Hi everyone!
So... I'm back with a new story :)
Once again I've been sitting on this "project" for longer than I shouldn't admit, meaning I might have started working on this while I was finishing posting my one-shot series "Specks of Dust", and yes, before I even started my "Pleasure of Business" AU story.
I know... It's a long time, but you know how much I love to take my time with these two characters :D Anyway, before I leave you to it I have to remind you that I still have no idea about what season six holds, and that I have no clue whatsoever about what season seven's possible plot could be about. This story just follows a few events that I have come up with to tie some loose ends, so if the events don't match up, or if the characters appear to be a bit OOC, that's probably the reason. This is my own hypothetical "endgame" let's say. Everything is canon till the end of season five, but this story takes place after both Piper and Alex are out of prison and living together. All the events that I have inserted (and mentioned in this first chapter) in between that period are just hypothetical turns my mind has come up with, so...
You know what? I think I'll stop rambling now and just... leave you to the chapter already with one more warning:
The M rating applies since this first chapter. There are some visual descriptions of blood and violence but also of... Uh... Other stuff.
Anyway... Here you go :)
I don't own Orange Is The New Black or any of the characters.
I'm just... experimenting something.
As always I apologize for eventual grammar mistakes, English is not my first language.
Enjoy
You aren't sure about any of this.
Not one bit prepared and a total ignorant in the matter. (Not to mention... kind of old, too.)
And that's probably what scared you so much at first, when the subject first came up and got mentioned.
However, for an exceptional case, it turns out that you were wrong. Because getting more information (just... out of curiosity, of course) has the power to make you even more terrified actually, and make you realize that this must be the one and only case - coincidentally - where acknowledging and getting to know your so-called fear doesn't work in banishing all the demons floating around the subject.
Go figures.
Just thinking about it is enough to fill you with anxiety and dread and a full load of other troubling feelings you want nothing to do with.
Nope.
Just... no way.
Nuh uh.
You have hung up your trouble-making/fuck-up labeled mantle the moment you have taken off the jumpsuit for the last time.
You are officially done with drama and any kind of complicated, generally-troubling situation for like... three lifetimes you believe, according to the latest count.
But...
You sigh.
There is always a but.
And there is always the one and same reason behind it that there's always been.
Piper.
And Piper seems to really, really want this.
You can tell, even without her having said a word more regarding the subject since that one time she brought it up about a couple of weeks ago and you practically laughed in her face thinking that she was in the mood for jokes or something.
Yeah, right.
Hilarious.
...Idiot.
Because you knew, even back then, that she wasn't joking.
Nor you had reason to believe she was. If anything in fact, you know that she's always had such desire. That, eventually, stability was something she would have longed for.
But brushing it off as a bad quip then, is not only how you still tend to deal with things, occasionally - as you don't even have to defend with your new, far too intuitive therapist (yet another change in your life you are not particularly content with) - but it was also better than having a real conversation about something you have rarely, distantly thought about and not even Once with the serious intention that it could be an actual option for you, and honestly? Not something you have ever desired, really.
Monogamy?
Sure.
A lifetime spent with the love of your life?
You even have a ring on your finger to prove the seriousness of such commitment even though you hadn't indulged in the thought of marriage either. That's it until you both went through a nightmare together, and the lovable dork that is your spouse cryptically handed you over a can of beans.
Anything more than marriage and the seriousness of commitment that comes with it though...
You are just...
Well...
Not maternal.
There.
Even just thinking about such word in fact, and the possibility of using it as a label for yourself, is enough to make you frown... and the image might even make you cringe a little.
Also, if you have to be completely honest, you don't think that with all the things that you have... gone through and Done, you are the most suitable person in the world to be a parent and a general role model for a kid.
But Piper...
You sigh, again.
Because you can see the glimpses of that side of her brighten like tiny little stars blinking in the blue of her eyes, and the joy that it brings her - shimmering all the brighter into them - every time she plays with Cal's son. Her nephew.
You, however, are perfectly content (more than just content actually, to the point that some times you can scarcely believe it) about the way things have turned out in the end.
You look forward to getting to bed at the end of a long, tiring day and scoot away from the edge that is your side and meet Piper there in the middle, where she is already waiting for you to cuddle her frame, even though... lately, she seems to have grown particularly fond of cradling yours, especially...
Especially after you wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and distressed, disoriented, because of the umpteenth nightmare.
Which is... another valid reason that you believe doesn't make you suitable for the kind of life-long job Piper would like you to sign up for with her.
Also... you highly doubt that if things were to change because of a new... tiny addition, you would have some of that precious time that you currently have to indulge into something for yourselves.
Not to mention that your apartment, for how quaint and homey, doesn't have enough room to hold another person. It is, in fact, quite inadequate with all the sharp corners and low windows and a couple of potentially dangerous, substandard electrical outlets and the pretty steep flights of stairs.
No.
The apartment would definitely have to go.
But the issue doesn't stand since you aren't going to do this.
At the moment, you are in no condition to even consider the idea.
...Not at a conscious level at least...
. . .
The office is small.
Cozy even.
The decor is simple and neat but not dull.
It does have a touch of character that doesn't unbalance the rest of the... pleasant, clean ambiance.
The warm, earthy colors of the surrounding put you at ease. Not like the sterile white and gray walls of the other studies you have been into before this one.
Piper would probably like it, and make some comment about the fabric and design of the modern upholstery, too.
The afternoon's glow seeping through the slit of the curtains covering the tall windows lends the surrounding an even warmer, soothing touch, rendering the study look surprisingly all the more welcoming.
You find yourself surprised that you actually like it in here. Even though the reason why you are here is less than appealing, and definitely not the kind of appointment you find yourself looking forward to each week. Twice a week.
But it's not like you have much of a choice...
The chair you sit onto is comfortable too, but you still squirm onto it.
It has nothing to do with the piece of furniture itself though.
But it has everything to do with the appreasing look veiled by a polite (even friendly) smile that the woman sitting across from you is giving you.
"How are you doing today, Alex?"
Doctor Campbell is not the kind of therapist you expected to be assigned to after the failure that the two previous, incompetent ones that the Feds had recommended you to have turned out to be.
She is...
nice.
A middle-aged woman with a slim constitution that makes her look even smaller inside the knitted dark blue sweater that she is wearing today, which looks at least two sizes bigger on her slender frame.
The old-style square glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose are also a bit too large for her face, but the eyes behind the lenses are naturally warm and genuinely kind.
Her features are pleasing enough, and her wrinkles not so marked to make you unable to assume that she must have been an attractive woman when she was younger. Like two decades ago.
Whatever her hair color was back then, now her locks have turned into a proud gray that brush her narrow shoulders in soft, gentle waves.
She has this generally... oddly reassuring appearance.
But what is most important, is that her methods seem to be far different from the clinical ones you have been scrutinized under before you got assigned to her. Although, you still act cautiously around her, even though the light, conversational-like approach that she has initiated with you in these first three sessions, and her seemingly genuine interest is exactly what makes it a bit more difficult for you to keep your guard up.
As it proves with the far-too-honest reply that you offer in return to her question.
"I'm... not sure how to answer that." You admit, shifting a bit more in your seat, as if feeling uncomfortable by your own honesty. And even though her gaze doesn't make you nervous, the fact of being under scrutiny still has a way to make you a bit squirmy, no matter how... sociable this entire approach is.
You just really don't like therapy.
But, once again, you simply have to do it.
It's all part of your... deal.
And so, you endure it.
As you endure over and over questions like:
"Have you had trouble sleeping?" Even though, you have to admit that when Doctor Campbell asks you that question, she actually sounds and looks genuinely interested, not like one of your previous so-called/excuse-of-therapists who barely looked at you and just checked boxes off a list of symptoms.
Doctor Campbell actually asks you if "Did you wake up rested this morning?"
And it's because of that interest veiled by a note of genuine concern that you actually feel a bit bad for scoffing in her face, but really, you can't help it. Because, after all...
"Having my wife kidnapped from my former drug-trafficking employer after he had found out that I was still alive, using her as a hostage to lure me out of prison, forcing me to escape with a prison break because no one would believe me, and then living the most terrifying night of my life... It makes sleeping at night as easy as getting smacked in the head with a rusty pipe by said former employer." You answer, bitingly, (deliberately leaving out the part of the traffic noises coming from the streets below your apartment building, which are driving you slowly insane each passing day) going through the summary without lingering on the details, because the last thing you want is to relive (once again) the most terrifying nightmare you ever had to live.
Unexpectedly, there is none of that annoying, utterly fake and compassionate "That must have been awful" that you have heard before countless times, from police, feds, marshals, previous therapists and all that bunch when you had to explain what happened.
Instead, Doctor Campbell's lips twitch into an unexpected smile.
"Still very fond of sarcasm I see."
Ok. So maybe it's not so unexpected.
She appears to be genuinely amused by that default defense mechanism of yours, and her comment is enough for you to lower your guard just a bit further. And that is more than enough for the doctor to catch you completely unprepared when she asks- or rather points out that...
"This is not what is troubling you today, though, is it?"
You almost startle in your seat.
She is attentive.
For a moment her dark eyes narrow into two suspicious, knowing slits as she appreases you in a way you are not used to.
It puts you a bit off balance, knowing that someone (even if that someone happens to be a therapist trained to catch the most minimal reactions in traumatized people) is able to see through your defenses and your sting of sarcasm so easily.
...you know only one other person who can do it so effortlessly.
And, as always, She also happens to be the main reason behind your most recent, troubling thoughts. The ones that have inevitably sprung from this new... idea- this new life-changing experience your spouse would like to make with you. Summoning a whole new horde of hungry demons ready to feast on those new fears that mentioning the subject has inevitably brought to the surface.
"Piper wants to have a baby..."
It actually takes you a moment - still shocked- dazed as you are about such an arguable rquest - to realize that the words have actually slipped out from your lips and into the open, and not simply rung in your head. And when such realization comes, your entire frame stiffens up. Your head snaps up. Eyes wide. Startled like a deer.
