Disclaimer: Don't own, 'nuff said.
Nah, I'm not dead. Just imaginatively. Haven't updated in ages. Decided to make some post 3x16 introspective angst (just my regular deal). It's late, I haven't edited, not beta'd, and I pretty much wrote to post, so here's my messy little thought-fic. So sorry if there's typos and snappy bits.
Enjoy, guys.
He lays in the dark while the clock ticks beside him.
Not for the first time in his life, something doesn't fit. It feels like the pieces of his life have been taken apart, and he can't fit them back together. He doesn't know where reality ends and the dreams begin, and he thinks that maybe what's in his head is pointing out everything around him – everything he misses the first time, like that spot on the ceiling, and the sound of the clock. It doesn't stop or slow, or change, and it hurts his ears to hear it.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The clock ticks on, and it's constant, unending, perpetual, always ticking down.
It matches his heartbeat, which isn't slowing. It isn't his heart that's fractured – in that sense he's as whole as he's ever been. He has a girl at his side that he loves and who loves him and says so. He's never been this happy.
But his mind is a mess – fractured and shattered, and he doesn't know what to do. Every day, it gets worse, and he can almost feel it. No amount of pushing will put those pieces back together, no amount of force will make them fit. Chuck has long since accepted that nothing would ever be perfect. And truthfully, perfection isn't what he was hoping for.
Just a little normalcy. A little pause. A little love.
And he has what he wanted, doesn't he? She loves him, she says so. She's telling the truth.
He's not.
'I'm fine,' he says. Why does he say this? 'I'm fine'. Two words, simple, insignificant, and she feels better, and he feels worse, and she sleeps soundly while his nightmares continue. For the first time, Chuck understands what it is to lie – so sacrifice his morality for her protection. And truthfully, for his too, because she's said such wonderful things – things he's wanted to hear for weeks, months, years - and he can't break her now.
He can't part his lips and tell her the truth – he's not fine, and he will get worse, and he doesn't know when, but one day he will be back in that facility with the doctors and the patients and he'll want her to stay away. He'll want her to live her life and be herself, and stop doting on the broken boy from Burbank who suffered a steady decline for his own choices. He'll want her to move on and forget him.
But he can't tell her now, because he doesn't want to break her dreams – she's sleeping so peacefully – and he wants to pretend a little longer himself. Pretend he's as fine as his words, and that this could go on forever – this, here, with her in his arms and the covers around them and no one intruding while they hide in the dark, where everything's okay and he's not counting down.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The clock ticks on, and it echoes back his thoughts. Tick – you love her. Tick – you're fine. Tick – you lied. And she trusts him, so she doesn't question it. He wishes she trusted him just a little less, because if she second-guessed him just this once he wouldn't have lied.
It's for her protection, he reminds himself. Sarah's not strong all the time. It's just a little white lie, nothing harmful.
Is it?
Does it hurt her to believe that nothing's wrong? No. She sleeps easy, dreams of gorgeous futures, and things they both want. She'll plan them, eventually. She'll dream of a family and a small house, and smiles and laughter, and so will he.
But it will hurt her when she finds out the truth, and instead of a ring, he'll give her his sentence. And if their temporary happiness – her temporary ignorance – isn't worth that consequence, won't he hate himself then?
Will he even remember himself then? Will he remember her, Ellie, Morgan, Devon?
You can't hate what you don't know, after all. What if he forgets himself? What if this destroys him? What if, what if, what if, what if... It all makes his head hurt like the clock on the stand and he wants to stop thinking. He wants to close his eyes and go to sleep and dream her dreams and forget this. Forget everything. But he can't, because it's getting hard to distinguish between asleep and awake and the reality of the unreality scares him a little. Scares him a lot. He's stunted and broken, and the pieces don't fit.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The clock ticks on, and he stares at the ceiling like it will push the pieces back in place. She shifts beside him, into him, back into comfort and back into sleep, and he tightens his hold for a moment. He tears his eyes away from the ceiling, feeling it glare at him anyway, and he looks down at Sarah – his world, his everything – and god, he loves her.
So he lied - he's a liar – to protect her. And him, because his heart's broken so many times before, and he can't stand to feel that again. He can't stand to hurt her.
But he's encasing himself in half-truths, and he knows this is wrong. She deserves to know, she deserves better than him. She deserves better than untruths and shattered minds, and she deserves better than the future he can provide. She deserves everything the rest of the world can give her, and everything he cannot.
And she deserves more than his dishonesty, and nothing, not even love, can justify this.
But he doesn't wake her up and tell her the truth. He doesn't disrupt the dreams and make himself feel better. He doesn't give in to the guilt. He lets her sleep on and he keeps pretending, while he looks back to the ceiling. He swears he can feel the strain in his mind, the stress laying on, like it's physical and material and right there.
It makes his head hurt and his heartache, and he can't stop wondering 'when? how long?' because he knows he's losing time. But he needs this, and he needs to keep pretending. He needs for this to be enough.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The clock ticks on.
R&R plx?