There were all those well-documented actions that were reported to stop you from crying. Pinching yourself, slapping yourself. Moving from the vicinity. There was the act of thinking of your favourite things, like raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Encasing those good times in a capsule and burying them deeply. There was imagining beautiful things, new beginnings, and concentrating on the relieved feelings at a rotten, narrowly escaped future. There was the ability to dissect. To separate and analyse. To break apart and examine a whole segment as singular entities. To rearrange and recreate, enabling you to disregard those components that do not fit. There were the delusions. Those one's that settled so deep into your heart that reality is not permitted to penetrate. They wrap and weave so intensely, becoming elaborate fabric burnt into your memory. There were all these things and most definitely more, but Jackson engaged in none. And yet even with all this inactivity, no tears fell. Why was this? Could it be because they were running low? That for each scenario or person, only a number of tears were allocated. Maybe his tear ducts was under strict command to ration. Maybe history dictated that this would not be the last time he would require them, and so it was imperative that immediate hoarding began. Perhaps there was an impending drought calling for restrictions. This last idea seemed the most likely explanation, because Jackson found himself bone dry. His eyes were a stretch of desert, abandoned by every life form desperately seeking moisture. The cracks were showing, the lines extending out from a central point. The environment was becoming inhospitable. "Do you want me to download any books for you?" And just like a creature who agonisingly trudges along desert grounds looking for vitality, Jackson's eyes struggled to roll towards the voice, he took forever. "No."

"OK," Joe paused sombrely, he was collecting a computer cable, coiling the length and resting it back on the table, "well, is there anything else that you need?"

"No." He couldn't help but wonder what all those draught-ridden creatures see when traipsing the milieu, weakened and with nothing but a pure instinctual need to survive urging them on. Desolation? Hope? Do they fantasize? Do they create a mirage, the image rippling and bending on the horizon? "Jackson, are you sure you want to do this?" Joe sat heavily against the table; he folded his arms tightly. "I think you're being too rash."

Jackson snorted humourlessly and his response accompanied an attempted raised head, something that turned out to be just too demanding in the current climate. "Luckily, one of the few things I can still do is think, so leave that up to me." He didn't need outside interpretation, he had his mirage already perfectly realised. He saw himself wrapped up and packaged and sent off. Cocooned and protected by distance. "Maybe you should sleep on it?" encouraged Sarah, who was sitting in front of him, for the last four hours keeping vigil and supplying him endlessly with cups of coffee. None were drunk. "No." He was a creature. One whose imminent destruction was a message being carried merely a few paces behind. And he needed to move on, to drive forth, to survive. "Are you at least going to see Aaron first?"

"No." The look exchanged between Joe and Sarah was loaded and Jackson sucked in a sudden angry breath. They needed to be separated, he couldn't have them tag-teaming like a pair of coyotes, relentlessly attacking him until his last resolve crumbled. Jackson clenched his jaw, "Sarah, there is really no reason for you to be here now, Joe is going to take me."

"I know, but I want to stay." He didn't have time for this, obliteration was at his heels. Decisions had been made, preparations completed. "Well, I want you to leave." In front of him, she merely swallowed hard and reached out a hand to squeeze his arm. "For what it's worth," she rose and Jackson lazily followed with his gaze, "I'm sorry, for my part in all of this." Jackson knew this, he really did and out of everyone's apology, he felt hers was least of all required. "Don't worry," he numbly replied. She probably wanted more than those two uttered words, but Jackson was conserving his strength. His last reserves were depleting, his current situation barren. "You'll call me, when you need me again, or just to chat, won't you?"