For the following moment, you don't even dare to breathe. As if it would make up for that slip.
As if the words- that revelation, would be sucked back in from where it came. And for the first time since you have started this whole... therapy thing, you actually find yourself dreading for a reaction.
For an opinion.
But... all you receive in return from Doctor Campbell after having involuntarily blurted out such thing, is a humming-like noise.
A noncommittal sound.
That's it.
And... it actually doesn't even strike you at first why you feel so... annoyed by such a... non-response.
Although, contradictorily, you feel also oddly comforted by the fact that she doesn't show any interest in jotting down any kind of note regarding the subject, even when - after a few moments spent appreasing you - she asks the question that you have been asking to yourself for the past week or so.
"And you don't share this desire she has?"
She picks up her pen then, but doesn't click it. She just... twists it somehow distractedly in her bony hand.
"I..." You hesitate, shifting once more in your seat, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the amount of emotions and sensations that springs within you at the thought. They grow into this tight, heavy, white-hot knot that threatens to choke you up from the inside, almost to the point where you can hardly feel your ribcage expand.
You can only close your eyes and force yourself to take a silent deep breath through your nose, willing that feeling away, shaking your head to try to dispell those thoughts (along with the feelings that follow suit as a result) and find your grasp on reasoning, which is the only thing you seem to be able to rely on whenever this subject comes up.
Reason.
Logic.
An honest self-evaluation.
The same kind that you put into your answer.
"I don't think that I'm the most suitable person on the planet to be a parent."
You've never voiced this.
Not out loud.
Not even to Piper.
And saying this to a complete stranger while omitting it to the love of your life is a realization that actually hurts, swelling the guilt that is still there, knotted tightly in your stomach, and growing spikes that poke at you from the inside.
Although... You guess that it would have hurt much worse seeing her expression, and see the hope fade from those deep, bottomless blue pools if you would have been this honest with her.
Not that laughing in her face has gotten you a better reaction.
...Idiot.
The odd sense of relief and liberation that you experience in the moment you express your... personal opinion on the matter, however, is short-lived. Because feeling good about feeling good in uttering that truth out loud, has a way to make you feel awful.
The meaning in your own words is crushing with all the weight of a reality you are stubbornly struggling to hold up on your own.
"What makes you think that?" Doctor Campbell asks you then, her eyebrows knitting in puzzlement. Her dark eyes appreasing you closely, but not intrusively. Still, even under such gentle scrutiny, having such an obvious question addressed at you with that look of confusion, makes you scoff.
"Let's see..." You summarize, once again hiding behind the familiar, comforting mantle of sarcasm. "I am a former drug trafficker who's ended up in prison, I have dragged the love of my life into the entire mess out of anger. The only time I have tried to do something right and trusted the system I have ended up with a target on my back. Piper got me sent back to prison (because backstabbing was our twisted way of courtship back then) where I was almost killed by a former colleague and friend who, ironically enough, ended up dead by my hand- Literally. I've let someone else- the very same person who saved my life take the fault for it because, besides being a backstabbing murderer, I was also a coward - and then, after all that went down with the riot, the kidnapping and all of that... mess, once my former boss found out that I wasn't dead as I made him believe, and he found out that Piper was free, he took advantage of that, kidnapped her and forced me to come out in the open with a prison break that made me a fugitive."
If a part of you, for how small, was expecting to somehow impress the woman sitting across from you with the sting of your sarcasm, well... you haven't.
Doctor Campbell merely blinks.
Her expression so frustratingly unreadable after your unnecessary summary.
She has your file.
She is very well aware of your story.
Of the reason why you are currently here, in her office, having this entire... conversation with her.
And even though (despite your own cognizance and natural skill in reading human expressions) you can't seem to be able to understand what is it behind such look beside the (somehow comforting) lack of judgment.
However, she doesn't let your thorough summary divert the focus from the real subject and the reason that brought you to bring up all these compelling (and somehow defensive) arguments in the first place.
"You have been through quite an ordeal, indeed." She acknowledges, both sympathetically but also (mostly - as you prefer) matter of factly, which actually helps in relaxing your defensive stance a little.
"The juridic system is far from infallible." Doctor Campbell continues. "It hasn't been fair to you, and the situation you have had to face because of such injustice has been hazardous to a life-threatening extent. But..." She pauses, changing position, recrossing her legs and leaning forward ever so slightly, enough for you to notice better the way the crinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as they narrow with honest confusion. "Why do you believe any this is of relevance regarding possible parenthood?"
This time, you do a double take.
Looking at her in between incredulous and dumbstruck. Because... is she for real?
Isn't it... blindingly obvious?
The unchanging expression that is still there, tugging on your therapist's features, says that no. Apparently not.
Or maybe it is. And she just wants to hear you say it for yourself.
You would probably find it incredibly annoying in any other circumstance, but right now, you have no problem in admitting that-
"I would be a shitty role model for a child."
There.
Those you have just listed through that summary are the main reasons why you feel this way. But there is also the part regarding the fact that you still don't have a job, you still freak out when you hear sirens, you can barely tolerate the smell of gasoline, and, sometimes, when you are out, walking down the street, you swear that you can still see his face among the crowd of people.
You are starting to believe that you'll never be free of him.
No matter that he is gone. That he can't hurt you or Piper anymore. Ever again.
You have the impression that you'll always have to watch over your back, at every turn, every corner. Take the longer route home and slip into a store whenever you have the impression that someone might be following you.
How could you ever take care of a child in your current conditions?
How could Piper believe anything different from that? Enough to make the request?
You can barely take care of yourself and hold your crumbling pieces together only because you have her functioning as tape.
You can't even provide a financial contribution at the moment that doesn't come from that nest egg you have (thankfully) put aside and hid somewhere safe before going to prison - at least you were smart enough even back then to do something like that.
It grants you some certainty. But... it's not the same if you can't properly provide with an actual, honest and stable job.
Slipping back into that territory is dangerous. But there is nothing that you can do to avoid those feelings of uselessness, of powerlessness that spring from your current reality, and that, inevitably, forcefully drags you back to that night.
You duck your head, and your gaze falls into your lap, where you have been absently tracing the deep, rough scar bisecting the center of your palm with your other hand.
...You were the one who was supposed to save her that night.
You have risked everything to make sure she was unharmed.
You broke out of prison to make sure she was safe. The hell with the consequences.
And now... Now you are hunted by nightmares and guilt and the crippling "what could I have done differently" merging with that feeling of powerlessness that you have lived that night and that still persists after all this time.
A single tear slides down your cheek when you blink, and you swiftly wipe it away with the pad of your thumb.
"Does it still bother you?"
You don't have to look up to know that your therapist's gaze is lingering on the scar in your right hand.
The temptation to close it, turn it around or move it away- hide it, to pretend that you weren't looking at it while getting lost in those memories, as well as the temptation to blatantly lie, is strong.
But...
What's the point to be here and lie when you are here to be honest about your feelings and make progress? Healing?
You squirm once more in your seat. Because the thought makes you uncomfortable, but, eventually, after releasing a steady breath through your nose, you nod.
"Yes..." You murmur at last, barely above a shaky whisper.
It's been almost a year since all that- since the surgery. You have done your rehabilitation sessions but... There is this still that... sting that just won't leave you be.
"Maybe you haven't accepted it yet..."
It sounds more like an actual guess than a statement the one that Doctor Campbell offers you in response along with a gentle, barely hinted, understanding smile when you finally glance up at her.
And you can't argue with that.
You can in fact only confirm her words.
"I don't think I'll ever accept what happened that night."
You barely murmur it.
Your voice is raw with the tears you are smothering in the back of your throat, but there is still firmness into your tone. A certainty you cannot waver from.
Honesty is supposed to make you feel better. But if you were somehow expecting that admitting this detail out loud would have been of comfort... it isn't.
The entire... psychosomatic reasons or whatever behind the pain lacerating your hand, in fact, makes you feel like you might be making even less progress than you aren't.
If anything, it feels like you might be burrowing your way further into that cold, dark abyss from where any negative thought emerges.
Like a bubbling tar pit you are stubbornly, sadistically trying to cross while unavoidably keeping getting stuck into.
Luckily though, your new therapist - perceptive as she seems to be - upon noticing the swirl of emotions fluttering about you and seeing you getting swallowed by that vortex, throws you a rope of compassion, even if you are still the one who has to do all the climbing.
"What you and your wife have been through... It's very rough, Alex." Surprisingly, the gentle note of compassion in Doctor Campbell's voice manages to somehow disrupt the dark thoughts that were starting to cloud your mind again. And you are even more surprised when it doesn't instinctively trigger that same old defensive response.
"You have suffered a great trauma." She continues, just as sympathetically rather than clinically. "But even if you are taking your time to heal as you should, you also shouldn't discard the thoughts regarding how the rest of your life could be like now as a free woman. With no more threats to be concerned about over your lives. And what the future could hold, for you and for Piper, together, as spouses."
It's implied.
The whole... conversation gets brought back to its primary focus.
She doesn't explicitly say it though.
She doesn't say "family".
She doesn't say "baby".
But the concept held in her words, and the look held in her attentive, kind dark eyes, spell it out nonetheless. And in front of such firm conviction, you can't help but feel even more uncertain.
"What about my... situation?" You ask. "My PTSD? All the things that I have..." You swallow, hard. Diverting your gaze. Glancing down, where you have unconsciously been fidgeting with a loose thread on the sleeve of your jacket. Your fingers twitch, tightening, and you rip it off without even meaning to.
"...that I have done." You finish, barely mumbling the words under your breath, as if saying it so softly would also keep the demons quieter.
It doesn't.
You can hear them hissing beyond that veil that, despite your attempts to keep it intact, it still feels like it might be tearing off, along with a good portion of your sanity.
