Hi everyone! I loved Alec and Ellen's relationship, so here's just a short little oneshot with them being all cute and stuff. Also slightly depressing and angsty.
Disclaimer: I don't own MEA
It had been both the ending and beginning of a dream, an intransigent dismissal, a failure. And none of it mattered.
He had worked so hard, and his ideas had been dismissed as if he hadn't given them anything. How many times had he given humanity his attention, his passion, his life? How many times had he neglected the personal for the sake of the whole?
Today had shown him how worthless all of it had been.
The darkness pressed around his shoulders, the light of the Presidium shut out from the apartment by thick blinds. The bit of light that did come through allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and he could just make out his hands. Unclasped, unmoving, his fingers rested against the cool metal of the empty kitchen table. Goyle's words had long been forgotten in their utter insignificance.
Ellen was dying.
Dying, perhaps, but not dead yet. He wouldn't let that happen. Couldn't.
This disease was a reminder of what he had been taught his entire adult life. Space had everything to give, and everything to take away. Element Zero had such an allure when it was discovered. Hell, it still did. At least now people knew what it could do to a person, good and bad.
It seemed so simple, so obvious.
And at the same time, it was unthinkable. Throughout their marriage, she had been the one to worry about him, to hope he would come home, to ruminate on the possibility of his death. Now the tables had turned so suddenly that he didn't have any footing, any purchase on the daily terrain he'd grown so accustomed to.
Just this morning, he'd been going over his research, preparing himself for what he'd need to say to convince the Ambassador. He'd been so damn preoccupied, he'd forgotten today was the day Ellen was going to the doctor until she mentioned it to him. He had intended to go with her.
His career had mattered more this morning, taken up his time, as it had his whole life. The trimmings of his training, his job, and his persona all seemed like a shell, sloughing off as time and old age rendered it useless. The inside was home, his family, his lovely wife.
And he had neglected to future that warmth. Instead, he'd thickened his paper mache shell with accolades and accomplishments, forgetting what really mattered.
He was a fool.
And now Sara and Scott were gone, doing the jobs they'd been pushed into, and he was left in this darkened apartment, alone with his mistakes.
He sighed, stirring in his chair for the first time in an hour. The ache in his dormant joints brought a dark smile to his lips. How ironic.
Ellen should be home soon. Really, she should be here already, but perhaps she was taking her time.
How would he face her? How could he stand in front of that woman— that wonderful, brilliant woman—knowing that his transgressions must now be plain as day to her, more vibrant and scarring than they ever had been before, just as he knew them to be.
He stood, for a moment lost in the swarming dark. What was there for him to do but sit, and gouge himself with his past until his wounds seemed fitting? A wound—pain—it meant something was wrong. Now, something was very wrong, and for an uninjured soldier, the lack of blood was disturbing.
He found himself in the hallway in front of the door. He'd wait for her here. He would see her face as soon as he could, brave the disappointment.
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, breathing deep, lungs shuddering at the intake. God…what would he do without her? She was his life, the breath behind his every word, the push before every jump.
Goddammit. What had he ever done for her?
There was a beep, and the doors opened, letting in some light from the interior apartment building. Ellen was carrying some bags, head bowed towards the residual light of her omni tool.
His head spun, trying to grasp at words for her, failing at turning his proclivity towards oration into something comforting for his wife.
She looked up and gasped, eyes flying wide. "Oh! Alec, you frightened me…" Her laugh was restrained, forced. She adjusted her grip on her bags.
How could one address something like this? It was brain surgery, trying to get to the heart without tripping a mine, without unleashing a flood.
Ellen had always been good at brain surgery. Him? Not so much.
"Standing there like a ghost." She smiled, pushing past him into the dark. "Oh, my, I can't see a thing."
"Sorry…" He grunted. What could he say? I felt like sitting in the dark. I felt like being alone. I didn't want to see the order of our life and imagine how it was all going to be different.
She turned on the kitchen lights, setting her bags on the counter.
He mentally berated himself. He should have taken them from her.
She brushed her bangs behind her ear.
It was a simple movement—normal. It let the light shine on her cheek, it pointed to the crook of her jaw, it whispered the chorus of angels against her skin. Abruptly, he was transported back to the moment he first saw her, when she was bent over a microscope. She'd pushed back her hair to keep it from spilling down into her face. Her lips had smiled at whatever she saw. He'd known then that he'd needed her, needed to talk to her, needed to do anything to get her to look at him in the same way.
Oblivious to her divinity, she reached inside her bags and pulled out the contents. "Take out for two, and a bottle of wine." She murmured, looking up at him through the doorway to the kitchen, attentive eyes searching his face.
He hadn't even thought about dinner. He could have spent time getting together something nice for her, instead of brooding in the dark. But he hadn't, and she knew him too well to expect that.
He walked towards her, into the kitchen, straining at the impossibility of funneling his thoughts through his mouth. "Ellen…" He began.
