Beneath the Heap Chapter 2
Disclaimer: Still not mine!
Summary: Three in the morning, after the reunion. Carby, definitely, now.
Rating: PG-13, I guess, just in keeping with the last chapter, but nothing really bad happens here.
*******
Silently, delicately, eyes fluttered open, though it made no difference—all was dark. Her newly reborn sense of time guessed three in the morning.
No sight, her other awakening senses were engaged, heightened. Improved ears astutely heard birds on the other side of the window pane wholeheartedly collaborating, composing a chirping symphony even at this hour. The avian calls provided a sense of security, a peace that night wasn't so frightening after all, that in fact it was as familiarly alive as day. Alive with multi-dimensional life: chirps syncopated with the occasional shout or the whirr of a car passing by on the street below.
Headlight reflections briefly graced the darkened room with blue shadow before suddenly disappearing, once more leaving the room cloaked in the black night.
Touch was heightened too, although not as much due to lack of sight as to the recently unfamiliar proximity to another living being.
Her leg, tangled between his, was visible, peering into the night in place of knocked-aside blankets. She felt a slight pulsating through the physical connection—his veins? Hers? Knew that if she were to adjust her leg it would take a moment to release from the grip of his damp skin, so instead remained motionless, not wanting to tear any fragile, reforming bonds.
Couldn't move legs, so her head turned, to benefit from her slowly adjusting sight. Saw him, swallowed to grasp the emotion of the vision—he lay on one side, facing her, arms and legs curled to her figure as she lay flat on her back. Concave to her convex.
She reached one arm up, lightly brushed fingertips against fingertips, tenderly caressed his loosely posed hand extending from the arm placed as a support behind her neck. Not to make him aware of her presence, more to remind herself of his.
She inhaled—a fourth sense was put into use—as she devoured the recognizable blend of odors. Harsh sweat mingled with something smoother to create a soothing aroma, unmistakably him. She bent her head faintly and touched her lips to his sleeping bicep, fifth sense. Smelling chocolate and tasting it, two different things, but entwined—scent just a hint of the bliss of taste.
Five ways confirmed, yes, he was actually there, in her bed, undoubtedly more than she'd ever wished in those weeks of desolation. Yet as novelty wore off, relapsing into an old habit of familiarity, she decided it was time to think.
Pressed against him, head resting gently on his shoulder, such contemplation was impossible. Like lying on her back, floating in quietly cascading water—so placid her mind would not allow her to disrupt her serenity. So calm, so peaceful…
Suddenly sat up, to dissipate the distraction. Succeeded and regained a clear mind, ready for rational thought. Thought of what? Didn't know what to think. Sidestepping the obvious. Unsure, she tucked a rebel lock of hair behind one ear.
Of course, she should be pondering the new arrival in her bed, all the mystery surrounding his return. But how could she? Her own thoughts would not reveal truths she was not already aware of., instead would only increase emotion: confusion, anger, sorrow—not emotions she would intentionally welcome. She'd rather study the room—the stuccoed ceiling, the faintly chipping paint on the walls, his toes, protruding from beneath the comforter, perfectly rounded, soft. Where had they been treading lately? Why had they gone? What had—
"Abby." So slight it may have been the wind, or the birds, or—swiftly she rotated her torso, creaking a few degrees to gaze into his half-ajar dark eyes. Awake.
Thought, solo at least, was done for the night. Back to mental hibernation.
"Abby," again, of course; she hadn't responded to the original call, only stared.
"Yeah," tried to match his subdued tone, instead squeaked.
"What'cha thinking about?" prying, she didn't like it. He'd been gone—violently absent. He had no right to traipse back in here and read her thoughts.
"Nothing." Harsher than she'd intended. Actually, no. She'd wanted to put him in his rightful place, a newborn who had to rebuild his collapsed platform, not a grown adult who could simply re-ascend the stairs.
He didn't understand the tone, smiled slightly, unbelieving. Prying deeper.
"I'm not sure yet," she responded, truthfully, she supposed.
He reached an arm towards her, stroked her upper back a few times.
"It's ok." No, jerk, he had no right to be so accommodating. She took a step back, tried to cover all possibilities before relying on hasty conclusions. To avoid her initial reaction. That was the door that had led them here in the first place. Time to choose a different one.
"What's ok?"
"Hating me." Or maybe this path was the winner. She'd been right this time, maybe in light of recent traumas her intuition had gained new accuracy. Someone had deemed it necessary to remove her shroud of stupidity after witnessing the consequences of last time she'd worn it.
Self-congratulatory thoughts depleted, she registered the cool knowingness of his words fully. Froze imperceptibly, then one racking shiver relayed down her spine.
I don't, she knew she was meant to say. Couldn't—was not sure whether it would be a lie.
"Hmm." All she could muster in acknowledgement. Sat quiescently unblinking for one minute, two, three—hardly thinking, although that was what he'd assume. Just breathing—had no idea what else to do.
Four. Five. Six.
He could not bear her infuriating indifference, was sick of being so patient to let her come to her own conclusions. Why should he? It hadn't worked before.
"Abby!" Her shoulders seized. The loudest sound that had been uttered in hours. Momentarily stunned, as the roughness of the waves ricocheted across the room, he began again, less demanding, more pleading.
"Please, I don't care what you say, just tell me anything. I don't mind if you scream that you want me dead, just give me some clue!"
"I don't want you dead." Solemn, begrudgingly, a small child admitting to her father one small wrongdoing of her criminal escapade.
He waited, didn't want to plug his pinhole window into her psyche.
Her pause was too pregnant for him. He prompted her.
"What do you want then?" She sighed, almost inaudibly. Didn't elaborate. He understood though—she didn't know.
Recognizing his prodding attempts as futile, he settled back down into the embrace of the pillows, returned to a slumbering mentality. Perhaps in a few hours the window would expand and a few more drips of comprehension would leak out. Maybe by then she'd have analyzed herself a little more, enough to relate something useful, to decipher a few words of her emotional code.
Right now, he knew she'd been telling the truth when she'd said she didn't know what to think about. She was as confused as he was, more maybe. Probably.
Content with his evaluation, he shifted his focus—stared at her—hair iridescent in the limited light, smooth skin of her back barely rippling in time to her pulse, fingers picking delicately at the seam in the sheet draped across her lap as she concentrated intently on something he could hardly guess at. God he hoped she'd forgive him.
At peace once more, his eyelids slid gradually until one set of lashes met the other, reuniting at last to form a gateway for much needed sleep.
"John," she quivered, sliding back into a flat position beside him, hoping he'd re-embrace her.
"Hmm?" too much on the verge of sub-consciousness to be hopeful that this was the opportunity he'd been eagerly awaiting.
"I felt like I was dead."
Though bold, it didn't evoke anything in him but the primal urge to comfort. He extended his arms, creating a cradle for her to fall back in. In a moment, her situated against him, he closed them, tight around her, rocking invisibly, holding her pressed closely to his body to absorb his security, soothing in a way that could only be described as maternal.
"Shh," he cooed. "I know."
*******
Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews! They were really…inspiring, and I'm glad you liked it! I think there will be one more chapter after this, I don't want it to turn into an epic or anything!
Also, some credit: I got the word "traipse" from a fanfic (can't remember which, so that's not much help :d ) And I got "quiescently" off my popsicle which was "quiescently frozen" And the idea for this came loosely from Sunni (Lanie), so thanks for that!