"All you have done," Your therapist chides in, reassuringly, taking your defenses, leaning in and searching your gaze. An unexpected, honest protectiveness that surely manages to pull you out from your self-misery and get your attention. "Has been protecting the person you love." She states. Firmly. Unwavering.
"You have gone through such great extends, faced many mortal threats all to make sure that Piper was safe."
Your lips part as if you might have something to say but... Despite the frown creasing your eyebrows and that instinct to counter, you can't actually reply to that.
"Even your escape charge has been reduced to its minimum given the circumstances."
Here, however, you scoff a little. A soft breathy sound that slips past your lips in self-deprecation.
"Yeah..." You agree. "If only I had the time to summon the Special Master and play the "future murder" card I could have gotten my out-of-prison free-pass." You quip sarcastically. But once again, your therapist seems all but affected by it.
"Timing and circumstances may have not been the most favorable," She acknowledges, reasoning. "But even so, because of such additional challenges, you have still proven your nature and shown the extends you would reach to protect someone you love, just like anyone would do. Just like anyone would have probably done in your situation."
Here though, even if she is clearly trying to reduce your sense of guilt, you don't remain silent.
You lift your gaze and lock it with hers.
Hard and stone cold.
"I have also killed two people."
Frustratingly so, however, Doctor Campbell doesn't look in the least affected. Not in the way you expected (maybe even wanted) her to be at least by the harshness of such reminder.
"You were only defending yourself. In both situations." She simply repeats, trying to banish once again the demons that creep under the surface of your cracked, frayed soul. "You did what was necessary to ensure your safety and the one of the woman you love."
You... did.
And you have been telling yourself that same thing. Tricking yourself into believing it until such tactic actually worked.
Although... You doubt that reducing it to that justification might actually be working for you.
Not to mention that you still have some doubts about where, exactly, your therapist might be going with all of this.
"What are you saying then?" That same frustration urges you to simply ask her at last. "That my actions are justified? I know that one was, but the other..." The other is so gray that seeing it as entirely black at this point has become the only way you can deal with it.
"How could I ever explain such thing to a kid? Should I just... accept it and go for Piper's idea without a second thought?"
For once, you don't even mean to be so... uncharacteristically, fiercely defensive. It's not how you usually react. Not how you have ever reacted with any of your previous therapists. And it gets reminded to you when you see Doctor Campbell scribbling something on her notepad before putting down the pen and leaning forward onto her seat, her bony hands joined, her eyes meeting yours in a clinically appreasing gaze you struggle to hold right now, but you still resist the almost overwhelming temptation to look away and squirm under the weight that it holds.
"I believe that we should never do something we don't want to do or aren't ready for." She says, calmly, her voice so soothing and understanding, just like the smile that starts to slowly tug at her pursed lips. As if she already knows something that you don't. Something that you haven't realized... Yet.
"But considering Piper's request and experiencing some understandable doubts about not being ready... those are not the issues here that really bother you, are they?"
There.
The implication.
It's like a pang.
Something inside your chest swelling and stumbling all over itself before coming to a crashing halt.
It slams against the back of your sternum with enough force to knock the air from your lungs in a stuttered silent exhale. Leaving you breathless. Your eyes grow wide, and your entire frame seizes at such implication- at the truth that has been whispering from somewhere hidden under your subconscious and that almost got lost under the persistent hiss of the demons closing around you.
It's startling.
Terrifying.
And yet, (unreasonably so, almost paradoxically) not so... Unpleasant.
As it is the swirl of feelings that spring from having that... question addressed to you with that rhetorical tone.
You stay there, unmoving.
Your palms sweat as you try to process and sort through all of these new... to put your thoughts into a resemblance of order that would make you do more than just stay there, lips parting and closing with a question that you, with all of your enviable eloquence, don't know how to put into words and push them past the sudden dryness in your throat.
"W-what is that supposed to-"
Eventually though, just when you get a strong enough hold on yourself and manage to make your own, uncharacteristically nervous voice collaborate, stumbling embarrassingly over your own words, you get interrupted by the alarm going off and signaling the end of your session.
It's barely above a buzzing noise but... It's more than enough to still catch you off guard.
If only that sudden sound would startle you out from your still dumbfounded state like it startles you from your seat...
Not such luck.
"It's okay," Doctor Campbell assures you, much to your embarrassment, flashing you a smile before picking up the notepad resting in her lap and closing it. "This is enough for today." She states with that same oddly comforting smile and... normally you couldn't be happier about the end of the session. But... Your latest, unanswered question persists. Bouncing against the edges of your mind.
And... you don't know whether you should feel relieved, grateful or whatelse when your extremely attentive therapist provides you with an answer.
"I do believe that you should talk to Piper about this and tell her what you feel. What you really feel, and why." She stresses, firmly locking her gaze with your before you can find your voice again and counter to her knowing assumption, maybe even overthrow it out of an instinct you have never felt before this very moment, and that throws you quite a bit off balance.
"Even if the thought makes you more than a bit uncomfortable." Doctor Campbell promptly adds, with that same knowing, teasingly accusatory smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
Unsure on how you should respond to her... suggestion, and still far too stunned to provide a verbal answer, you just nod, swallowing the knot of nervousness that seems to be lodged in that space somewhere in between your throat and chest.
Wiping your hand on the front of your pants before you stand up may help in getting rid of the moisture that has formed on your palms, but it doesn't certainly hide the heat or the light tremor of nervousness in your grasp from someone as attentive as your new therapist when you shake hands.
"You have my number in case of emergency," Doctor Campbell promptly reminds you, and you acknowledge such reminder with another nod, forcing a mumbled "Thank you" past that stubborn knot stuck in your throat.
At least you aren't so dazed to completely forget your manners.
The urge to leave is strong, the need to breathe some air, to be somewhere open is so overwhelming that it's making you itch.
You head for the door, ready and eager to leave, but before you can reach for the handle and step outside the office, Doctor Campbell speaks up again, and the new layer of caution and gentleness in her voice is what draws your attention back to her with even more urgency.
"Having a child is indeed a great responsibility and not a decision that should be taken lightly." She acknowledges, with the same amount of seriousness that you have taken in the subject since it first got brought up with Piper. Well... after you have laughed in her face.
Idiot...
"I do understand your concerns, Alex." Your therapist finally admits, offering you what looks like an honestly friendly-like smile and the most profound understanding that refrains you from scoffing. "But..."
And there is it again.
That gentler, tentative smile that paradoxically makes you all the more nervous and leaves you squirming with trepidation about what she may be going to say next.
"Having an infant to take care of, someone so undefended who needs your attentions and love, who relies on you to go through life... Brings a whole new instinct in you to protect and preserve that is life changing... And it can also be profoundly healing."
You frown. Initially confused by what she might be suggesting. And then, once realization sinks in, your back straightens and you jaw twitches. "I'm not going to agree to Piper's... request just because I need healing."
There is no doubt there. It's simply not up to discussion.
You aren't going to use... This... Opportunity... as an excuse for your entire healing process.
No way.
The idea alone might be up there with all the other most absurd and selfish reasons people decide to have a child.
Your voice has gained that defensive edge again. But the bite in your tone, conveyed even more strongly by your piercing gaze, doesn't actually sting as much as you think it must, given that Doctor Campbell actually smiles at you - as if she expected nothing less - before shaking her head in negative.
"That's not at all what I was suggesting."
And there, you get all the more confused.
"You may not see it or believe it," She continues before you have a chance to express your bewilderment, providing an answer by choosing another approach.
"Or perhaps you see it just from a certain angulation and under that same light and focus you have chosen as lens." She speculates. "But your life and the choices you have taken in these difficult situations might as well have shaped you to be a role model."
Once again you get dumbstruck by what you think she might be implying.
"The decision is yours." She repeats and you can just... watch, still trying to process... whatever it is she just said to you, while she retreats behind her desk.
"Whether you'll follow through with it or not, you do know what the real values of life are." She says, flashing you another one of those half-compassionate, half-reassuring smiles from before. "And I have no doubt that you would know how to teach them to a child as well."
. . .
You leave your therapist's office with more questions than you didn't have when you first arrived.
Infinitely more confused, and with a whole new perspective that you hadn't taken in consideration until you left.
Doctor Campbell's parting words echo in your head for the rest of the afternoon.
Keeping you wondering if what she has said and what you have interpreted might be the same things.
If there might be a chance that you could have misunderstood the meaning behind them.
If she actually meant it when she said those things or if she was just hoping to get a reaction from you.
Therapists are sneaky.
But...
No.
You dismiss the thought as soon as it presents.
Because that's not how she operates.
Nonetheless, the doubt keeps poking at the edge of your mind.
Even if those words that she said to you at the end felt more... personal. More like... an advice than a professional assessment.
Perhaps even an encouragement.
And while you keep rummaging more closely into the possible reason why she would try to encourage you, at last, you deduce that if she said those things, it is because she must have meant them.
And if she happened to have that smile while she was saying them, it was because she has seen that part in you waver with doubt about your own doubts floating around the... subject.
The whole sessions has left you with a lot to think about.
More than you can rationally process, or have the energy to do, at the moment.
And you still have some serious issues in believing the implication regarding how (for how controversial) your bad choices and mistakes have somehow made you a better person in the end.
Which is - now that you think better about it - not as paradoxical or laughable as it first sounded, actually.
Prison has undoubtedly changed you.
What happened that night has broken you into the sharp pieces you are still trying to pick up and put back together with some help.
And, apparently, standing on what your doctor has advised and pointed out to you, you have become the kind of person who should at least consider this... new option on the table. Give it a second and a more thorough glance from another perspective before dismissing it entirely out of some intangible fear that has lured more demons out from their hiding place in your subconscious.
Because of those events and how they have affected you, you have become the kind of person who (despite being in a deep, brooding mood) is returning at home, to her wife, by foot, with flowers. Because you saw a florist's stand along the panoramic route that you have taken across the park and found them pretty and thought of her.
