Author's Notes: Well, I've crossed over to the dark side. No, not Carby – even that's too dark for me. This is Jinka, set after A Thousand Cranes. Dedicated to m'Jasie. The lyrics are from Live's Run to the Water.
All We Have Is Now
by Kate
In a
moment we lost our minds here
And lay our spirit down
Today we lived a thousand years
All we have is now
He stumbled to his feet, not because he really thought he could, but because it
was expected of him. He was strong; he was the one who'd been through it all.
They'd stopped thinking of him as damaged, fragile, and taken to viewing him as
the rock. The one who could look death in the eye and not
flinch. They disdained him for it, calling him "Dr. Death" when they
thought he wasn't listening, but he knew they also respected him for it. They
were impressed that nothing touched him anymore, because it was a state of
being they couldn't achieve.
But they were wrong. Death consumed him, mocked him, tore
at him, until the only options left were to succumb to the darkness or ignore
it altogether. And because
ignoring was impossible, he succumbed - and yet, still managed to give the illusion of being alive.
And so, as he stumbled to his feet, he knew he was being evaluated. Measured. Would this be the day that the great Dr. Death
crumbled? He gave no glance to the person watching him, because he could feel
the scrutiny. Could feel it surrounding him, enveloping him.
He felt his body swaying and reached out a hand to steady himself.
"You don't have to get up." The soft voice startled him. He brought his head up
and squinted through the dim light of the lounge as the voice continued. "I was
just going to come sit down myself."
A force stronger than himself propelled his body back into the couch. He felt
the cushion dip slightly as the owner of the voice sat beside him. She was
sitting so close he could smell her. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes.
"Do you think you'll ever go back there?"
"Where?" he questioned lazily, resting his head against the couch, closer to
her hair.
She almost choked on the words. "Doc Magoo's."
His eyes flung open, then closed again. He saw the sticky, red trail, the
bodies. Smelled the stench of spilled blood. Death
consumed him, mocked him, tore at him. He forced his
eyes open so all he had to see was her. Her almond eyes were seeing the
carnage, too, and they pooled with grief. He shook his head helplessly. Of
course I will. It's part of the facade. "I don't know."
She nodded, shifting closer to him. "Let's leave."
He raised his eyebrows. That was unlike her. They were two of a kind, she and him. The strong ones. Let's
leave? "I can't." She looked at him, frowning. "Weaver…" he started to
explain.
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Life is short," she quipped, but her
voice held only bitterness. She stood up, daring him to follow.
To his surprise, he found himself chuckling. "And all we have is now," he
asserted, rising to his feet. She nodded curtly and led him out of the lounge.
"Luka! Jing-Mei!" The voice
followed them out the door and into the ambulance bay. They let the door shut
behind them and stood staring at each other.
"What now?" he wondered.
She shrugged and held out her palm. Slowly he grasped it, relishing the first
real human contact he'd had in days. Her hand was cold, and he rubbed it
between the two of his, the friction of the movement warming both of them. He
squeezed her small hands and turned away from the hospital, away from Doc Magoo's, away from the illusions that had bound them.