A/N: Okay, some people are soooooooooooooooooo impatient! lol. Anyway, I'm glad I got so many reviews, I guess that means you all love cliffies. I'm really sorry that this took so long, but there's a lot of emotion in this chapter and I wanted to write it gracefully and without sappiness. Okay, here's the next chapter, (I'll try to use the suggestions some reviewers sent.)
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Act XI: Green Eyes
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Fillmore, not hearing the door open, was lying on his bed, head buried under a pillow, thinking. He thought about how Ingrid's voice had sounded when he heard her call for help. He realized a little to late that he would never be able to get that out of his mind. Were those really her last words to him? Is that the way he would always think of her: scared, helpless, desperate? That's not how he wanted to remember her. He then began thinking about how his mother had come into his room yesterday and told him that Mr. Third was planning the funeral and wanted to know if Fillmore would speak at it. He had told them he would have to think about it. He decided now that he should call and tell him yes. He wanted to do it now while his spirits were already down. Although that didn't really matter much because Fillmore doubted that he would ever be happy again anyway.
He was preparing to get up when he suddenly realized someone was in the room with him. He could feel someone's eyes on him. He could just tell, he had always been able to tell. Why did his mother have to be in there? He sat up slowly, his eyes still shut, his face in his hands, facing the ground. He messaged his forehead and opened his eyes. 'Great,' he thought, 'now I'm so desperate I'm seeing things that aren't there.' And in fact he was seeing Ingrid's combat boots. But he knew it was just longing, just wishful thinking. He knew that all that was really there was his mother's dainty little casual dress shoes. And he knew when he looked up he would see only his mother's soft brown eyes looking as they always did when he was sad. They were going to be looking helpless and sympathetic, like she wanted to help his pain, but couldn't. He hated that look, but it was unavoidable, so he looked up.
And then he saw them, those green eyes. Those large, vibrant, glowing, green eyes that everyone else thought looked so out of place against Ingrid Third's pale skin surrounded by her other small, dainty features. But not Fillmore. He thought Ingrid's eyes held her together, there was always so much emotion in her eyes. He had always, from the first time he saw them, loved those eyes. And now more than ever he was overjoyed to see them.
It was the kind of thing you don't think about, the moment where your brain shuts down and you're being powered by pure emotion. Fillmore ran to Ingrid and threw his arms around her as she returned the embrace. He stroked her hair and quickly kissed her cheek all the time whispering little reassurances in her ear. He didn't realize that he had done any of this, he just did it. When they did finally realize that they were standing in the the middle of the room they scuttled over to the bed and, only after sitting down, did they break the embrace. Fillmore saw how much Ingrid was crying and he handed her a tissue.
"I wasn't going to cry. I didn't want to, not now. Not in front of you."
"It's ok," said Fillmore, getting a tissue for himself. "I am to." And he took off his glasses and wiped his eyes, his eyes that were always concealed; hidden, like a secret, behind the glasses he always wore. There was nothing remarkable about his eyes, not like Ingrid's. They were pretty normal, just plain brown. He had managed to transfer all the emotion that was usually present in one's eyes to his eyebrows, but not now. Right now you could see exactly how he felt by looking at his eyes.
Ingrid smiled that wonderful smile. The one that she seemed to save just for him, just for rare occasions. As she did a single tear rolled down her cheek. Fillmore, again not thinking, reached up to wipe it away. He realized what he was doing and hesistated, pulling back slightly but then proceeded. Fillmore then realized something and he spoke.
"Ingrid, I know you've been through a lot. And I know that we've always said if something's wrong the only way to make it right is to talk about it, but you don't have to. Not now, no time soon, not ever if you don't want to."
Ingrid looked at the ground. "No I NEED to talk about it Fillmore. And why not now? I only want to tell it once, so I might as well tell you now." And she did, she told him all the horriable things that had happened to her, everything she had to go through. She finished with, "The worst thing was not knowing. Not knowing if anyone was looking, who was looking, did they believe I was alive, how much longer would I be alive, when would I get home, would I get home." She stopped, unable to speak anymore, she leaned over, buried her face in Fillmore's shoulder, and cried.
Fillmore comforted her as best he could and finally she pulled away, wiped her eyes, and hugged him. He whispered in her ear, "it's okay. I promise nothing bad like that is ever going to happen again. I won't let it."
Finally, after she had calmed down, Ingrid spoke. "Fillmore, only my dad knows I'm back, no on else, well my dad, my sister, and your parents. We want to keep the press out of it until I go back to school. You know, so I can go back in peace." Fillmore nodded. "Right now I have to go though, my dad's gonna call the police and tell them to keep it quiet."
"Sure," said Fillmore, "my mom's driving you, right?"
"Yeah."