A decade ago you would have probably found one or two things wrong... or at the very least a bit off with this entire... scenario.
Even now though, the gesture is so unexpected that you aren't in the least offended when Piper gives you this half-quizzical look dashed with that amused little smile as soon as you step into your apartment.
She has every right to be surprised.
(You are, too.)
And she has just every right to look at you with that hint of suspicious in her slightly narrowed blue eyes into which you can clearly read that silent, mostly playful "What have you done? What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?"
Eventually, though, the amused smile that is at the base of that whole expression... wins out. Stretching across her face, digging twin dimples on her cheeks, and looking just as radiant as the sun blazing outside in the late afternoon sky.
It's so bright that you almost feel the urge to look away.
But you don't.
You could use some of that brightness to scorch the dark fears hiding between the fringes of your frayed soul.
Or maybe it is the bits of self-consciousness that swells unfamiliarly inside you (perhaps even challenging your stubborn, pale complexion and doing the impossible by tinging your cheeks into a foreign shade of pink) when she just keeps you there. Waiting. With that smile shifting into an unpracticed, awkward smirk that makes her entire expression look all the more endearing.
She is probably snapping a mental picture of you like this: with your arm stretched out, awkwardly holding the bouquet. A picture that (you realize) is actually missing from the vast collection of memories that you share.
In the end, just when you were almost starting to squirm, she takes the flowers, sets them gently aside, and pulls you into an embrace that is just as warm and comforting as the heat of summer lingering and stretching under the looming shadow of the approaching autumn.
It's only then, however, when she takes you in her arms, that you notice that she is still wearing her blazer. And before your eyes flutter shut upon inhaling the first whiff of her scent, you also notice her briefcase resting on one of the stools of the kitchen island.
She must have gotten home from work just a couple of minutes ago, right before you did.
Of all the things... You think, inwardly chuckling.
Because Piper has gotten a job in a school.
Putting her degrees into excellent use by helping middle school kids suffering from some kind of language disorder, while also helping some of the more... problematic high-school kids that are taking a worrying turn.
She is... Not exactly a teacher, and not really a counselor either.
But she is a figure where problematic kids can turn towards without having to worry about the judgment of an actual teacher.
Ultimately, she tries to help the more difficult ones by speaking directly to them from experience. Making a living out of what she has lived, in a way.
The irony.
And then they say that crime doesn't pay...
It isn't lost on you how your roles, compared to how they were more than a decade ago, have now switched. But... while you are pleased to see that Piper likes and is good in doing what she does, you aren't as content for not being able to provide a stable, financial support.
The thought is another one to add to the seemingly never-ending list of things that make you uncomfortable. Just like how much this part of the city (and all the noises filling it) is consequently making you feel more and more anxious. Especially around this time of the year...
Your apartment might not be much either. But this- the cradle between Piper's arms, the embrace she pulls you in after having gone through this kind of day, is the place where you feel like you truly belong to and nowhere else.
The world seems to grow a bit quieter whenever you get pulled into her arms.
You can trust to always feel welcomed between them. Especially when the dark thoughts and the guilt are closing down around you, cornering you, grabbing you by the throat and cutting off your air supply.
Instinctively, you bury your face into the crook of her neck, breathing in more deeply the scent of her, and in the moment you do, it's almost like your lungs expand for the first time in all day.
Even the knot that was there, stuck between your chest and throat starts to unfurl.
And it's so relieving that it actually hurts.
For how simple, the act even helps in slowing down the frenzy of your restless thoughts.
"You okay, baby?"
Piper can still feel it though.
She has probably seen it too, under the surprise you have just thrown at her by showing up with flowers.
She knows when something is troubling you.
She can feel that tension coming off you despite the way your body sags into her embrace.
And you simply hate to burden her like this, no matter how indirect and involuntary such reaction is.
Even just hearing her voice though, laced with that soft thread of affection, so gentle and tentative, and feeling her hand stroking your back makes you melt a little bit further- and also purr (not so differently than how a kitten would do you imagine) when that hand reaches further up, resting on the back of your neck and distractedly massaging away the tension that stubbornly keeps gathering on that spot that gives your state away so easily.
You exhale a long breath, hopefully releasing some more of that tension with it.
You have made your peace and accepted that it's going to take a long while for you to properly heal. To make sure that all those cracked pieces are going to stay in place and meld with the others enough to make you feel whole again.
"Yes..." You answer eventually with a sigh, wrapping your arms around Piper's frame and pulling her just that tiny bit tighter to you. Because she is a good super glue, who can keep the old, fragile, fragmented ceramic vase that you are, together.
Time and therapy will hopefully do the rest.
But for now, in this moment "...I am."
How you wish it was that simple though...
That you could get away with such response. No matter how honest it feels to you at the moment.
Because if there is something that you have both grown even better at after the "most recent" events, however, it's reading each other even more profoundly than you did before.
And even though you sound convinced, (even though you are convinced) and your voice doesn't waver, Piper - who seems to have developed a whole new sense that allows her to feel and see what is it hiding under the surface of your troubled spirit and what has caused it to disrupt its placidness and crease it into a series of ripples - is quite able to spot how... uneasy you still feel, seeing the glimpses of the shadows creeping from beneath this new layer of comfort that being pulled into her arms has (even if just temporarily) laid over your troubling thoughts.
Or maybe it is the way you hold her against you, the way you actually cling onto her - with that need that might border into something more... strained - is what must give your true, despondent state away.
It's probably a combination of all those small details what makes her pull back then.
And when you (reluctantly) let her, and just as reluctantly meet her gaze, those endless blue pools stare back at you with caution. Unsure whether to believe your words. But mostly... Concerned.
You can barely hold her gaze when you see her features shaping into that expression.
She wants to ask you how your session went.
If something came up that has upset you more than usual.
She wants to ask if you would like to talk about it with her.
She has been encouraging you to. Doing her best to not... press too hard..
The hope that you will say yes is also there, hiding behind the question itself, which you can read all over her face. But for how guilty you feel at the prospect of denying that silent request one more time, you aren't in the least when, torn in between uncertainty, the further need for comfort pushes through and makes you lean in, planting a kiss on her lips.
It's supposed to be nothing more than a gentle peck.
You aren't even so ashamed to admit that you might do it to prevent her from asking you that question.
But... the softness and the light sweetness that you find on her lips... It sparks that same flame inside you that makes you forget about what kind of mess you are.
And when Piper, after a moment of stillness, actually returns the kiss, it provides that comfort that you need, the kind you were seeking.
The rest of your relentless thoughts grow quieter, as so does your troubled spirit when she deepens it just that tiny bit to more to elicit a series of flutters in your belly.
They spread through your insides and limbs, tingling on your fingertips like warm tiny sparks of electricity.
Such... electrical charge makes the needle of your inner compass stops from spinning, setting it - along with the axis of your being - into its proper place.
The expression that you find on Piper's face when you part grounds you into this reality, because even though there are still traces of concern weighing on her features, the deep adoration that you see shimmering in her blue eyes is pure and uncontaminated.
There is no judgment in there.
Those eyes don't scrutinize you the way you have been (for how subtly and carefully) this afternoon. They already know you.
And she sees you.
"My new therapist seems to be completely unaffected by my sarcasm."
To say that you get caught off guard by uttering such admission would be an understatement.
You don't actually even know from where it comes from.
It's not exactly random though, since your thoughts have once again brought you back to your afternoon's appointment.
But under the initial, almost startling surprising - and judging from the laughs that tumbles from Piper's lips before they stretch into the most amused, utterly pleased grin, then she is absolutely delighted to receive such information and... just as delighted to see the light pout that you might not even be aware your bottom lip has pursed ever so slightly into, disrupting the forlorn, deeply brooding expression that has been creasing your features.
"Aww," She even cooes. And that sound on its own manages to elicit that same, unfamiliar warmth that rises foreignly from your neck and scalds your cheeks. "Disappointed that she doesn't find your cynicism and satire as charming as I do?"
You glare and scowl at her for making fun of you.
She just laughs again.
Just as unaffected by any trace of warning in your look as Doctor Campbell was by your sarcasm.
Maybe because you lean into her touch in the most contradictory way when she tries to apologetically soothe the sting of her teasing by stroking that same spot on the back of your neck.
And... to be honest, you truly can't deny how much (in the most positive way) it affects you hearing her warm laugh, as well as seeing the spark of light that makes those blue eyes shimmer all the brighter, see the twin dimples that dig onto her cheeks, as well as receiving the kiss that she plants on the corner of your mouth.
It's so soothing in fact, that it does more than make up for that light sting that your ego just received. For the second time today.
"She seems like a good doctor- far better than the previous ones." Piper comments eventually, looking very pleased, and you can only nod in confirmation because, luckily, "She seems to be, yes."
The admission is enough to earn you yet another one of those full, bright smiles of hers. And in the moment of silence that follows, Piper doesn't look at you like she was doing earlier. With that searching (stealthily prying) gaze.
The smile on her lips softens, but it lingers.
Maybe because this time you have spontaneously come up with a comment and shared something out of your own volition about your session. Well... kind of. For how little it was - and for how unexpected it has been for you, too.
Some of that tension inevitably finds its way back into your muscles at the prospect of having to actually talk about how it went and (more specifically) about what you have...discussed during those fifty-five minutes, and Piper must definitely feel it.
However, she is the one who manages to surprise you this time.
"You don't have to tell me how it went, Al." She says, and there is nothing if not absolute honesty in both her voice and in her comforting gaze.
It's absurd how relieved it immediately makes you feel, but also, at the same time, awful. Guilty. Yet another contrast of emotions to add to that messy pile.
Because you should talk about these kind of things.
You promised to each other that you always would.
You just... Really don't feel like doing it right now.
"We don't have to talk about it." Piper repeats, no doubt having caught that light spike of nervousness in your breathing. All it takes to get it to return to normal however, is plunging once more into those shimmering, rippling blue lakes, finding the same profound reassurance and understanding in there that her soothing voice and the little smile on her lips convey.
