*Still in shock from Sunday's episode, so it took even longer to get my mind back on this story because its behind(sort of , SD-6 is gone in it though!) and my life has been very hectic. Sorry for the long update! Thanks for all your reviews, they mean a lot.
Little side note: twinmuse and any others who were wondering about solitary secret, I am putting that off till this is finished but I already know where I am going with it, soo just a bit longer, sorry! I am taking off on a theory I think might be true, so watch for that one! And I am also going to resume perfect at that time as well, because writing a happy fluff while writing this, I couldn't do it. But you can still read those if you haven't, and review(of course!)
And now the next chapter!!
Chapter 10-Succeeding
Walking down the deserted path of the park, the trees swaying slightly to the tune of the night wind, my heels echoed in response. After every step, I could feel someone's presence lurking behind the bushes scattered across the open spaces of grass. Holding onto my cell phone and poising my finger on his speed dial number, I felt safer. Even being the spy that I am, I get scared only for him. I don't want to put him through what I went through. He doesn't deserve that. Doesn't deserve the long endless nights of sleeping pools of tears, doesn't deserve the heavy feeling of nothing weighing down his shoulders, and doesn't deserve the pain that slowly eats away at your heart until it is no more. He doesn't deserve that.
Carefully crossing the intersection devoid of any cars and out of the park, I see the building that looms overtop of the perfect scenery of the park that goes by unnoticed to dog walkers and babysitters taking tiny tots for fresh air. The light posts illuminate the brisk night as I dial a number into the broken down phone and enter through the side doors, not noticing the hairs on my arms standing up straight and an uneasy feeling crawling around in my stomach.
As soon as I turned the last bare corner of dimly lit hallways and found myself staring down the corridor that leaked into a main room filled with computers and papers strewn about on various desks, the strange feeling in my stomach told me something was wrong. But everything seemed normal. Everything looked normal, except the far desk. In the back corner past the numerous hallways extending to other offices and cells, one in particular my mother's, a plain empty desk seems sectioned off almost. As if no one wants to be tainted by the pain and suffering behind it.
The far desk usually littered by various reports written hastily in his illegible handwriting, my files containing every detail of every one of missions, and his mugs always half full of cold and deserted coffee was empty. Nothing graced the top of the smooth wood except his computer and even the computer seemed stripped of any existence. A fine film of dust covered everything which was nothing and could have told you without even whispering the truth that no one especially not him had touched this desk for months, maybe years. But it was months soon to be a year which felt like years, long agonizing years.
Dropping the phone that was still tightly clutched in my hand with my one finger slightly poised over his speed dial number, my memory kicked in. Nothing had happened. I didn't die, but he didn't live. I didn't die, but he didn't. He didn't. Even though I felt the glossy phone slip from my shaking fingers, the loud sound that it made from smacking the harsh tile floor caused me to jump and stare down at it as it spun on its side. Round and round and round, slower and slower and slower until it stopped and a long overdue tear fell on it with a drawn out splash.
Many agents dressed in black suits that made them look even more depressed and somber than they really are look up from their duties and stare at me blankly switching my glances between the still phone and the empty desk. He was alive, he was in my room, he was holding my hand. I felt him, heard him, and I saw him. Alive, not dead. My head began to shake on its own and my legs began to walk carelessly over to his desk. Few people approached me, sensing the void digging itself back its home sweet home in my heart, I didn't notice them. Didn't hear them, didn't want to, didn't care to, I just wanted to sit in his chair, feel my limbs brush over the rough fabric of the chair that he sat on. The phone was still on the floor, abandoned with the tear running down the side and onto the cold tile floor shining in the light.
