would accept him. She told him not to hide. Not anymore. He dithered. She noticed. Her hand on his shoulder. The wrinkles were new, but the grip was old. He touched it. She drew away. The day came back.

She was standing on the pier, far from the old shop. She was waiting. The boat was cutting through the ocean. Pulling up to the pier. He nearly missed her. He panted and puffed. She put down her bag. Packed with everything, ready to go. To leave him behind. He took her hand.

He told her. He told her everything. He started from the first day. From the sty to the house on the hill. He told her of time spent wisely. Of time spent with love. He showed her what they had done, together. The others were happy. They had found their places. Hers was here, he told her.

She asked him why. He told her everything. The feeling that never left his belly. The feeling that floated up when he saw her. The feeling that shined when she spoke to him. The sun's rays warmed the pier. No comparison to her. He told her everything.

She drew away. Wise eyes were brimful. She shook her head. The droplets caught the sun's rays as they fell. He went to catch them. They slipped through shaky fingers. Splashed onto the pier. She picked up the bag. Words rarely escaped her. But they had run to the boat. And she followed them.

He had stood on the pier until the sun's rays slipped behind the ocean. Waiting for the boat to return. Waiting for her to return. And she did.

But not before his world had shrunk. He had watched them all leave. Watched them all go. Each time, he wondered about himself. He gazed at his arms. Smooth, like at the beginning. Eyes never looked wise. Always full, always glinting, always new. Not like hers. She had been hardened by time. By ocean. By life. He would not. He could not. Powerful and powerless.

She put her hand on his shoulder again. The wrinkles were new, but the grip was old. She told him everything. Of the family she had built. Of the children who lived in the cities in the skies. Of their children who lived in the ships in the stars. Of the one she had loved. A love he could never give. He smiled. And he was heartbroken.

The room was quiet. Her breathing had slowed. The bay windows were washed. The floors were scrubbed. The sun's rays had crawled up her arm. No longer smooth. The light was trapped in new wrinkles. He ran his hand along them. Her eyes were closed. He sighed.

The island was quiet. They had all left him. Taken by time. By ocean. By life. Some would face the inevitability. Others would not. Either way, they did not stay. Not like he had done. He had found his place. Even if they had not. Even if she had not.

He had paced the beach, what little remained. Stared at his smooth arms. The sun's rays bounced away. He wondered why he was left. He wondered why he would not, could not, be taken by time. By ocean. By life. He wondered why he kept the house. He wondered why he would be alone again. Just like he was, a long time ago.

But he was not alone. She had shown him that. Her hand on his shoulder. She was right. About the world far away in time and place. He would not hide. Not anymore.

The room was quieter. Her breathing was shallow. The sun's rays had slipped behind the ocean. He would tell her everything. Of the picture he would paint with reds of passion, blues of harmony, blacks of grief, and whites of joy. Of the towns he would visit. Of the countries where he would go. He would do important work. Meaningful work. He would find people to help. People to save. He did not wonder why he was left. He knew. He would tell her everything.

She shuddered. Her whole body leapt. Wise eyes opened. He saw her. The feeling floated up. He started. Wise eyes were brimful. She shook her head. The droplets were dark as they fell. He went to catch them. They slipped through shaky fingers. Splashed onto the bed.

He had waited for her to return. And she did. He started again. Wise eyes were closed. They had always been wise. A twitch in her finger. Calm and peaceful. He told her everything. About the one he had loved. A love he could not give. And as he did, he watched her leave. He watched her go. He watched his world shrink. He knew it was inevitable. And he was heartbroken.

"Lilo," Stitch said, powerful and powerless. "Don't leave me."

He held her hand. The wrinkles were new, but the grip was old. It had been so long. He worried that she had left him behind. That she had forgotten. She never had.

END

Disclaimer: The preceding story is a work of fiction. Any relation to any person, living or dead, is coincidental. This fiction is intended for personal consumption. It is not intended for commercial sale or distribution. "Stitch" and all related media (c) The Walt Disney Company. All other media (c) Euphonemes.