"In fact..." Your wife continues once she is sure (judging by the way your body relaxes once more under her touch) that you have managed to get a hold on your thoughts and emotions once again - enough for you to even hear that playful note seeping in her voice, rendering it all the more comforting.
"We can just... Start making dinner." She lightly suggests after a brief glance at the digital clock of the oven. And... it's a simple enough option that successfully gets all of your attention.
"I can wash the rice, slice and season the chicken," She presses on, the smile on her lips twitching that tiny bit higher- tentative and hopeful - at your visible interest in hearing her rather... appealing offer.
"And you can chop the vegetables while I entertain you with the kind of question I've been asked today and update you with the latests, utterly-garbage gossip I have heard buzzing through the school among the teachers."
You can't help but chuckle when she gives you this smile and wiggles her eyebrows in that way that says "And I have some good material to share today."
The prospect of starting dinner, of focusing on something productive, of getting busy but not too busy, is exactly what you need right now. Piper's suggestion works perfectly given your current state, and that look, and that extra sprinkle that she deliberately throws in her offer to elicit a healthy dose of amusement and intrigue in you, it's more than enough for you to take the bait that she is dangling so temptingly in front of you.
"...Sounds like a plan." You say, and the reward for actually accepting her offer, comes with one of those grins that make the slowly setting sun warming the inside of your apartment look like a cold shadow in comparison.
It's contagious.
So contagious that you aren't even surprised when you find yourself smiling too... especially when those lovely dimples show up.
"Come on then," Piper invites you, tilting her head towards the kitchen, taking your hand in hers, affectionately stroking your knuckles with her thumb before giving it an equally inviting and encouraging little tug.
It's... so light and easy.
This approach of her.
So sincere.
Effortless.
Almost...
Maternal.
And there it is again.
That word. Ringing in your head one more time.
It's like an alarm going off.
And it sounds a lot like Doctor Campbell's voice. Like the echo of her parting words before you stepped out of her office.
The guilt about omission might have been suppressed, but it's still there. Gnawing at you.
You really should talk about this with Piper.
About... That... Idea... that she has presented to you recently.
You are going to.
For now though, you just let her lead you to the kitchen, where she takes off her blazer, rolls up the sleeves of her shirt and fills a tall glass with tap water, improvising it as a vase for the flowers you brought her, all while you take off your own jacket, wash your hands and make space on the kitchen island for the two chopping boards, listening to the latest, entertaining sheganigans that her troubled bunch of kid- of students tends to get into... Unable not to hear the note of pride that seeps into her voice when she tells you how many of them have made substantial progress just in the past couple of weeks. And you, consequently, can only tell her the truth about how you are proud of her.
She is patient.
She is compassionate and understanding.
She has a strong passion for what she does.
And she truly cares.
Most of all though (as you well know) she is stubborn as hell.
She would make a fantastic, real teacher one day.
And it's because of all those same qualities that you know - without a doubt - that she would also make a great, wonderful mother, too.
In front of such an unbendable truth, in front of this entire display that you have witnessed over and over in many different situations - either heard from her about her students, or saw with your own eyes whenever she plays with her nephew - your own doubts about yourself, about your currently... harrowing situation, and about the subject itself, seem to grow smaller.
While your guilt about denying this to her grows bigger.
Stirring in the depths of your belly and crawling further up.
However...
For a moment, as you pause from chopping vegetables and exchange a look with your wife who is currently slicing chicken at your side - taking in this entire... domestic setting and ambiance you never thought you would feel truly comfortable in, you also realize that Piper's idea might be yet another one that could end up surprising you in a positive way.
Something that could work.
Something that you could make it work.
The thought gives you this strange, unexpected, yet undoubtedly pleasant boost to your confidence, which swells inside your chest after having been forced into a corner for the entire afternoon that you have spent talking about you weaknesses and showing your vulnerabilities to a stranger along with listing all the reasons why you are probably the last person on earth who is cut for the... job.
Although...
You never thought you would ever be this kind of person, either.
The one who would have searched for normalcy, for stability.
Who would have actually craved for... This.
But things have indeed changed a great deal ever since then.
And this...
This feels good.
It feels...
You glance at Piper once again in search of the most appropriate adjective, and this time, she flashes you the most awkward, utterly endearing, seductive attempt of a smirk that makes you burst out laughing.
It feels right.
As you resume your task of carefully chopping vegetables, while sneaking glances at your wife, allowing the lightness and familiarity of the moment to soothe the remnants of your troubled spirit, you keep thinking about the fact that your previous inability about picturing yourself in such setting might not have been the only thing you could have been wrong about.
But you know that it has less to do with the setting itself... and everything to do with Piper.
In sharing all of this with her.
And having the chance to do it.
. . .
Demons come at night.
When your guard is low.
When it has been further lowered by a nice, quiet evening spent in, with a home cooked meal and then with your head resting on your wife's lap, with her fingers slipping through your hair while she does some homework. Making you drowsy with that soporific-effect that her touch brings in its lightness and the delightful laziness of the movement.
This whole therapy thing - combined with the possible "expanding the household with a new, tiny addition" idea weighting above all of that pile - leaves you quite a bit exhausted. Both mentally and - consequently - even physically.
"Baby?"
It's such a soft whisper, so quiet and distant, that you barely hear it.
It reaches you as if you are immerged underwater.
And it's only when the hand that has been slipping through your hair rests on your jaw, gently stroking your cheek, that you realize how close you were from taking that final plunge. The feeling - the warmth of such touch - is a bit more real. It holds you back from crossing the line leading you into that other realm.
"Mh?" You murmur, stirring a bit more awake at the sweet sound of Piper's chuckle when you, instinctively, lean into her touch, making this noise in the back of your throat that might as well be the content purr of a kitten getting petted. A sound - and a general display - that clearly amuses your lover to no end.
"We should get you to bed, sweetie."
Something in your chest doesn't fail to flutter at the tenderness of her tone and the use of that term of endearment. But you still groan, because you are perfectly comfortable exactly where you are, and your weak "protest" does nothing if not elicit yet another soft, amused chuckle from Piper.
"Come on, sleepyhead." She encourages you, playfully, Affectionately. And even though your eyes are still closed, you have no problem picturing the smile that is surely curling on her lips. You can hear it in her voice just as easily. Despite being half-asleep and torn in between two dimensions.
Somehow, you manage to blink your eyes open, and even though your glasses are sitting on the coffee table, they barely need to adjust to the soft lighting of the living room, glancing up and finding Piper, as expected, smiling at you. Looking so deeply entertained by your sleepiness.
Her papers lay discarded in a neat pile on the coffee table but they still get your attention.
"You have more work?" You ask her, because... going to bed alone isn't particularly appealing to you.
You would rather keep toeing that line here on the couch with her for a little longer instead.
But those concerns vanish as soon as you see Piper shaking her head.
"No, those are just some notes." She informs dismissingly. "I can review them in the morning." She assures you, playing with a strand of your hair.
It's... relieving.
And that's why when she suggests once more to go to bed, you don't protest or put any childish resistance.
. . .
You manage to get on your feet and stay awake long enough to brush your teeth before dragging yourself into the bedroom and slip into your side of the bed.
A foreign kind of tiredness clings onto your bones, making it harder to resist the overwhelming pull of sleep, especially after you burrow yourself under the covers and rest your head on the pillow.
The... fears that usually keep you awake, that keep you wondering what you might find waiting for you in that vastly uncharted realm, is nowhere in sight. Which makes you appreciate even more the comforting feeling of Piper slipping into the bed and scooting closer. Feeling her curves embracing yours, her arms pulling you in and holding you against the front of her slender, lithe frame.
You surrender to sleep with the feeling of her lips brushing a kiss on the back of your shoulder.
...and you should have known better than allow yourself to let your guard down so soon. No matter how alluring the call for sleep has been.
Like the song hummed by a siren.
Enchanting and luring you to your doom.
Because even all of that comfort and safeness literally surrounding you, and the general assurance brought by the quite, pleasant, cozy evening, doesn't save you from the inevitable...
. . .
Sometimes you still smell it.
That stench.
The one of still water and gasoline and gunpowder, of blood and... death.
It sticks in the back of your throat like poison. Churning and corroding at your insides like acid.
Sometimes you still feel it.
The air hot and humid in your lungs.
The ache throbbing from the fresh gash on the side of your head.
The feeling of blood drying on your skin. Sticking onto your hair.
The grinding bite of ropes around your wrists.
Sometimes you still see it.
Kubra's twisted smile when you blink your eyes closed. His face showing among the crowd of passersby on a busy sidewalk. Down the line of a bar.
And sometimes you still hear it.
His accented voice.
. . .
"I have made a mistake going after you while you were in prison. I should have known that the best way to get to you was to take her instead."
He even smiles. The sick, vengeful son of a bitch.
Your jaw twitches, tightening with the anger boiling within you, fueled by the adrenaline burning hot into your veins, coursing through your system and swirling with the fear and worry churning in your stomach.
"Let her go." You hiss once again, fighting against vertigo, your blurred vision and the vicious pull of unconsciousness, tugging against your restraints like a caged animal.
You are surprised that fear hasn't completely paralyzed you, although, it's not the first time that you (including Piper) find yourselves in this kind of situation.
Of all the things... you would have never thought that you would have felt a dash of gratefulness for having been through that nightmare during the riot, because otherwise, you wouldn't know how to even try to get a hold on all the emotions rampaging within you right now.
"You wanted me," You remind him. Keeping him busy. Gaining time. Hoping that he'll not notice the way you are actually squirming free from the ropes that he has used to tied you down. "Now you have me. You don't need her anymore."
He just used her. As bait, for you.
"Alex-"
Piper calls for you, trying to get your attention from your left, where even she is tied up against one of the old, rusty steel support columns of the abandoned, wrecked warehouse.
There is urgency in her voice, something in her tone that demands your attention.