"Sure." And then she looked at him one last time, the corner of her mouth curling into a sorry smile. Tears that evaded Jackson, clearly stung at her eyes. She turned to Joe, "Look after him, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jackson clenched his eyes shut, willing her to leave. Hearing the footsteps along the carpet and without seeing, knowing that she'd just given Joe a goodbye embrace. Relief flooded him, he felt much more able with only one of them. His determination would not be so easily challenged. His need to run and hide, to curl up and remain still would succeed. He realised though, in the back of his mind, that maybe, just maybe, if he had the ability to engage emotions, then he'd feel the tiniest bit ugly for pushing everyone away. And with that realisation, guilt crept through his veins. He needed to say a proper goodbye, feeling that it was the least she deserved. When he opened his eyes, he saw that someone had joined her. A shaky breath immediately expelled from Jackson like a dark foreboding mushroom cloud, expanding into the atmosphere and absorbing the space. "Hi." Chastity Dingle was in his house.

"Get out!" When a person is at their most bleak, when they have nothing but the tiny flicker to endure, and the need for self-preservation overwhelms, this is when survival kicks in. A defence is erected, and anger surfaces. This is what Jackson found out in that moment. "Just give me a minute." His eyes flashed to the front door. It hung wide open, Sarah's arm holding it in place, a worried expression clearly written. In that moment of self-reflection, Jackson had missed the knock on the door, he'd missed Sarah opening it and the delicately requested entry. He'd missed Sarah's uneasy steps back, giving Chastity room. "I just want to talk."

"No!" He couldn't do it any more, the resentment, accusations and retaliations. He was down to his last reserves. They were tiny droplets in a well. "Jackson, please. Five minutes, that's all I'm asking."

"Joe, get her out of here!"

"Please, Jackson!" The desperation in her voice stilled him. She sounded startlingly raw and he couldn't help but be silenced by it. Her face was a blotchy mess, her make-up clearly cried away some time ago. Her hair looked as though it had been tugged at in anguish. "Five minutes, please, just give me that."

"I don't owe you anything." From the corner of his narrowly opened eyes, he watched her. This was everything that Jackson wanted to avoid. He wanted to make his secret getaway before there was any chance for recriminations. Before anyone returned to the village, before the gossip started and before he had to face Aaron. "I know," Chastity said and he reeled back at her response. The vulnerability he saw was completely unnerving, stopping Jackson in his tracks. He said nothing, only aware of his breathing that sounded unusually loud and the nervous expression embracing her face. Chastity shifted uncomfortably. She spoke hesitantly, "I thought you'd come to the hospital with Adam."

He bit out a retort, "I thought it was best that I stay away." She nodded her head, possibly because she already knew this and maybe because she was agreeing with his decision. "Adam told me, he also said you were leaving the village." Jackson clenched his teeth, "Come to see me off, have you?"

"No." She glanced to the corner of the room. He was ready, all that was left to do was pack up the car and for Joe to drive him. There lay a selection of suitcases and bags, medical apparatus and computer equipment. It was a long time since Jackson had been able to travel light. "Where are you going?"

"To my Dad's, spend a bit of time with Joshua."

"How long for?"

"I don't know. Work doesn't begin until the end of September. That's seven weeks for everything to sort itself out in my absence." The unspoken line was there. It didn't need airing, they both knew that 'sorting itself out' was referring to Aaron's recovery. And Jackson was thinking further than that, he was imagining Aaron getting back on that plane and Dean following, he was fantasising of never going through the heartache of seeing him again. Chastity just paused, warily staring at the luggage and nodding her head absently. She looked like she wanted to cry, something that apparently everyone but Jackson was capable of. "Err," Chas sucked on her bottom lip and sniffed aggressively, "In case you were wondering, Aaron…"

"I wasn't." His response shocked her, freezing her arched eyebrows and parted lips. "I don't want to hear anything about him."

"I don't believe that."

"I don't care what you think." She could have stopped, could have respected his wishes, but a determination focused her eyes. She was never one to concede to another's wants and Jackson no longer possessed the ability to clamp his hands over his ears. So when she spoke, he heard her clearly. "Aaron is catatonic. The doctor's gave him something and now he's catatonic." Jackson blinked, unable to absorb for a moment. Catatonic? This conjured vague images seen from forgotten films. Of individuals staring at nothing and rocking where they sat. His wall of self-preservation chipped just enough to form a hole. Jackson centred his face and looked through to the other side. "Catatonic?" he repeated.

