Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, as much as my imagination thinks I do.
A/N: This is Daphne's POV the night before Niles goes into hospital for his operation.
Feedback: would be very appreciated. Either R&R or send to solitudeperfection@yahoo.com
"That which is written…"
By Elaine
I have walked a thousand paths with you. Lived a thousand lives. All full of shouted whispers and quiet words.
And now, now I don't know what to do. Because you're walking this path alone. And that scares me, perhaps more than it scares you. And I never realised the soul destroying terror that comes from being so helpless, so ineffectual.
I'm sitting at my computer desk, in near total darkness. The screen adds its own harsh, glaring light to the night. The starlight beams in through the window by the atrium, casting a pale, safe glow over everything.
Don't ask me how I can sit at a computer screen and write as easily as those do in a diary. Niles has always wondered. I figure I'm just a girl of the 21st century. And there is something strangely comforting about being alone, sitting in the dark typing. I think it makes you forget everything. Forget that there is a world outside, full of people and noise. Instead, all there is is me and my hands rhythmically typing out everything.
I can hear your footsteps as you walk along the hallway, the soft, slow rhythm of your foot rising and falling with each new step and I know you're there, even before I turn my head and look at you.
"Hello," I whisper into the darkness, not moving.
I can feel you blink in surprise behind me. No matter how many times I have done that, it still surprises you. I smile at it, comforted by its reassurance.
"Hello," you whisper back. "I won't ask." He adds, shaking his head in awe and disbelief.
I turn around then and face you, the smile still spread across my face.
"Niles, don't you think by now I know the sound of your footsteps?" I ask half laughingly. "Failing that, I added, we have a burglar."
He smiles at the last statement. "No. just me."
He leans back so not to read the writing on the screen. Niles's cursive scrawl may greet me everyday with notes left on the fridge, or on the dressing table. But I would never- and could never- read his diary. And he doesn't read mine. The method of recollection and posterity may be different, but the outcome is equally as private and intense for both of us.
It's late and I can hear the tiredness in your voice as you speak.
"Are you ok. It's late."
I squeeze his hand tightly. "I'm fine." I replied. "I just can't sleep. And I haven't written in here for a long time."
I look at up him, his face drawn and pale, the darkness casting real and imaginary shadows across his face. He looks exhausted. It's been a long and hard week for all of us. Niles more than anyone.
"Go to bed." I whisper, my mouth inches away from his.
He smiles at the suggestive manner and undertone in my voice. "Are you coming?" he says, and smiles at the double entendre.
I laugh back, the loud sound piercing the darkness. "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute."
He looks at me, his blue eyes connecting with my brown ones and I see everything there. His past, my present, our future. "Promise?" he whispers.
I nod in agreement. "Yes," I whisper, kissing him.
He echoes my earlier gesture. "Ok," and he slowly turns around and walks out of the door.
His footsteps retreat down the hallway, and its only when I hear the click of our bedroom door closing that I realise I can't hear him anymore. And the fear grips me physically, clasping my heart into darkness. And the thought comes to me, unprovoked, unbidden: instinctual.
I can't lose you. I won't lose you. Because I have a thousand lives to live with you.