But you can't even meet her gaze right now.
Can't even acknowledge her.
Because then what little resemblance of control you have gained in this grim, doomed situation would completely slip from you. Getting swallowed under the guilt for having put her in danger. For being the reason of her getting kidnapped by the vengeful maniac that is your former boss.
And so you don't even look at her.
You listen to Kubra's wicked, nefarious laugh instead.
Because you attempt to "negotiate" and convince him to let Piper go seems to do nothing if not amuse him.
Your jaw twitches tighter. Your teeth grinding together.
You are going to wipe off that smug, victorious, evil grin from his face.
...if you could only manage to reach for that piece of broken glass that is lying on the floor behind your back and that your fingers have just brushed.
"Oh, you are wrong, Alex." He says, clicking his tongue as if he were reprimanding an ignorant child. "You see, differently from you, I learn my lessons."
With that, he drops the now empty tank of gasoline at his feet and pulls out a gun.
The sight of it freezes you in place. Turning your blood into ice.
"And because of you I have learned mine about witnesses."
Time slows down when you stare down the barrel of the gun and see the darkness waiting for you at the end of it, and all the choices that have brought you here.
A thousand of thoughts and emotions collide at once inside you. But they all spring from one thing- from one person only. And from one sentiment above any others.
And it's then that it all happens.
Before failure can truly sink like the cold, rusty serrated blade that it is.
The flash of movement that you first catch with the corner of your eye is as unexpected as it is disorienting. But your confusion is short-lived.
Replaced by that anguishing pain that carves its way inside you when you see Piper, suddenly free from her restraints, springing to her feet and sprinting towards Kubra. Getting in the way between you and the gun in a desperate attempt to distract him.
And she does.
And you already know that the awful sound of the gun going off, the image of her getting hit instead, seeing her falling in a puddle of blood, as well as that horrifying, sickening feeling of powerlessness, are going to haunt you for the rest of your life.
You barely hear your own anguished scream. Or how it scratches your throat raw.
Just like you barely feel the way that sharp shard of glass digs into the flesh of your palm when you manage to finally reach for it and grasp it as tightly as you can - or the way the bones in your thumb dislocate from the joint, the way the ropes scrape and tear off the skin from around your wrists and hands when you pull - with all the strength you have and didn't know you possessed - at your restraints, bouncing on your feet and tackling all the two hundred pounds of Kubra to the ground in the blink of an eye.
You don't know from where it comes all that strength.
But there is something fierce and consuming and brutal scorching you from the inside that swallows any kind of physical pain.
The red fog of rage and hatred is blinding you from anything that isn't the purpose of seeing him without a pulse.
You know though, that it could have very easily been you the one who could have ended spilling blood from your jugular if it wasn't for the element of surprise brought by your unexpected liberation and the further confusion that comes from tackling him. Sending the gun flying several feet away at the violent impact.
You don't hesitate.
You just bring down your hand and Stab him with that sharp piece of glass right in his throat.
And nothing feels as good as digging it deeper and seeing that gruesome jet of crimson. In hearing his gurgling, choking noises and seeing the shock on his face.
When you re-emerge from that thick, blinding red fog, it feels a mystery how all of that just happened. With you almost being barely conscious.
It goes down so slowly at first, and then, in the moment you first saw Piper hit the ground, motionless, it has all rushed fast forward.
One moment you are fighting what you believe must be your last battle with the man that made your life a living hell. And the next, he is twitching on the floor with his throat cut open, spilling every last drop of blood until he is... Gone. And you are still alive and tripping all over the floor of the abandoned warehouse, slippery with gasoline, to reach Piper, lying just a few steps away, curled up on her side.
With that boiling venomous rage dissipating, the space is newly vacant for the desperation that quickly seizes you from the inside, so harsh and fierce that its hold threatens to choke you, but you still find a way to fight it just as fiercely as you just fought, because there is blood everywhere, but Piper is, miraculously, still breathing.
And the first thing you say to her is "You fucking idiot!"
You actually yell. Because why, why would she even think to try and take him down like that after he pulled out a gun?
And she, in response to your desperate outburst... she just smiles, faintly, through a pained grimace that wrecks your entire being.
Because you know why.
Because you would have done the same damn thing if only you got the chance to free yourself an instant earlier than she did. If you could have only reached for that damn piece of broken glass before she decided to play the hero.
If only you would have looked at her earlier when she called you, with that note of urgency in her tone and saw that she had broken free from her restraints...
"I've... b-been... told... that... I-I'm pretty good w-with my hands, too." She even quips- flirts- the insufferable, idiotic, dork of a hero. That pained grimace on her lips shifting into the resemblance of a smirk that makes this whole situation even more unbelievable. And yet, in its absurdity, it still manages to tear an exasperated laugh from your lips. It's wet and chocked by the tears you haven't acknowledged until this very moment being the other cause of your blurred vision beside your nasty concussion.
Your hands, bleeding and shaky, trace over her body, but you cannot asset the damage of the gunshot wound. Honestly, you don't even want to. And you are actually grateful that it is too dark in here and your vision is too blurred for you to even try.
You don't want to know how serious it is. You don't even dare to judge the alarming amount of blood pouring out of her. You just... Follow that instinct that has you take off your shirt- your prison uniform (because it's not like you got the chance to do some shopping on the way) and press it down onto the spot against Piper's side as hard as you can to slow down the bleeding.
Her scream of pain echoes all around, piercing the stillness of silence, erasing the smell of gasoline, the one of rusty metal mingling with blood, reaching deep within you and shattering your soul into fragments.
And if that isn't enough, it tears you into even smaller pieces abandoning her side even for just the couple of seconds that it takes you to reach Kubra's corpse and search his pockets for a phone.
There is blood all over your hands, they shake something awful, your thumb is bent at the most awkward and painful angle, and the phone is slippery in your grasp.
The pain that flares in your sliced up palm and runs up your forearm when you try to articulate your fingers is excruciating enough that besides challenging your consciousness, it also makes you believe that you must have cut through some tendons. But even that isn't enough to prevent you from dialing those three fucking numbers and bring the phone to your ear, all while taking Piper's hand and pressing it along with yours against her wound.
Her gaze doesn't wander away from you.
As it hasn't since you have first reached her side.
While you wait on the phone she looks at you with the amount of affection that you have seen on her face during your most intimate moments. Her eyes tracing every single feature of your face.
It's been a while since you last saw each other. But right now, she is not looking at you the way she has done during your visitations.
Right now, the way she is looking at you feels more like she is trying to piece together the most thorough picture of you.
...something that she will be able to hold onto until the very last-
When realization strikes, you deliberately press harder against the wound, Angrily. Tearing yet another howled shout of agony from her, but this time, despite the way it wrecks you hearing it, you feel no guilt.
You just fiercely lock your gaze with her pained one which is suddenly, reassuringly more present.
"Don't you dare." You hiss at her.
But the threat held in that harsh, growled demand gets swallowed into the desperate need that seeps in your voice, making it quiver.
You don't dare to say anything more, or do anything more explicit than wordlessly interlacing your fingers with hers and squeezing, feeling the pulses of blood pouring out of her, the warmth of it soaking the fabric of your shirt.
She whimpers in pain, but tightens her jaw and clenches her teeth. She nods at you while inhaling a shaky deep breath. Squeezing your hand back just as an operator finally answers to you over the line.
"911, what's your emergency?"
. . .
Sometimes the whole episode gets triggered while you are fully awake.
The sound of an old car backfiring, or the faint smell of gasoline are more than enough.
Sometimes though you don't need a trigger. You just... space out and find yourself plunging right into it; some sort of awfully realistic flashback that leaves you sweating cold.
Although, more often, you relive the entire episode in the brutal form of a nightmare where you keep failing over and over again.
"Alex..."
A memory that wakes you up in the middle of the night with the same anguish and despair that you experienced during those terrifying moments.
And tonight, its grasp gets particularly awful.
The anguish that you feel is as real and paralyzing as you have lived it.
You don't know if maybe it's because the date of that fateful day is slowly approaching, but you know better than search for an explanation about that monster that pokes its head out from your subconscious and that keeps growing fatter with your fears.
"Alex, baby, wake up..."
Luckily, you are no longer alone whenever you go through it.
Not like you have been- for months - in your isolation cell before you got released.
Although... sometimes you would prefer it.
To not being seen by Piper like this.
Fragile.
Chipped.
Just...
Broken.
But... You still welcome, with immense relief, the feeling of her arms wrapping around you and the sweet sound of her voice, which you follow like a thread. Letting it guide the way out of that nightmarish memory and into the wakeful world.
"It's okay, you are okay, Alex." Piper whispers in your ear, her voice so sweetly grounding in its softness. So deeply soothing. It brings you back into the present, away from that smell and that awful, loud, deafening bang that is still ringing in your ears. "You are safe." She assures, wrapping you that tiny bit tighter in her arms, cradling your head to her chest, uncaring of the cold sweat soaking your shirt.
But for how soothing her words and the sound of her voice are, it's only then that, as your breathing grows less agitated and anguished, calming and slowing down enough for you to be able to hear it.
The melody of her heart thrumming.
A loud and clear rhythm.
Spelling out each beat just beneath your ear.
It's the sweetest sound in the entire world.
"And I'm here." Piper says, reinforcing what the beating muscle in her chest is already confirming to you, spelling it for you with its steady cadence through the soft, warm layers of her skin.
Her voice and that sound, are the most comforting things to hear above anything else.
Those that finally persuade your own heart to slow down to an acceptable rhythm and allow you to focus also on her breathing, and on the deeply calming feeling of her fingers slipping through your hair in the most soothing and loving way.
"I'm sorry." You whisper, and it takes a great effort to push the words past the stubborn, tight knot stuck in your throat, not to mention to keep it from shaking with that same anguish that is still twisting your insides.
Piper however merely shushes you. Softly. Gently. But also with the firmness that makes it clear she wants to hear none of it. Dismissing entirely your apology. One taken from the long list that has no beginning or end.
