Title: Pain
Author: sparkle*
Feedback: verdandi_happening@hotmail.com. please!!
Rating: PG
Category: VA
Spoilers: Luke Doggett story arc (Empedocles mostly)
Keywords: Doggett, Reyes, DRF
Summary: 'The wall was broken, like his hand. Like his heart,
like hers. Like him.'
Disclaimer: Characters, etc. belong(ed!) to CC, 1013, Fox...
Author's Note: I know this can be repetitive in places, and has
really short sentences - I was trying out a different style for
some reason. [I also know this is relatively short, but too long
for one paragraph]...but I wrote it awhile ago, and I didn't
really want to mess with it. So...gimme feedback!! Constructive
criticism welcomed.
Timeframe: Soon after Luke is found.
***
Pain
by sparkle*
He was not John Doggett, he thought. John Doggett died with his
son. He was not the man his wife had married; he was the man she
was about to divorce. He was a man with a past, but no future. A
nameless faceless man who wouldn't remember where he came from and
didn't know where he was going. He couldn't feel anymore. He
just sat. He no longer cared. Two days ago he could not, would
not sit. He paced, argued, searched, yelled, cried. He did not
smile. A permanent frown was affixed to his face, and it would
stay for the next ten years. He would meet her again, in ten
years, and then he could pretend he remembered how to smile. But
now - now he sat, his eyes boring into the dirty white wall, and
his mind shut down. He sat and he stared. Sat and stared. She
sat behind him, across the room, and watched. He did not think;
to him he did not feel, but she did. For all his lack of thought,
lack of expression, she could feel him. Suddenly, his fist was
through the wall. The whitegray had a black jagged scar. She was
at his side before he could even let out a ragged breath. She did
not say a word; neither did he. She merely rested her hand on his
shoulder. Then she lowered herself to sit beside him, moving her
small hand to his rough, bleeding one. The wall was broken, like
his hand. Like his heart, like hers. Like him. He looked from
her eyes to her hand, and his. She looked at him. He looked back
up at her. Their eyes locked and stayed that way. She could see
into his soul. He could see, but he didn't. He thought of the
wall, of his hand. The wall hurt; his hand did not. He did not
feel. He could not allow himself to feel. He was supposed to
have died two days ago. Dead men are broken, and do not feel.
She sees this. But she feels. She feels what he will not. She
feels for him, because he will not. Her hand involuntarily
tightens around his. His hand is broken. Like the wall. Like
the wall, his hand begins to hurt. Like his hand, he begins to
hurt. She sees this, also. And she feels it, because she feels
for him. Then there are tears. They belong to both of them.
~fin.
Author: sparkle*
Feedback: verdandi_happening@hotmail.com. please!!
Rating: PG
Category: VA
Spoilers: Luke Doggett story arc (Empedocles mostly)
Keywords: Doggett, Reyes, DRF
Summary: 'The wall was broken, like his hand. Like his heart,
like hers. Like him.'
Disclaimer: Characters, etc. belong(ed!) to CC, 1013, Fox...
Author's Note: I know this can be repetitive in places, and has
really short sentences - I was trying out a different style for
some reason. [I also know this is relatively short, but too long
for one paragraph]...but I wrote it awhile ago, and I didn't
really want to mess with it. So...gimme feedback!! Constructive
criticism welcomed.
Timeframe: Soon after Luke is found.
***
Pain
by sparkle*
He was not John Doggett, he thought. John Doggett died with his
son. He was not the man his wife had married; he was the man she
was about to divorce. He was a man with a past, but no future. A
nameless faceless man who wouldn't remember where he came from and
didn't know where he was going. He couldn't feel anymore. He
just sat. He no longer cared. Two days ago he could not, would
not sit. He paced, argued, searched, yelled, cried. He did not
smile. A permanent frown was affixed to his face, and it would
stay for the next ten years. He would meet her again, in ten
years, and then he could pretend he remembered how to smile. But
now - now he sat, his eyes boring into the dirty white wall, and
his mind shut down. He sat and he stared. Sat and stared. She
sat behind him, across the room, and watched. He did not think;
to him he did not feel, but she did. For all his lack of thought,
lack of expression, she could feel him. Suddenly, his fist was
through the wall. The whitegray had a black jagged scar. She was
at his side before he could even let out a ragged breath. She did
not say a word; neither did he. She merely rested her hand on his
shoulder. Then she lowered herself to sit beside him, moving her
small hand to his rough, bleeding one. The wall was broken, like
his hand. Like his heart, like hers. Like him. He looked from
her eyes to her hand, and his. She looked at him. He looked back
up at her. Their eyes locked and stayed that way. She could see
into his soul. He could see, but he didn't. He thought of the
wall, of his hand. The wall hurt; his hand did not. He did not
feel. He could not allow himself to feel. He was supposed to
have died two days ago. Dead men are broken, and do not feel.
She sees this. But she feels. She feels what he will not. She
feels for him, because he will not. Her hand involuntarily
tightens around his. His hand is broken. Like the wall. Like
the wall, his hand begins to hurt. Like his hand, he begins to
hurt. She sees this, also. And she feels it, because she feels
for him. Then there are tears. They belong to both of them.
~fin.