"Yes." This was all too much to hear. How could things get any worse? Hadn't they already hit rock bottom? His mind's eye fixed on the image of Aaron, terrified, sick, and embattled with the inner struggle of a mental illness. Her words sickened him and he turned his head away, trying in vain to deflect their impact. "So, is that why you're here, to let me know just what I've done?"

"No. I've come to tell you that I'm sorry about the way I spoke to you this morning." Jackson suddenly had an uncontrollable urge to laugh and he would have, had Chastity's lips not been pursed so tightly together, exuding seriousness. His and Chastity's relationship had always wavered ferociously. There was unconditional blame for Aaron's absence and an overwhelming hate for the suicide attempt. But intermitted with that was genuine appreciation. She'd felt that Jackson had made Aaron a better person and had been thankful once realising that letting Aaron go had been selfless. But now Jackson was exhausted by it. He didn't understand this latest round. Only this morning, she was screaming at him and he found now that he just didn't have the energy to navigate. He just wanted to leave, desperately so. "I've come to tell you I was wrong."

"I don't understand."

"I was wrong."

"About what?" he squared his jaw as if it acted as some sort of protection.

"About you, and about Dean and most definitely about Aaron." This was a joke, it had to be. Some sick way to twist the knife one last time. "I know Aaron loves you. I know he wants to be with you."

"Oh and just how do you know this?" Scorn soaked his reply.

"I just do."

"I thought he was catatonic?"

"He is."

"So how can you possibly know? Has he said this? Has he actually said these words?"resentment dripped from every syllable. What right did she have to say this? He was scurrying together the last of himself, curling inwards, not looking back. There was a course, and he needed to leave for it. He didn't have time for her bizarre optimistic change of heart. He was too empty to perform her absolution. Jackson suddenly felt overwhelmingly irate.

"No, he hasn't said those words."

"So why are you saying this?" He was shouting now.

"Because I know it to be the truth!" Jackson rocked his head back into his chair. "Secretly, I've always known it." He shut his eyes and bit down on his lip angrily, surprised when he suddenly tasted blood. When he opened them, his vision quivered, the adrenalin making him shake, complete contempt echoed outwards. His voice trembled, "I don't even know it to be true."

"Yes, you do, you know it too. You're soul mates!" The statement was like the cold piercing shock of a bucket of water full in the face. His lips parted, an expression of disbelief painted his face, and he could give no answer to her declaration. Chastity spoke, a deep regret encircled her. She knelt down in front of him and pulled at his arms. "And that's why I've said all this to Dean already." She spoke fiercely. "I've just watched him climb into a taxi. He's going back to Dubai tonight. He knows that there's no future between them." Jackson looked at her wildly, scanning her face. "I know how much you love Aaron. I know how much he loves you." Uneven breaths tripped clumsily from him. "This is you and him getting a second chance."

Somewhere, deep down, lay an undercover cove. Its contents unknown, its walls seeped with moisture, the dampness suddenly rising with the swell of emotion. Jackson didn't think it was possible. He'd thought he was done, spent, dry. He imagined that every tear had already been absorbed by Aaron, he didn't think it was conceivable to expel anymore. And so when the first sharp sob caught in his throat, it overwhelmed him and suddenly his cries resounded, reverberating off the walls and startling the other occupants in the room. His defences were lowered, the rain had arrived. He was crying for everything now, for himself and Dean, for Chastity and for Aaron. Chastity threw her arms around him as he wailed, the terrible force hard to witness. Huge wracking sobs tumbled out for the lost years. The horror of Aaron's condition caused massive hitching breaths to shudder his frame. His own disability, the frustration and resentment of it all, brought obscuring tears. This was for the arguments, setbacks, and smiles. For every achievement, accusation, and kiss. It was for everything that had happened in just seven short days. For his overwhelming, heart-wrenching love and for the understanding that he just can't live without Aaron. It bellowed out of him, the intensity closing around tightly, leaving him breathless. And when he was finished, he sat, like a washed up sea wreck.

