Story Title: A Catch

Author: Hawk Martin

Disclaimer: Elizabeth is mine, Severus is not. Life is unfair.

Dedication: To all those that think I should own Severus Snape.

A/N: I lied about the one-shot thing last time. Heh. This is angsty and romantic and maybe fluffy in the end. Have fun.

Summary: "You once called me a love. In the beginning, it was uncle, then father, then finally lover. What are we now, with the love between us but also the hate?"

Notes: None really.

Rating: PG.

Warning: I stick with the 'Do not read if illiterate' theory.

~Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?

Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,

Lest guilty of my faults, thy sweet self prove.

For, thou betraying me, I do betray

My nobler part to my gross body's treason;

My soul doth tell my body that he may

Triumph in love: flesh stays no farther reason,

But rising at thy name doth point out thee

As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,

He is contented thy poor drudge to be,

To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.

No want of conscience hold it that I call

Her "love" for whose dear love I rise and fall.

The Unabridged William Shakespeare, William George Clark and William Aldis Wright, eds. (1989) Running Press.~

I once held you in my arms.

A long time ago, you were there, warm and safe while I held you from the demons that threatened to tear us apart, to take your sanity as it had been lost in childhood. Were you ever a child? I don't know…it was never brought up when you sat there, hugging your beloved dog. How much you've grown. I find myself torn between the icy-eyed individual who roamed freely through fields of green in Ireland, and now the silent prisoner that holds an apathetic passion for my own stained hands. I love you, every side of you. Who else can say that?

Not many, I imagine.

And yet, who else can say a great many things about you? Who can say on this tortured planet that they held you in their arms; that they witnessed the bruised vulnerability you've always fought to hide? Who can say that loved you, made love to you, and was still allowed in your presence? Who can say that above all, they received love in return?

For a time, I wouldn't allow myself even that idea. How could you love me when you had left? It was hatred. It was guilt. Miss Whitney…Liz…you left, but you still loved. Is that still true? I wonder, now that I am an old man. You always argued that 45 was not old, but…for me, it is ancient. I have seen too much, done too little. My scale of pertinence is beginning to tip, and you aren't there to balance it. Not anymore.

You once called me a love. In the beginning, it was uncle, then father, then finally lover. What are we now, with the love between us but also the hate? Dare I blame you? In the beginning, I would allow myself that right and many more. To hate you…it was righteous, and it grieves me to say even that. Now I realize it was not you I hated, but I. You left, granted, but I permitted you to. Perhaps it was even I who drove you away. To you, I left. To me, you left. It's a supercilious fight, one that disturbs me to this day. I miss you, the only truth in my ways. You were the only truth in my life.

This dungeon, dank and familiar, smiles at me in mocking resilience. I have lost the war, forgotten the battle. The stony bricks drip with musty sweat, and I find myself sighing. Where are you now, I wonder? In a small apartment, smoking your life away? I hope you are eating, that you are happy. In love, even. Does that surprise you? I wish you only happiness, even if it is not with me. Could it ever be?

My questions remain unanswered as work continues. Piles of parchment need to be cleared and lesson plans sorted out. My love with you ended, but life did not. How cruel this is. Even though you left, the world did not. And it haunts me every day, tortures my bitter mind and feeble body. Without your passion, I am no longer strong. However, it does not matter anymore. I have work and distant memories to keep me alive, sober in the mind if not soul.

Autumn reigns outside, leaves of crimson and gold falling. Your favorite season, as I recall. I smile briefly, though the gesture is hard and painful. Like newborn skin, the grin feels raw and vulnerable. I am not used to such a gesture, now that your witty sarcasm does not spark laughter in my life. I sigh at the thought and move to my office, standing before a swirling window. My hands behind my back, my posture straight, I remember you—your face, your laugh…your smirk. How it enchanted me.

How everything about you did.

I cannot fall out of love with you. Can you with me? It's a paradox, surely. The devious musings of such an enigma are halted by the calling of my name, quiet and mischievous. I look over, and stop…seeing you. You…neither of fantasy nor dream…you, standing before me in such a grace. I am frozen, so confused the most nonsensical Muggle novel would make more sense to me.

"Sevvy." It's one word, one loving nickname, but I am still rendered speechless. You are so beautiful, but so different. Icy eyes of lightning roam over my body, studying and taking in my rigid appearance. Your hair is shorter, with streaks of black fitting in nicely with the shining chestnut. I am captivated, in you and for you. You open your lips, chapped and bruised, and move towards me. It's slow, human. If I move now…

My anger will be quenched.

"Miss Whitney," I managed to croak out, turning to you in an authoritative way. You manage a smirk, the same that has taken me forever. I move forward, and find you safely in my arms again. This is how it was meant to be…even if so many words lay hanging in the air. You are still here, protected and I am still here, in love.

"I love you, bloody Pompous Brit," you say with a grin and I smile, kissing you. It's soft and comforting, but still passionate. It has always amazed me how our kisses can be the briefest, and still the best.

Soft skin brushes up against my calloused fingers and I grin, still. "I love you, Miss Whitney. I am still Irish, however."

I can say a great many things about you. But the greatest? You fell…but I was the one that caught you.