A/N: Merry Christmas guys! (Boxing day for me whoops!) I've had this lying around for a little while, written in a journal, so I decided to type it up as a sort of Christmas present. Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
She's looking at the stars when she first sees him.
Or rather it, as it were initially. A bright ball of burning plasma along the brightest of stars that made the rare person who ventured out into the wild fields of Missouri during the late fall gasp out "ooh"s and "aah"s at a sky that wasn't poisoned by the sodium lights of civilisation. She's along in the fields, nothing to keep her company other than her fogging breath in the frigid night air and the sleepy rustle of tall grass. Her neck is craned way up high to get a good look at all of them (the way that makes her neck ache like hell but in a good way when she's done, despite Gregg's protests "Christ Mer, you're gonna break your neck one of these times) when one in particular sticks out.
It's not much of a sight, really. Probably a fourth of fifth magnitude star, twinkling away in the cold and lonely light years past. Except this one...it isn't twinkling - not even a single bit. Before Meredith can contemplate the nigh ridiculous notion that it's a crashing plane, the star – thing – he- gets brighter and brighter, closer and closer, so much so that beyond a certain point it hurts to look at it. And good God almighty, the sky itself is getting brighter, an-
Before her thoughts get ahead of her, the one tiny rational part of Meredith (the one that wants to damn well survive, thank you very much) forces her to duck into the tall and still swaying grass (screw the chance of lime disease from deer ticks, she's surviving here and now, maybe not later) and puts her hands over her head.
For a while, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, everything is peaceful and calm. That is, until a piercing noise skitters through the silence, growing and growing and (God that's a strong force, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna)-
BOOOOOOOM
A thunderous explosion roars across the landscape that causes her ears to ring for a good while after as she's knocked over by the aftershock but she's alive, by Joe she's alive. She fist bumps into the air and gives a whoop of joy, standing up so fast she nearly falls over before she remembers there's been a God-awful explosion, and that something (please don't be angry, please don't be angry, please don't be angry) is a few fields away from her, most likely having lived much farther away from her or any human being prior to this.
She's walking over to the crash site before she knows it (it seems that she isn't doing a lot of thinking as of late), wading through the tall grass and avoiding the ever growing scorched patches of grass and still burning embers. Half way there, her logic seems to catch up to her. Call the police? And what, get sent to an asylum, forever having the CIA monitor you? Well the contact a nearby farmer. Oh yeah, like alien scares and pranks totally haven't been going on since that hit with the Jones's. Calling anyone else was out of the water, she doesn't want it to end up like the war of the worlds scare of '38 (though it sure made her laugh hearing it from her relatives).
She wants to give herself a solid reason not to investigate, to turn back and live her life safe and without anything gross she might get from coming into contact with this thing. But then again, she had a solid reason to continue, doesn't she? She has little left to live after that regular turned solemn doctor's appointment, leaving everyone tight lipped and worried for the family's funds. So for once, Meredith walks forward with purpose and without worries (because despite what Sandra sometimes says, Mer is nothing but a total worry wart sometimes – she's just not smart enough to heed any of her worries) and goes to confront whatever the hell took a field and nearly her out in the process of it landing.
And it's a man.
Or at least it looks a helluva lot like one: strong jaw, devil's curly hair and all (ish). He's also buck naked, pink skin turning redder from the cold in his halo like a ring of dying fire in the long grass around him. Mer's apprehensive. Hell, she doesn't even know what she should do now, what she could do. But, like everything else in life, you have to take things one step at a time.
So she does.
She takes off her long, sheepskin coat (Thank God for Giles and his miraculous sheep and very suitable and predictable presents) and wraps it around him tight (he's a bit too big for it after all), heaves him up over her shoulder like a reeeaaaallly heavy sack of potatoes (because farm work builds muscle, girl or boy) and slowly but surely makers her way over to her pick up truck, thanking her lucky stars she was feeling lazy enough tonight to drive in it. When he's all buckled up and she's on her way home, she laughs so hard she cries and figures that, if nothing else, this would make for a good camp fire story.
It (or rather he) as she discovered upon first sight, was certainly more than a man. J'son, as he called himself, was not only very embarrassed to find himself near naked under a pink a frilly quilt with a .338 win mag calibrated rifle trained on his head, but also very, very confused. Needless to say, he was also very grateful to be alive as was displayed whenever he helped her with the farm work, or fixed that one leaky pipe that always froze in winter or listened to her music without complaint, sometimes humming along to the tune.
And as he slowly worked himself out of his weakened state accompanying the crash, his gaze turned from grateful to something else, like the way harsh eyes would seem to melt if she talked about a seemingly meaningless fascination with fervent desire, or when she'd dance along and occasionally sing softly (or loudly, as it often was) to her music. How his touch would linger for a moment longer than necessary, and how he'd give a warm and toothy grin with a hint of mischief whenever she asked about what it was like to be among the stars. Whenever she'd ask about why he came here, though, his gaze would harden and he'd grow cold and unresponsive. She quickly learnt not to ask any more questions like that.
Meredith fell in love awkwardly yet with passion. The bumbling and uncertain way with brave comments then backing away shyly and with discomforts, full out dance competitions then cold distances, as if uncertain with this love, with herself. But her time was running short, she knew, and resisting this love hurt more than when her bones ached and protested at the mere notion of getting up in the morning. So she opened herself up, loved and let herself be loved. And somehow, along the way, two bumped up to three.
It was pure coincidence, really. She was certain of that much. But after her third skipped period she decided to suck it up and tell J'son, prepared for the rejection and angry shouting yet finding none, only elation and excitement as he lifted her up and spun her around in circles.
Two months later and he was gone, a flash of light before her in bed, removed from his comforting embrace as she cried out, his final words being "I will return." a flash of light brighter than the one she saw when she first met him, and then nothing. Nothing but a rapidly cooling empty bed space beside her, the distant twinkling of the far off stars and the irritated kicking of her unborn child. She placed a hand on her swollen belly, as if too sooth the child. And when she looked out into the night sky and only saw distant stars, Meredith wept.
She's been dying for a while now. Every since the doctor's appointment turned "guess the day that you die lotto" all those nine years ago, she's been dying. Though this time she knows she won't be coming out of the hospital in a wheelchair.
Her trusty Pa's brought Peter again, her poor boy having gotten into another fight. Always too kind, too brilliant, too bright - just like his daddy. She says some things of relative importance, her family around her like they hadn't at all tried to scram when they found out she was pregnant and unmarried.
She looks over to Peter, vision spotty and breathing growing weaker by the second. "Peter, take my hand." She says, smiling softly, giving what little comfort to she can to her son who'll be crushingly alone in but a few moments.
She's surprised when he turns away from her, and it seems Gregg is too, keen on coaxing Peter back to his mother for her final moments.
"Peter, take my hand." She repeats, voice strained and palm turned upwards – because she's been left and abandoned with little prior warning, she's been right next to someone as they're enveloped by the light. And she just wished for something, even now, even the brush of his fingers over hers would have counted as an apology, as a goodbye to her.
But she's fading now, and she can't hold onto Peter, onto any of them. She takes one final, shuddering breath, and lets her eyes slip closed.
I'm sorry, Peter...I'll see you again one day, my little Starlord.
And as she closes her eyes, her world explodes into light. She is among the stars once more...
And it is like she never left.
A/N: Ngl, as a last line I wanted to put "And it's like he never left." as well to refer back to J'son. Decided to leave this here in case you preferred that line. Hope you liked the story! (Oh, and have a Happy New Year!)