A long conversation followed. Joe and Sarah stayed at his side, offering their support. They talked about the past, they talked about the present, but mostly about the future. At one point, Chastity reached forward to wipe the dried blood from Jackson's lip and her motherliness stunned him. She cried herself, begging for forgiveness, berating herself for causing Dean an immeasurable amount of pain, and gave a blow-by-blow account of the conversation leading to his departure. They discussed the book, and Aaron's distraught reaction. Laughed at how stupid they were to believe that he'd so easily given his consent. There was a moment's stalling as Jackson fretted – could Aaron handle his past being so exposed? She'd reassured him that it would be alright, that they would get through this together. Jackson then talked at how hopeless and unworthy he found his existence at times, the very thing that instigated their separation. Chastity questioned Jackson's message, ultimately the thing that started all this off. He confessed that it broke his heart not to have any contact with Aaron. But, of course, what he had secretly fantasised was that it might be the start of a reconciliation. She told him of the photo that Aaron kept in his luggage. The one of them wrapped so tightly together, and Jackson had smiled, because he had the same one.

And then a phone call had interrupted the tense confessional atmosphere and apprehension had fill Jackson's lungs. Leaving Dale Head, they'd gathered their wits, composure and courage. The four of them traipsed a long corridor, Jackson followed, the others keeping tight formation around him like a security entourage. Through the glass window, a tableau laid out clearly. The wall clock displayed the hour hand at eight, the minute hand at four. Adam was leaning forward in a chair, a small smile spreading his lips. Cain's body stood against the wall, his arms tightly folded, the tiniest glint of reassurance in his eyes. And in the middle, at the centre of this scene, sat Aaron, just like always. He was upright, sitting forward and unsupported by the hospital pillows. His head trembled as he inched forward, taking a delicate mouthful from the spoon that Paddy held out to him. The thick glass permitted only the loudest sounds to pass into the corridor, and so Paddy's softly spoken encouragements could only been seen and not heard. Aaron's entire body shook, his eyes were wide and startled, they belayed depths of fear. Despite this, it was clear that he was over the worst danger. That the sharp intensity of the medication had brought a quick equilibrium of sorts.

Something spilt onto the bed as Jackson watched and a startled flash twisted Aaron's features. They witnessed Paddy quickly console and wipe at the mess. Aaron seemed so fragile, the lightest wind capable of carrying him off. He was as helpless as a new born and it frightened Jackson. But this was OK, because he was ready. It was now day zero, a resurrection was occurring, they would rise from the ashes. And he didn't know what lay ahead, he could only imagine the difficult conversations, and envisage the slow recovery. There was one thing for certain though, and this was that they'd be doing it together.

The End


Whilst writing this (and especially during the last few chapters), I felt that I was writing a made-for-TV movie. There were that many dramatic scenes, I was convinced that everyone would start to get sick of the story. But you didn't. You still faithfully read and reviewed. And those reviews really helped to shape some of the chapters. I am so grateful to those who took the time.

I am also in the debt of Sylvain, who has cared enough about my story to patiently betaread. My knowledge of correctly written English was sketchy before. But he took the time to show me, despite how many times he had to point out the same errors. He made the story so much better. You may also have noticed half way through, that the writing style started to change. By the end sounding like I'd swallowed a poetry book. That was just me flexing my wings and I hope you enjoyed the change.

I'm not sure what the future will bring, hopefully they'll be more Aarson fic. I do have some ideas for follow on pieces, but I might go quiet for a bit.

And finally I thought I'd include a link. Imagine this was a made-for-TV movie. This would be playing in the end credits: www . youtube . com/watch?v=9muzyOd4Lh8