Slowly pulling out the chair hearing it creak loudly and noticing the numerous pairs of misty eyes watching my every move, my eyes begin to fill with more tears ready to spill over. Sitting back into it, letting it embrace me, letting it take me over, I close my eyes and cry. Silently whimpering, the hole in my heart has grown down to my ankles and up to the tip of my head. My body goes numb and I feel nothing, no pain, no anger, no sorrow, no hurt, no confusion, no tears gracefully skating over my face and onto his desk, no nothing. Just like him. I feel nothing. I am finally dead, invisible. I don't hear anyone, I don't see anyone. I am alone and no one can see me cry, no can hear my screams, no can feel the pain of my heart beating over and over again.
My eyes flick back open and I'm not in his chair. My hands aren't gripping the sides of his chair but instead gripping onto the white sheets, my knuckles matching them. My face is tight where the new tears haven't washed away the old ones. It was just a dream, a nightmare. The warmth from his body still evident and circulating throughout me, he is alive.
After moments of making sure last night's or however long ago it was, was real and not a dream, then I notice something terribly wrong more wrong than the nightmare. The warmth was still running throughout my entire body, calming me, but my hand was empty. Searching his chair for him, I found no one. Not even an indent where he had been sitting alive with his heart beating. He was here. He was. I know it. Lost tears found their home spilling out onto my face, streaming down to my chin then falling down to the tightly pulled up blanket.
Forcing my body to sit up, I managed to slightly peek around the room for any signs that he was here. Nothing. No blankets, no newspapers, no cell phones, no CIA report papers lying aimlessly about the room, no him. No nothing except pill bottles, IV stands, and machines continuing in a steady hum. Just me.
Then I noticed the door. It was half-open and the bright light from the hallway was spilling in sending a wave of color into the room. Shadows were plastered against the door and that's when I heard them. Talking in cautious voices terrified and alarmed. Straining my ears for any notification of who it is or what they were saying, none. At first the voices seem completely foreign then almost like magic I breathe in the truth.
He is still alive, his sweet voice circling around me, embracing me. Before calling out his name to see his face peer into my disconnected room just to make sure, I hear a full sentence, a startling sentence of truth. Low, gruff and hoarse, strained and almost monotone as if not wanting to say it, he asks what has probably been on his mind since six days ago.
"Is she going to be okay?" Suddenly my ears seem to pick up every single sound outside the door, everything.
"Well, to be honest, we are not sure. I know she looks fine on the outside besides the bruises and cuts along her arms and legs, but the major damage was done internally." I could hear his heart break as did mine. A stranded tear began to balance on the tip of right eyelash, wavering between the truth and what I wanted to hear. It was silence for what seemed like years then Vaughn's voice broke through, cracking in places and deep breaths in between each word.
"H..how much damage and to what?" Closing my eyes, really feeling the pain surging through my body, I tried to tone out what was going to be said next, whether it was good or bad. I tried to breathe harder and think of last night when he was right next to me and not outside the door learning the truth. All the sound I began to make inside my head and my breathing had not silenced what was being said. It only made it more evident.
"Her liver. We already went in and operated, we just have to wait now. She should be fine, but.." His voice began to fade as the tears around my brown eyes increased.
"But what?" I could hear the bit and fear in his voice. I pulled up the tight sheets around my body closer and the smell of starch and fresh breezes came into my senses. Closing my eyes, I didn't want to hear this. I want them to stop talking, and I want Michael to come back into the room not knowing anything and take my hand and feel his heat and love next to me, keeping me safe. The world around me becoming fuzzy and distant, I had succeeded this time. The only sound in my ears is the soft buzz of the machines connected to me, keeping me alive, and the quiet scuffs of his shoes running over the patterned tiles of the hallway letting out all of his pain and frustration. He knew and I knew.
His steps became louder and I soon felt his presence leaning over me. A sudden swell of warmth and strength surged throughout my broken body. A cold tear found its way out of his brilliant green eyes and filtered down on my arm as he grabbed my hand and held it with such fierceness. Our hands intertwining, both full of life and love, except that this time he knew. He knew what I had done to myself. He knew I had succeeded.
*so, what did you think? Good? Bad? And do you think she is going to live? Yes? No? Thanks for reading and now you know what to do, press the little button and type away! lol, thanks!