She just pulls you closer to herself, dispelling the shivers of fear that have followed you into this dimension.
But for how good and comforting it is being wrapped in her arms like this, you still feel that itching, burning need to do it.
You can't fight it.
You just wait until the haze left by that nightmare starts lifting, enough to clear your mind from those images, enough for your heart to slow down a bit further from its frantic racing, and only then, when you manage to get that slightly firmer grasp on yourself you pull away from that safe spot on Piper's chest with a contrast of reluctance and eagerness.
Your hands shake with trepidation when you reach for the hem of her shirt. But that demanding need burning inside you compels you to do it.
And Piper...
Piper just lets you.
Reaching out and taking your hand in hers.
You hold onto it like an anchor and take comfort from her silent understanding as you make your way down her torso and search for the proof that you are no longer dreaming.
That this is the tangible reality you have fought so hard for.
And in this case, the proof that everything is good, is the ugly, yet beautiful scar settled on her left side, between her sixth and seventh rib.
You can see it clearly even in the partial darkness your bedroom is swallowed into.
It shines in the weak shaft of moonlight seeping in through the windows.
Uneven and puckered.
You can feel the smoothness of it under the pad of your thumb when you caress it and... under your lips, when you lean in to kiss it.
Piper doesn't ask if you want to talk about it.
Maybe because she knows that the answer - much to her unexpressed frustration and your additional guilt - will be another "no" or, at best, another "not really".
If there is one thing that all of your previous therapists (including Doctor Campbell) have agreed about, is that talking about it would help. But you have met such approach with skepticism. Because you fail to see how reliving the most anguishing moments of your life can be of help and make you heal.
No.
Those thoughts and memories turned into nightmares are taunting you enough in your sleep.
And, besides... there is another thing that helps you a lot more during these moments...
You glance up at Piper. And not even the dark of night is enough to prevent you from seeing the understanding in her eyes. It's so open. So plain. And authentic.
It has a way of making you feel slightly self-conscious and guilty.
You are aware that she would definitely prefer to talk about it. About all that is troubling you. She believes in bringing your fears out in the open where they can't escape. And your method, the one involving chocking them from the inside... isn't turning out to be such an outstanding plan.
You do know however that clinging into them to not risk affecting Piper, will most likely poison you.
Maybe that's what makes you seek for the warm embrace of your bodies intertwined, taking comfort in the most thorough and authentic and exhaustive way that always succeeds in quieting those demons.
And you start by kissing that tender spot. That scarred little circle.
It's... so small.
But it was almost enough to-
You kiss it again. Softly, yet pressing your lips more firmly against it. To banish that thought.
A soft, humming-like noise comes from above you as your lips continue their travel lower, skimming across Piper's lower belly.
In the moment you hook your fingers into the waistband of her shorts, she reaches down with her other hand, her fingers lacing through your hair, before resting on the back of your head and giving a gentle little tug.
"Alex..."
She even whispers your name to get your attention, and it's so soft and breathy that for a moment it brings you back to that night.
Another wave of fear comes along, roiling in your stomach and threatening to drag you back into that warehouse.
But Piper doesn't allow it.
"Alex..." She repeats, slightly more firmly but still so very softly. "Baby, look at me."
She cups your cheek, giving you no choice but obey when she urges you to lift your head and meet her gaze.
There is no escape then.
No way to mask the tears that have been welling up in your eyes.
"Oh, sweetie..." And no way to avoid that heartbroken look on Piper's face when she sees them.
The way her features contort. That tone in her voice...
You get overwhelmed by the need to look away. But... you don't.
There is no point in shielding your vulnerabilities from her like this. You may still be a mess but, you have made some progress in the matter during the past couple of months at least. And you actually need her to see you like this. For it conveys so much more strongly what you are asking of her with your next plea.
"Please..."
It's a "Please, let me touch you."
"Please, let me feel you."
Your fingertips tingle from where they are hooked onto the waistband of her shorts and underwear.
Refraining from taking off those useless layers that are keeping you from that skin-to-skin contact that you are craving and that that something primal in you demands, is tremendously hard.
But the way she grants you such request by urging you up and pulling you into a kiss, makes the wait worthy.
Just as you tug at her bottom shorts and underwear, she lifts her hips, allowing you to undress her, while her hands find their own way under your shirt, stroking your sides and urging you closer.
Beside her embrace and that safe spot where you find refuge in the crook of her neck, getting lost in her scent and the steady thrum of her heartbeat against her throat, the cradle between her legs is the other place where you find that same comfort and where you feel just as safe and welcomed.
The familiarity with which your bodies mold against the other in this position, and the way Piper's hands trace your sides, pulling away from the kiss only to free you from your shirt, it is almost enough to make you forget about what brought you to search for this kind of reassurance.
Well... almost.
And you get reminded about the circumstances when your hand skids up the inside of her thigh and settles between her legs.
The warmth of her core welcomes you even though she might not be just as... Ready, as she usually is when you get... Intimate. Which is understandable given the kind of sentiments behind all of this.
But you are still beyond delighted to find out that, even during these less than ideal circumstances and most unexpected moments, all it takes for Piper's body to respond to you is just a first exploratory touch.
The kind of damage you have ended up inflicting on yourself by grasping tightly in your fist that sharp shard of glass, has left you with... a considerable lack of what was your previous dexterity.
But the self-consciousness elicited in you by your no-longer-so-smooth touch gets wiped away and replaced by the burst of confidence that swells within you when you feel Piper shuddering apart under your hand in the way she has always done.
With a brush of your fingers, Piper's lithe frame positively melts beneath you. Her body blossoms open for you. Welcoming your exploring fingertips with that rewarding gush of slick warmth.
It's more than enough.
It provides the just amount of moisture that you need to feel the little bundle of nerves nestled between her folds grow harder under the tip of your first and middle finger, to hear the change in her breathing, to feel her temperature rise, her skin grow hotter with desire.
This, is what helps you.
Not writing notes on a diary about your nightmares.
Feeling Piper like this, getting lost in the familiarity of the act, brushing your lips against every inch of her skin, writing your own poem of infinite affection and adoration and gratefulness on each curve and dip of her body, feeling her nails dig into your shoulder blades, hearing those beautiful, breathy, soft sighs slipping past her lips and brushing hot and humid against your ear when you slip inside of her and start moving, listening to the way they turn into those exquisite, shuddered moans whenever you curl your fingertips over that particular spot that makes her cant her hips forward and onto you as an encouragement to go deeper, to take her harder.
And so you do.
As soon as you feel that she is ready for more.
Listening to what her body confesses to you, unabashed.
A whole new overwhelming pang of pleasure assault your senses when, in response, Piper hisses a breathless, approving "yes" in your ear. And if that isn't confirmation enough that she is definitely approving of this new, harsher, purposeful rhythm, the way she clings onto you and searches your lips and kisses you, with such fervor (in that way that makes you believe she might actually be taking her own comfort from this- the kind that you were seeking) says the rest.
However... For how gratifying and consuming it is... there is still that part of your that simply needs to lean back, to pull away (reluctantly) from that kiss, and meet her gaze.
You watch, mesmerized, as the blue in her eyes change into that deeper, darker shade that tells you that yes... she wants this just as badly as you do.
She enjoys it like this.
The harsh pleasure mingled with some pain.
She wants this to sting, just a little, as a confirmation that pleasure is not all there is to this.
Because that light, enjoyable sting of pain - which you still make sure (even in your current conditions, driven with desire and a bit of that desperation that has followed you from that nightmare) doesn't border into actual discomfort... It makes things much more real. Convincing you that all of this is authentic.
And so, you thrust harder and make love to her while fucking away the remnants of a nightmare you are starting to believe you'll have for the rest of your life.
Nothing can compare with taking comfort from each other like this. And the primal instinct that drives you to do it, renders it infinitely more honest.
For you, it might as well be actually healing.
But... You know it works as nothing more than a band-aid to cover up what is truly festering you from the inside.
It doesn't make the feeling of Piper's hand sneaking under the waistband of your shorts and cupping your sex any less magnificent that it is though. And when you hear the moan rumbling in the back of her throat accompanied by that shiver that makes her quiver beneath you in the moment she feels the slickness she is welcomed with, and when her fingers actually start drawing circles around you, that thought about how "deceptively healing" this is, gets erased by the first shock of pleasure that lights up all your senses.
The pace that she sets, the purposeful pressure that she applies... It says everything about her need to drag you to her height and keep you there with her.
But you aren't that far behind.
And when her hips start rolling upwards with their own volition, trying to take you deeper - and her moans increase to the point of forcing her to break the kiss in order to breathe, you have already reached her.
You delight in the pleasure that you are able to draw out of her with each single shudder as much as you revel in the one that Piper brings you.
You grind against her palm a couple of times, while curling your own fingers inside of her and against that spot on her front wall and...
It doesn't take much more than that.
There is nothing more glorious than feeling her body go rigid in that way, in feeling it arching against yours.
It's probably what pushes you over the edge as well.
And the relief that comes when you both reach that peak, together, clinging onto each other as you plummet down, is what makes you believe that everything is right again. Something that goes far beyond the physicality of the act itself, but that you could have only reached in this way.
The tumult of those emotions that had managed to get a grasp of you earlier, choking you from the inside with that knot tightening in your throat, has now loosened up enough to allow you to breathe. The accusing, judging whispers murmuring from your subconscious have now turned into an almost ignorable murmur under the buzz of the orgasm sizzling sparks of electricity through your body.
Nothing can make you feel whole again as coming apart under Piper's touch.
You may be broken. But in these moments, as you lay gently on top of her, breathing in the scent of her skin as you recover, you feel so whole to the point where you don't even know where you end and where Piper begins.
Maybe it's the soft cadence of her heartbeat spelling the reassurance that it delivers with its steady thrum.
Or maybe it is the deep comfort clinging onto your from having just thoroughly proved that you are no longer there. That Piper is safe.
