Middle 4
Emma sat quietly by the pillar of the dojo, pretending not to watch Shalimar as she worked out - using the whole of Sanctuary as she leapt from banister to post, stretching her toned body to the extremes of its tolerance. Emma had a pen and writing paper in her hands but so far all that had been written was a simple 'Dear Sally' to the psionic that she had befriended many months ago and kept correspondence with. Somehow it seemed there were things more important at the moment. After their talk Emma had thought they had managed to get things straight. But they hadn't slept together since that day a week ago, Shalimar marching off to bed early and shutting her door behind her pointedly each day. Emma couldn't think of a time that Shalimar had ever locked her door before. She had always been so open for them all. So available. She smiled at the thought of the one time that Jesse had appeared in Shalimar's room for some advice. His shock had vibrated so hard she thought it might physically knock her out of the bed she was sharing with Shalimar at the time.
She could feel the steaming turbulence of Shalimar's emotions as she sped around the huge room and hoped she would allow them to break soon. The more she worked out it seemed the more pent up her emotions got. If she kept swallowing them back like Emma knew she was trying to do it could only be worse for her in the long run. With emotions so strong there were only two directions in which they could break. Tears or anger. Emma couldn't think of one time that she'd ever seen Shalimar really angry. A little pissed of at the bad guy perhaps, nervous anger when Ashlocke had been around, but never the kind of violent anger that this volume of emotion would channel itself into. She prayed for tears.
Realising she could no longer hear Shalimar training she looked up from her thoughts.
At first she couldn't see nor hear any sign of the feral. But listening closely she heard a harsh muffled sob, followed by a second, and silently thanked whoever was responsible for such things.
AN: Probably shouldn't put author's notes in the middle of fics, but hell, this is an unorthodox fic anyway. I was having some problems with this chapter, not sure I wanted to bring it back here again, but it's 12 at night, I found out today that my cat has died and I'm not at home to say goodbye or - at the very least - thank my little brother for being there for her when I can't be. Suddenly I'm finding this scene a lot easier to write. For Rebecca.
Looking for the source of the muffled sobbing, she eventually tracked it to a corner of the room, concealed from the wider expanses by a pillar. She took a seat beside Shalimar silently, maintaining an artificial distance between them. All she wanted was to be at arms reach if Shalimar needed her, wanted her. Her smothered sobs weighed on Emma's heart, made her want to pull her close and hold her until it was all better. But this couldn't get 'all better'. There was no magic plaster that she could put over this wound. It was just building up the scar tissue. Weighing her down. Her hand on Shalimar's shoulder, a soft kiss, kind words, this was all she could offer. At her touch, Shalimar moved so her head lay in Emma's lap and Emma's hand moved to her temple as she sobbed and hiccuped. Drawing soft circles on her brow she sought to calm her. She seemed to remember her mother, so very long ago, drawing the same circles on her own brow and her heart tugged with loss - her loss, Shalimar's loss - they'd all lost something somewhere along the line. She wondered how much they would have to lose before they lost themselves. Had she already lost herself? Had Shalimar?
"What would you have called her?" It struck her afterwards - when her mind wasn't in such a dark, maudlin place, swimming with Shalimar's emotions - that this was a terrible thing to ask. But Shalimar sniffed and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and answered quite matter of factly.
"Rebecca. Stephen for a boy."
"Rebecca." Emma rolled the name around in her mind for a moment and then let it go as you might release a bird from a cage. "Goodbye Rebecca." She said sadly and kissed Shalimar's forehead.
"How do you know it was a girl?" Shalimar asked, managing the smallest of smiles.
"Oh, she was beautiful. I met her. She had blond hair that was long and straight and she wore it down so that when she laughed it all shook around her face like it had a mind of its own and was laughing along. She had soft blue eyes that she always had wide open to take in the whole world around her, as much as she could at a time. And she laughed. Beautiful laughter. Laughter that makes the saddest person smile. We both loved her very much. But she wasn't to be." Shalimar's breathing quickened and Emma wondered apprehensively if she had done the right thing, telling her about her dream.
"Thank you." Shalimar's whisper was full of new and unshed tears.
"Cry it all out Shalimar, things will start to look a little better after a while. Scar tissue fades." And so she cried, safe in her lover's arms, until thing started looking a little better. And then she cried a little more for good measure. Emma was asleep when she was finished, cried out, and so she lifted her from the floor and carried her in strong arms to their bed. Together they slept. And Shalimar dreamed.