"You're so beautiful with your hair down." Roderich wasn't good at saying what he thought outloud. Often his sentences fell apart in front of others, or he didn't say what he had intended. Music was different. It let him say things without even opening his mouth. He would never have to open his mouth or talk to people if he could just play them music all the time to tell them things.

Lizzy was different because she listened. She sat and heard every note, and could absorb what it meant in the context of Roderich.

The choice between music and Lizzy had been a difficult one for Roderich to make. He had never really decided in his mind, but in his actions he chose the elder. The actions were not even all his own; Lizzy had prompted him, saying that she wouldn't be upset if he decided to follow his own path, but just that she wanted him to be happy.

That was Lizzy, behind all her anger and complications, she was kind. Her reassuring words only made it more difficult. He wanted both, but could have neither perfectly in coexistence with the other.

Lizzy listened so well that Roderich wouldn't speak at all to her at times. He would say it was because he was so delighted in being able to play for her, and sometimes she would disagree with him, but mostly she never said anything. This quiet wounding was really what ended them.

Somewhere in this past, Lizzy could have met Gilbert. Perhaps in another world she would have known him earlier on in their lives. But they had never met, despite Roderich. And now Roderich had brought them back, and he wasn't even alive anymore.

Lizzy was sick of it. She felt sick and weak, and that was worse than pain. No matter how much sadness or happiness was pumped into her body, she felt the same; drained of life. She didn't speak to Gilbert for the first half hour of their journey back into the small box town. When he did speak, it was not to her, but under his breath. It was not about her either.

"I'm suffering too." she said. "I know that it seems like it would be better not to feel anything, but it isn't. I want to be human."

"Lizzy, you're safe. It can't hurt you." he said. It was meant to be reassuring, but Lizzy flared up, like a match.

"Do you want me to be sad all the time? I hate this hell. I can't sleep, I can't feel happiness. I can't even cry at my friend's funeral!"

"Stop," he whispered. "You know I don't want you to be depressed."

Lizzy laughed. Then it broke, and her laughter turned into sobbing. "Well I'm sorry! I'm not a faucet to be turned on and off again. If I could stop this, I would. I'm sorry that I can't stop apologizing. Why does everyone think they know who I am, how I feel? No one will ever understand this. It can't happen. You'll never have the same coursing pain shoot through your brain and heart and soul. Is it fair that every time I see another person my only thought is 'Why do they get to be happy? Why not me?' Life doesn't purport to be fair, and it surely hasn't been to me, or anyone else from what I have seen. Maybe I don't understand how you feel, but it doesn't matter how much it hurts us in comparison, only that we help each other. I just want to be happy." Lizzy's voice cracked. "I want to cry. I want my laughter to feel real."

"Oh, Lizzy." Gilbert said, in a hurting voice.

Then, neither could find words behind swelling emotions (or absence of these), so they sat silently, thinking.

Lizzy wished that she hadn't had to leave Feli behind, with that look on his face.

After two hours, Gilbert had condensed enough feeling into thought, and enough thought into words. "Lizzy, I'm not accusing you of anything, but you told me that you weren't depressed anymore. You said that it was getting better, and that you were off meds. I hadn't remembered that until now."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I guess I kind of forgot to tell you during all this...commotion. It's been back, and I'm trying to get back on medication."

I didn't want to hurt you. That's the kind of person you've become to me.

Blame wasn't spoken, or thought by Lizzy. Gilbert knew she wasn't going to point fingers; she was far too kind for that. But deep down, he could see the start of her anguish. Hadn't they met, and that very same day she had been getting better while he got worse. Did I drag her back into this with me?

Lizzy had been on the outside of a prison looking in, but now they both looked outwards. Gilbert would never forgive himself for that.

The night pulled across the sky, and the stars were lit. Gilbert hated himself. Lizzy was an empty glass container, without the notion of a soul.

Something in the sky seemed to plunge downward. It could have been plane lights, or some other man-made object, but for a moment Lizzy pretended that it was a falling star. She would not place her hopes in it, for the capsule would be far too delicate for all her heavy wishes. She had no hope anyway, it had also been taken from her. Instead she let it symbolize everything that had gone wrong leaving the sky.

For us. For those who are no longer with us. For Felli, and Feliks, and anyone else who can't stop crying.

It must have been an airplane, as something red became a visible flashing light, and it was no longer sinking through the clouds.

"Pull over here Lizzy, I'll drive."

They parked near a field. Lizzy opened the driver's door, and got out within the highway's margin. Car's went quickly past her. One step into the road would be enough...

She stared fascinated at the possibility in front of her.

Gilbert had gotten out into a weedy ditch, and circled around the car. "Hey, are you alright?" he asked Lizzy.

"Yeah." she said, sounding distracted.

Roadkill. The word came to her, and seemed to be faintly beautiful. She shook her head, and hiked through the ankle-height grass, into the grassy gutter, and then climb up into the passenger seat. It was still warm.

"Do you need to stop for coffee?" she said, seeing his eyes clench shut for a moment.

"No, I'm fine. Only an hour from here, right. My apologies, I shouldn't have let you drive so long in the first place."

"It's fine."

I'm not fine. I'm terrible, Gilbert thought, privately. He could weather sadness, but this self-hatred promised to be more than an outside force that he daily dealt with, or guarded against; he was fighting himself.

He turned the radio back on. Music filled the car, and Lizzy rested her head against the window, trying to catch the sleep that always escaped her, or else provided another opening for her own disease.

Goodnight.


Feli didn't have to go to bed with doubt. He was to young to know the difficulties that would surround giving him a new home.

He knew that he would have to find and lose another family. This was his understanding, and now it all made sense. Family was to have, and then to have taken away. Nothing lasted forever. It wasn't meant to.

The more special and dear it was, the more it hurt to take away, and the more likely that it would be taken.


Feliks had to sort through the custodial processes. As of that moment, Feli could stay with him, but eventually he would have to go back. Until then, the child moved out of Roderich's house, and into Feliks's modest, and messy one-story rental.

Toris changed his work schedule so that he could alternate in watching Feli. The drive over from his apartment was short, and his own brothers liked going over to help him.

After everyone had left, Feliks knew that Roderich was gone too. This should have been more obvious. But life couldn't go on without another performance, even though it would. Does every person on the Earth experience this at least once? They all must know someone who will die, or who has. How do they go on?

He was very much propelled by his own goals, which were only now firmer in his mind than they had been before. Feliks wanted to be a nurse, and it would happen. He would pay his debt for Community College, and work with people who would die, and those who would live.

If I didn't have a dream, if I didn't have a purpose, or Toris, or anything to hold on too, I might fall too.

The newspaper obituary read: "Edelstein, Roderich, 25. A wonderful friend and talented musician, passed away on July 2, 2015. Memorial donations may be made in Roderich's name to the National Adoption Center and the Children's Orchestra Program."

It was too short, to disgustingly bland for Roderich. Feliks had supplied the 'wonderful' in an attempt to add some color. He hoped his friend could see that, wherever he was.


Thank you for reading! Please Review!

Also, it's my birthday!

It's official: I am the queen of writing two pages worth of one scene, and then another unrelated POV, only an inch long. Sorry Feli, you got a disproportionately short scene for all the time I devoted to Lizzy and Gil.