But afterward... When that hand withdraws and rests on the small of your back, hot and slick with your arousal, when you recover and, panting for air, find refuge once more on either Piper's chest or the crook of her neck- anywhere you can hear and feel that comforting sound of her heartbeat thrumming under her skin, you find yourself fighting off the pull of sleep that inevitably comes along.
Too afraid.
Even with Piper there, encouraging you to by stroking your hair using that same soporific motion, and making it impossible for you to resist.
You fight it until the very last moment.
It's pointless.
And, eventually, the dream resumes.
Although... it doesn't really feel like a dream this time around.
Not really...
There is that unmistakable haze surrounding you, but the fact that you can still hear and distinguish the sound of traffic coming from the street below your apartment, it makes you believe that you might be balancing in between the wakeful world and that memory. A suspicious confirmed by the fact that, this time, under the anguish that makes its way back into your bones, there is... something else.
Something that makes such anguish somehow less marked. Even that paralyzing fear that usually seizes you up from the inside is less crippling. But you are back there.
The smell fills your nostrils and sticks in the back of your throat.
And when you look down, Piper is there, bleeding all over the floor. Your hands tinged crimson, letting go of the phone that clatters on the ground and splashes in the pool of gasoline you are kneeled into.
...The line is still open, but you have to put pressure on the wound and try to slow down the bleeding.
. . .
Two Minutes.
Two minutes is like a lifetime in hell however when the woman you love is dying and it's all your fault and there is nothing you can do to amend it; the result of all your mistakes.
The weight of guilt and powerlessness pressing down onto you is crushing, paralyzing, but you manage to crawl out from its wicked, shackling grasp when you see Piper's eyelids starting to drop. The hand intertwined with yours... losing strength.
"No... no no no no!" You chant over and over.
You can feel it.
When the stopwatch in your head hits the first minute.
You can see it.
The way she struggles with consciousness is obvious enough. But the way her pulse is actually weakening under your blood-soaked hands...
She is... slipping.
No.
She can't.
Anger flares inside you, fiercely burning through that crippling fear that is making you shake from the inside.
"You don't get to this to me again!" You yell at her.
Furious.
Outraged.
Because she simply can't.
"You don't get to leave me for a third time, you selfish asshole!"
Maybe it's the offense, or the accusation itself what manages to stir her awake, to give her enough strength to blink her eyes open.
Or maybe... Maybe it is what you say after that...
"You promised me forever, remember?"
Forty-five seconds.
And if it wasn't for the desperation rendering you deaf from anything other than your own frantic, erratic heartbeat and the sound of your own voice cracking with despair, you would probably even hear the earsplitting noise of the approaching sirens.
"You promised me a life together..." You remind her, speaking past the choking knot swelling in your throat, looking at her through the blurriness of the tears filling your eyes.
"The whole boring suburbs deal."
Thirty seconds.
And Piper stirs some more.
Those blue eyes flutter a little more open and they also Stay open. Blinking at you, bleary, yet with a surprising, unexpected clarity at the same time. Even her breathing itches.
"A house, kids..."
They widen that tiny bit and... her lips twitch into a smile that for how faint and pained actually manages to bring that spark of life back into those fading blue pools, making them ripple like a lake caressed by a spring breeze.
"You... want kids?"
Even her voice sounds firmer when she speaks and asks you such question.
And with the hope that bursts inside of you upon seeing her fighting off the pull of unconsciousness threatening to drag her away from your reach, you can only answer to her with the only vulnerable, fragile truth that lives within you "We- I can't have our family without you, Piper."
You squeeze her hand, the one that is resting into your own against her wound, now soaked with the blood pouring out of her.
Ten seconds.
"Please..." You beg her. "Don't leave me."
There is a spike in her heartbeat. A look in her eyes you can only interpret as a resolution to keep that promise with that same purpose she has vowed to you in the cramped little space of an improvised bunker.
And that's what you cling onto, too, as paramedics and police storm into the warehouse and tear her away from you.
. . .
A single, hot tear slides over the bridge of your nose when you blink your eyes open.
It's still night.
And the play of light and shadows in the bedroom haven't changed in the slightest.
If you have fallen asleep, it can't have been for longer than a handful of minutes.
But your throat feels as raw and tender, tightened with that uncomfortable knot, as if you have actually been crying for hours.
Piper is still lying beside you in the same position.
Still sleeping.
Her breathing, as always, is the first thing you focus on.
So comfortingly even and calm.
And then there is her heartbeat.
Thrumming just as steadily under the fingertips of the hand that you are still resting on her chest.
And maybe that's why you haven't been assaulted by that same crippling anguish that you felt seizing you from the inside earlier. But that doesn't mean that this second half of your dream- that reliving that part of that memory hasn't affected you just as strongly.
Your other hand feels numb. Those same three fingers have fallen asleep as it often happens when you end up in some awkward position that puts pressure on it.
You lift it from under your chest- carefully to not disturb Piper's sleep - stimulating the circulation again by bringing it up and wiping at the wet trail left by that tear.
It keeps bouncing in your head.
The echo of that conversation you had with her before you had to be separated one more time.
You have spent so much time, alone, first restrained on a hospital bed with no news, then in an isolation cell, and then in a FBI safehouse god-knows-where, under a different name ("for your protection" - such a joke) thinking that that one was the last conversation you had with her.
And... You still wonder if she remembers that conversation at all.
She was barely conscious.
And yet she clung onto your words - into that promise of forever that she has made to you - like a lifeline.
You inevitably wonder if maybe that's what has made her bring up the subject lately, now that things are more... stable.
Sort of.
She is the one who nearly died and you are the one who is fucked up by PTSD and all the regrets of what you could have done to avoid getting her in such danger and almost killed.
You glance up at her and you also wonder if her sleep is as peaceful as it looks. Or if even she is silently battling with her subconscious, with regrets- even though, as she said to you- smiling, the last thing she regrets is trying to play the hero. Trying to save you when she has been haunted by that same awfully sickening feeling of powerlessness ever since that other time you got kidnapped by a psychopath and she, was the one who had to watch.
The blood flowing back into your hand tears you back from the past. The resulting sting, taunts you and redirects your thoughts with its prickling, needle-like feeling.
A tingling sensation laced with the stiffness and consequent pain that you have become far too accustomed to experience whenever you open it.
The scar is visible even in the dark, with just the moonlight seeping through the window to provide a weak illumination; a light that is as much complimentary on Piper's curves and features and complexion, as it is unflattering for that scar on your palm, making it look even more rugged and uglier than it is.
It runs right through your head and heart line and - ironically enough (so much that you can never not scoff at the possible meaning that it holds) - getting it has also somehow managed to deepen and stretch the lifeline.
Ending Kubra's has surely lengthened yours though.
Bisecting it into two, or rather... Three ramifications - If you also count that tiny crease that forms there when you cup your hand just so.
It's... barely visible. But... it's there. Even if you don't dare to indulge in some possible, absurd... symbolism or whatever behind that scar that goes far beyond how you got it.
Although... You have kind of always believed in fate.
Still, you push the thought aside, preventively. Because demons attack at night when you are vulnerable, and they feast on everything, on what might be an unspoke truth.
Maybe even an inarticulated and unexpressed... hope for normalcy, and... whatever that might include.
Pushing those thoughts aside however doesn't render you immune to the implication behind your therapist's question and parting words, now echoing in your head even more clearly. Enhanced by the dream- the painful memory you have just revisited. By that last conversation you had with Piper before they wheeled her away in a gurney and left you there with her blood mingling with yours and drying in your hands.
Angst starts roiling in your belly like acid, but before it starts churning at the rest of your insides and rise in your throat, you close your eyes and take a long, deep breath, resting your head once more on Piper's chest and letting the sweet, steady beats of her heart and the arms that instinctively wrap tighter around you, to dispell that awful feeling.
The cadence is like a spell. And combined with the warmth and safeness that you find in her embrace sometimes is enough to lull you to a blissfully dreamless sleep.
Tonight however, considering all the things that have been brought up in your sessions, and all the... contrasting feelings that have been stirred inside you lately because of this... new subject that has emerged, you doubt that you'll be granted such a rare luxury.
"You promised me forever, remember?"
To prove you that your thoughts are just as relentless as they have been this afternoon, that conversation plays once more in your head, and you just... let it.
"A house, kids... The whole deal in the boring suburbs."
That look on Piper's face, the way her eyes had widened, the feeling of her pulse spiking under your hands...
"... you... want kids?"
The way she had fought off the overwhelming pull of unconsciousness threatening to drag her into shock for blood loss when you told her those things, the way she has clung into what you told her next...
"I can't have our family without you, Piper."
And it's the honesty in such response that makes you realize, after months, that you wouldn't have said those things to her if you actually didn't mean them.
Maybe... Maybe you do.
It's just then that you realize it.
When you rest your head back down on her chest, listening to the comforting lulling thrum of her heartbeat, with her hand unconsciously pulling you even closer to her in her sleep, and her other hand finding your disabled one, you realize that you didn't say those things to just keep her awake.
To keep her alive.
To keep her with you.
Deep down... it's something you might want, too.
I know... It wasn't rainbows and sunshine at all. But... don't fret. Also yes, I have been getting back to my beloved second person POV :) And since I find Alex and this specific "Vauseman having kids" topic a bit in collision since I (personally, despite her protective nature) don't really see her as the maternal type, I wanted to try and find out how she would live such situation while also struggling with PTSD and coming to a slow but unavoidable realization about how far her concept of family extends and what (or rather who) else it might include beside Piper. This is a new scenario for me too (besides a couple of one-shots in my "Specks of Dust" series) so getting Canon Vauseman into this could make the characters look a bit OOC I think. I don't know. For now, I'm trying to get Alex there, to Piper's same page, all in between dealing with her PTSD and all the struggles to re-adjust after prison and all the traumatic events they have been through, but all with Piper at her side :)