She met his eyes, and there was a pull, a pull in them that seemed to loosen the words he couldn't speak.
He guided her towards him, into his chest, and her arms folded around his waist.
There was nothing like that feeling.
It was the feeling of her fingers spread across his back, her warmth unfurled against him, the utter omnipresence of that paradoxical love that marked his heart when he touched her, a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, ferocity and stillness.
She let out a breath, and it felt like life pressed against him, assuring him that she was still breathing, present, alive.
He was a vessel filled full, too tired to be exhausted, too sad to be anguished, too angry to be indignant. One of her hands rubbled circles on his back. The smell of her hair was so familiar—it was the smell of home, the smell he woke up to when he buried his face into the empty pillow beside him, too stubborn to get up when her alarm went off before his.
He hugged her even tighter, hand mingling with her hair, chest pounding at the realization that this woman was him. Everything in his life that mattered came from her. She was the center of it all, his world, his purpose.
She was dying. He was dying.
"I'll…do better, Ellen." He ground out through gritted teeth. Everything in his racing mind and it was all that he could say.
She pulled away, and a sudden chill gripped him. She was frowning at him, disapproving. He'd done so many things wrong, wasted so much time, favored work over—
She reached up and placed her cool hands on his cheeks, fingers brushing against the stubble there. "Alec…" She breathed, shaking her head. Her eyes held tears. "You think the man I've loved all these years hasn't been enough for me?" The back of her hand brushed from his temple to his jaw, soothing, imploring him to believe the words that just didn't make sense. He took a breath, unwittingly tilting his head to follow her hand, not wanting her touch to leave him. The edges of her eyes crinkled, wavered, held in place their shared gaze. "I'm proud of you."
She meant it. She was looking into his eyes, holding him captive, and she meant it. How, he didn't know. He wasn't proud of himself, not when it came to family, not when it came to all of the awkward dinners, birthdays, anniversaries.
Her hand rested on his shoulder now, and it drifted up his neck, slid into his hair, guiding him down to her level. She kissed him. Not the 'goodbye-have-a-good-day-at-work' kiss they shared so often. No, it was a kiss from their youth, tinted with desperation. How long had it been since he'd shared a moment like this with her? A moment that made the depths of the stomach swim, made his hair stand on end. He'd been so busy, so preoccupied, so insane. Because nothing could compare with this, with his wife, his beautiful Ellen. He didn't want to let go of her, ever.
His forehead rested on hers, and he felt her settle back on her heels. One hand was at her waist, the other, at her neck. "Alec…"
He took a breath, feeling suddenly off-balance, grasping for some semblance of stability, sense. It was gone, melted by the closeness between them. He didn't know what to do. "The…food's getting cold."
Goddammit.
Ellen laughed, smile deflecting his idiocy just fine. "Food can be re-heated." Her finger teased his chin. "You, not so much."
That forced a chuckle out of him. "Are you sure? You need to keep up your strength, and rest—"
She shook her head violently, hasty words forming around her grimace. "Please, Alec. No, I just…need you right now. I—" She shivered, absently playing with the lapel of his uniform. He saw through a little of her calm, once she didn't have someone to comfort, once he wasn't so focused on himself.
Her forehead was crinkled, and her skin looked so pale…Of course she hadn't been feeling well, lately, but this was a new layer of exhaustion. Even now he'd been too preoccupied with himself to pay attention to her needs.
"Then you'll have me." He hugged her, tightly, as if his grip would keep her here with him, always. They swayed back and forth, from one foot to another. "You won't be able to get rid of me, you beautiful, amazing woman."
His lips trailed from her forehead, to her cheek, to her lips. He felt her jaw tremble beneath his thumbs, felt her melt into his embrace, felt her tears stream down into his palms. Her resolve, the stubborn strength she used throughout the day to stay standing, didn't need to persist. He could hold her up, just as she held him up. They could be broken together. Whole, while they were singularly imperfect. At peace, where before they had been frightened. Safe, even as they were vulnerable. It took a long time to build that trust, and a patient angel to coax it out of him.
She took a shaky breath, and he used the moment to whisper into her ear, "I will not let go of you, not for one moment, tonight."
She nodded, let out a jagged breath, and planted a kiss under his jaw.
God above, why did she have this disease? She had never done anything to deserve this. Then again, he had done nothing to deserve her. Maybe the universe was just full of people getting what shouldn't come to them.
In that case, he had an idea.
"You don't have to worry, Ellen." He murmured, the beating of her heart emboldening his resolve. "I won't let you die."
She sniffed and let out a bitter laugh. "I suspect death won't ask for permission."
He pulled away to look at her face, and raised a brow. "Well, then he'll have to learn."
She blinked and wiped away some of the tears on her cheeks.
Then, she smiled at him, smiled at him like he was at the bottom of her telescope, like he was something new, alluring, exciting. He would go to the edges of the galaxy to chase that look.
The edge of the universe.