A/N: Third and final part. The song for this is "All I Want" by Dawn Golden. Thank you all for the love and support! Enjoy 3
Red wonders if Lizzie can hear him.
He read somewhere that people in comas may be aware of their surroundings. He hopes that's true. He can't handle thinking of Lizzie just sleeping for the past seven months, lying there in absolute darkness and silence. The thought just…wrecks him.
So, he tries to provide a stimulating auditory environment for her. He talks to her constantly. It starts as just mundane things like the weather and the color of the paint on the walls in her hospital room. But then he looks at Lizzie's sleeping face and he can almost hear her scoffing and rolling her eyes.
"Really, Red? I'm stuck in a hospital bed recovering from brain surgery and you think I want to hear about the weather? You can do better than that, come on!"
(The minute he starts imagining Lizzie's responses to what he says is the minute he starts being genuinely concerned for his sanity. Ah well. He supposes if he's going to hear a voice in his head, it might as well be Lizzie.)
So, he starts talking to Lizzie, really talking, telling her anything that comes to mind. He tells her about the new coffee creamer he tried this morning, describing the taste and texture with an amount of detail she probably wouldn't have been able to stand ordinarily but he'd rather be too descriptive than not enough.
He's living for the both of them now.
When he's describing the foods he's eaten and the flavors he loves ("I was initially quite skeptical of calamari, Lizzie, I won't pretend otherwise, but it was surprisingly pleasant, I must admit."), the bizarre dishes he describes leads him to telling her about all the places he's visited.
He knows Lizzie has always wanted to travel and since he's painfully aware she can't go anywhere at present, he settles for telling her everything he can think of, from the consistency of the snow in Vienna and the color of the ocean in Haiti.
"I can't wait until you wake up, Lizzie, and then I can take you whenever you want to go. You'll like someplace tropical, I know you will, but you should really give Iceland a shot, it is unbelievably beautiful…"
He tries not to get too personal with his ramblings, tries not to share anything that she would have been uncomfortable hearing if she were awake, (like the fact that he'd love to take her to Antarctica and lay with her in the snow and moonlight and see the northern lights reflected in her blue eyes), but it's quite hard to resist telling her things he's always wanted to tell her when he knows she won't sigh exasperatedly and walk away.
(All he wants is to tell her how much he loves her while she's awake to hear it. It never occurred to him that someday that would be impossible.)
Telling her about the places he's been reminds Red of the people he's met and the ridiculous situations he so often seems to find himself in, stories that normally she would be reluctantly amused by. He misses telling her these things over morning coffee or during a car ride, observing her closely, watching as she stifles a grin, pretending not to like his fantastical tales.
He wishes he could see that again.
"…and it was quite a stench, Lizzie, let me tell you, camels are not to be trifled with. And that Bedouin trader could have warned me but I truly don't think he's ever forgiven me for the way I insulted his wife. But it was completely unintentional, Lizzie, believe me…"
When Red runs out of stories of his own to tell, he turns to books. Lizzie never seemed to have enough time to read so he makes it his goal to expand her literary world.
(If she can't venture out into the world, he'll do his damnedest to bring the world to her.)
He starts with things he knows she'll like, things Dembe found on her bookshelf when packing up her apartment. He slogs through her silly romances and crime novels, playfully berating her for her lack of variety.
"…and clearly it was the tax collector who murdered the grocer, Lizzie, it's obvious. Some detective this hero is, really, he's just pathetic. I mean, I know we're only on page seventeen but I'm quite sure of myself. At any rate, we'll see if I'm right in the end…"
They make good progress, usually several chapters in a day, and Red soon makes it through Lizzie's scant collection. He moves on to things he thinks she'll like based on her collection. He starts with Jane Austen.
"I have a feeling you'll like this, Lizzie. Much better than those trashy paper backs you seem to consider 'romance'. This is sophisticated love, you see. Much more entertaining. Mr. Darcy can be a bit tiresome but I think you'll like the heroine…"
He tries to stick to her preferred genres but he also occasionally picks an outlier, something he knows she wouldn't have picked off a shelf for herself.
His biggest gamble was the Lord of the Rings. He's not sure Lizzie would like them but he so enjoys reading the rich descriptions of such a fantastical land out loud, savoring them, trying to create a vivid mental picture for Lizzie.
It takes him a month and a half to get through them all. He saves them for dreary days when he can hear the rain pitter-pattering on the roof and the light is dim all day and it feels like he and Lizzie are the only two people in the world.
He wonders if she can hear him.
After months of talking and reading, Red starts to think that perhaps Lizzie would like to hear something other than just his voice. So, he asks Dembe to fetch his record player and collection from his Bethesda apartment.
Dembe had raised his eyebrows in question at that. It was a general rule that Red's Bethesda things stayed in Bethesda, no exceptions. But Red took one look at Lizzie's soft, pale eyelids, closed and still, and urged Dembe on.
This is all she has.
Red starts to alternate days of reading with days of listening, though he still makes a point to narrate everything they listen to. He tries to vary the selections, changing the genres depending on the weather and his mood, trying to guess what Lizzie would pick.
He wishes he could ask her.
For the first week or so, he opts for jazz.
"This is Dizzy Gillespie on trumpet, Lizzie, he was really something. A legend in the world of jazz, so talented. Did you know that someone knocked over his trumpet and bent the bell? Instead of getting it fixed, he decided he liked the way it sounded and kept it, bent to hell. Can you imagine?"
He buys a special record of "Symphonie Fantastique" just for Lizzie. They spend a whole afternoon listening to all five movements, the sound so crystal clear it's as if the orchestra is in the room with them.
"This was composed by Hector Berlioz, Lizzie. Interesting man. The poor thing was wildly in love with an actress, obsessed with her. Completely harmless, of course, but still she wanted nothing to do with him. That's what the symphony is based on, you know. The protagonist is so desperately in love with the woman of his dreams but his feelings go unrequited so he takes opium to drown his sorrows. You'd probably say that's a little melodramatic of him but…" he reaches up and gently brushes a lock of hair behind Lizzie's ear. "…I'm not so sure. I think I rather understand him."
On sunny days, Red plays 80s hits by Billy Joel and Pink Floyd from his iPod, sometimes singing quietly along, his rumbling bass filling the room pleasantly. He imagines that Lizzie has a beautiful singing voice.
He wishes he could hear her.
Red spends months with Lizzie like this, talking, reading, singing, never silent. He never wants her to feel as though she's alone in the dark. He is here, with her, always. He hopes she knows that. He wishes he could ask if it helps, his constant noise, so desperate to keep her company.
(Or perhaps it is him that needs to feel less alone. He's not sure anymore.)
And in the dark of night, sitting at her bedside clutching her hand, he tells her things, things he only feels safe telling her when it's just the two of them, her asleep, him awake, always awake and waiting.
In the dark, he pleads with her.
"Lizzie…Lizzie, please come back. I miss you so much. You've been gone so long and…you must come back. We've gone through a lot of books and records over the past nine months…I'd love to hear your opinions on Tolkien and Berlioz. Wake up and tell me what long-winded saps they are. Tell me you miss me…Lizzie, tell me you love me. Because I love you, sweetheart. So much. I'm sure you know that by now. So, please wake up so I can tell you in person. I miss you. I miss you, Lizzie…please…come back to me…"
He wonders if Lizzie can hear him.
He wonders if he wants her to.