Title: Loss
Date: April 27, 2004
Author: Marion (AKA GiantPygmyGirl)
Disclaimer: None of these wonderful characters are my own, unfortunately… The last paragraph stems from a quote from the episode All Things written and directed by Gillian Anderson. The entire story stems from a feeling I had one day, and from footage from one of the shows, I just let my imagination run. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated.
Italics indicate dreaming at the beginning and thoughts later on.
Loss
A black tidal wave of grief pushed against me as I fell onto my bed clutching his shirt, grasping it tightly. My nose pressed against its smooth worn contours. It still smelled like him. It's funny how smells can last forever. My heart skipped a beat, and a sharp pain rose in my throat, drowning me as I tried to fight back the tears. So many tears had been shed, so many yet still my eyes had more. I inhaled, closing my eyes tightly—remembering. I could stay lost in his smell forever while traces of his cologne toyed with my senses. I could live in his smell forever.
My thoughts drained in constant motion, flowing and ebbing like osmosis. Where I had too many of one thought a few left, streaming to another area of my brain which lacked any idea of the previous nature. I lay on my side, clutching… staring at the bland white wall colored blue by the night sky and the moon. My head rested effortlessly on the pillow. I listened to the music of my mind and it gradually lulled me to sleep.
I woke with no feeling in my left arm and dried tears on my cheeks, their salty trails making my face itch. I tried to wiggle the fingers on my left hand only to discover that the whole arm was pinned and that the digits were not responding. Pulling my arm free I opened my eyes slowly and silent tears began to course down my cheeks. My chest heaved. My body shook. My lips quivered. My chin trembled.
His eyes were peacefully closed, lips slightly parted, mouth slack… breathing, breathing. The three round scars on either side of his face were ever present, a daily reminder of what I almost lost and of the horrors he endured. I pressed my lips to his ever so softly, my tears falling onto his skin. Then getting up I crossed the distance on shaky legs to the bathroom.
After showering I found him still lying on the bed but this time his eyes were open and his arms were outstretched. "Come here," he said softly. "Come back to me." I slowly crossed the distance from the threshold to the bed and lowered myself into his awaiting arms.
"Just hold me." I whispered.
He complied, arms wrapping around my shaking shoulders like steel. He pressed his lips to my forehead and then my nose and finally my mouth, where he lingered. Then he placed his forehead to mine and we remained like that for what seemed an eternity. Unspoken words passed between us. Hew knew why I was upset—knew that these feelings would last for awhile, but something inside me could not help but feel guilty. I had always been so strong, and he had been through so much more than me in the last year, yet there I was, incapable of expressing more than blubbering words, intermingled with short gasps.
I would like to think that at some point we could live something somewhat resembling a normal life. But I know before the thought has even presented itself that it could never be normal after everything we've seen. In the end all that it comes down to is Love and Truth. But are these principles on their own enough to carry us, to see us through the grueling months ahead when we have reports to write and experiences and absences to account for?
I shifted slightly in his arms, suddenly uncomfortable. I had found myself thinking too much recently. It was bad enough the nightmares I was having. They were the same almost every time too. I would fall asleep and then Loss would be right there, staring me in the face, daring me to cry. If it wasn't me curled up and crying until I had no more tears, it was me running through the woods screaming his name, only to find him lying motionless before me, his body swollen and unrecognizable in death. I shuddered and his arms pulled me closer to him, his breath hot on my face. Even now I felt myself slipping—wondering… questioning.
Is there one right person for everyone? Or did somewhere along the way someone get left out of the loop? Or what if there was the right person for you, but they were killed by some freak disaster, and your only hope for solace, for love, for true happiness was extinguished the moment their soul flickered and died? I find myself contemplating these questions when I should be asleep, cocooned in his arms, happy.
I guess I am still in shock, still in disbelief. Right now all of this is just too amazing to be true. But at the same time I am reveling in this new found love. I discover my subconscious reminding me… Dana, this has never worked before… All of your previous romances have been utter disasters. Will I ever be truly completely happy with someone…him…with the knowledge that at any moment—the flick of a switch, the pull of a trigger—the relationship can change, can cease to exist and leave me emptier than I ever was before? I just need to learn that I can't change people—that they're the way they are because of their experiences. You can push a little but you can't change them. They are only capable of changing themselves. You can influence those changes, but you can't directly change them.
All I know—all I can define right now, in this hormonal daze I am trapped in is time. And all I know is that time passes in moments and this one's passing much too quickly for me.