Fillmore walked Ingrid to the door and then returned to his room. He sighed, a happy sigh, not the tired, sad, stressed ones that he had been sighing so often lately. He hadn't told her, what was he supposed to tell her? 'Oh yeah, by the way, while you were gone I realized I love you and I want to go out with you.' He thought it out, yeah that would go well. Ingrid had known that no one believed she was alive except Fillmore. That was enough for her to handle in one day. Why tell her now, she was back, she was safe. He could tell her anytime. Or so he thought...
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A/N: Okay, I'm sorry it was so long but there you go. It's NOT the end, I'll update soon. Maybe tomorrow, but probably Saturday. So, send me reviews and tell me what you thought. Especially if you thought it was sappy, cuz' I don't want it to be.
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Act XI: Green Eyes
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Fillmore, not hearing the door open, was lying on his bed, head buried under a pillow, thinking. He thought about how Ingrid's voice had sounded when he heard her call for help. He realized a little to late that he would never be able to get that out of his mind. Were those really her last words to him? Is that the way he would always think of her: scared, helpless, desperate? That's not how he wanted to remember her. He then began thinking about how his mother had come into his room yesterday and told him that Mr. Third was planning the funeral and wanted to know if Fillmore would speak at it. He had told them he would have to think about it. He decided now that he should call and tell him yes. He wanted to do it now while his spirits were already down. Although that didn't really matter much because Fillmore doubted that he would ever be happy again anyway.
He was preparing to get up when he suddenly realized someone was in the room with him. He could feel someone's eyes on him. He could just tell, he had always been able to tell. Why did his mother have to be in there? He sat up slowly, his eyes still shut, his face in his hands, facing the ground. He messaged his forehead and opened his eyes. 'Great,' he thought, 'now I'm so desperate I'm seeing things that aren't there.' And in fact he was seeing Ingrid's combat boots. But he knew it was just longing, just wishful thinking. He knew that all that was really there was his mother's dainty little casual dress shoes. And he knew when he looked up he would see only his mother's soft brown eyes looking as they always did when he was sad. They were going to be looking helpless and sympathetic, like she wanted to help his pain, but couldn't. He hated that look, but it was unavoidable, so he looked up.
And then he saw them, those green eyes. Those large, vibrant, glowing, green eyes that everyone else thought looked so out of place against Ingrid Third's pale skin surrounded by her other small, dainty features. But not Fillmore. He thought Ingrid's eyes held her together, there was always so much emotion in her eyes. He had always, from the first time he saw them, loved those eyes. And now more than ever he was overjoyed to see them.
It was the kind of thing you don't think about, the moment where your brain shuts down and you're being powered by pure emotion. Fillmore ran to Ingrid and threw his arms around her as she returned the embrace. He stroked her hair and quickly kissed her cheek all the time whispering little reassurances in her ear. He didn't realize that he had done any of this, he just did it. When they did finally realize that they were standing in the the middle of the room they scuttled over to the bed and, only after sitting down, did they break the embrace. Fillmore saw how much Ingrid was crying and he handed her a tissue.
"I wasn't going to cry. I didn't want to, not now. Not in front of you."
"It's ok," said Fillmore, getting a tissue for himself. "I am to." And he took off his glasses and wiped his eyes, his eyes that were always concealed; hidden, like a secret, behind the glasses he always wore. There was nothing remarkable about his eyes, not like Ingrid's. They were pretty normal, just plain brown. He had managed to transfer all the emotion that was usually present in one's eyes to his eyebrows, but not now. Right now you could see exactly how he felt by looking at his eyes.
Ingrid smiled that wonderful smile. The one that she seemed to save just for him, just for rare occasions. As she did a single tear rolled down her cheek. Fillmore, again not thinking, reached up to wipe it away. He realized what he was doing and hesistated, pulling back slightly but then proceeded. Fillmore then realized something and he spoke.
"Ingrid, I know you've been through a lot. And I know that we've always said if something's wrong the only way to make it right is to talk about it, but you don't have to. Not now, no time soon, not ever if you don't want to."
Ingrid looked at the ground. "No I NEED to talk about it Fillmore. And why not now? I only want to tell it once, so I might as well tell you now." And she did, she told him all the horriable things that had happened to her, everything she had to go through. She finished with, "The worst thing was not knowing. Not knowing if anyone was looking, who was looking, did they believe I was alive, how much longer would I be alive, when would I get home, would I get home." She stopped, unable to speak anymore, she leaned over, buried her face in Fillmore's shoulder, and cried.
Fillmore comforted her as best he could and finally she pulled away, wiped her eyes, and hugged him. He whispered in her ear, "it's okay. I promise nothing bad like that is ever going to happen again. I won't let it."
Finally, after she had calmed down, Ingrid spoke. "Fillmore, only my dad knows I'm back, no on else, well my dad, my sister, and your parents. We want to keep the press out of it until I go back to school. You know, so I can go back in peace." Fillmore nodded. "Right now I have to go though, my dad's gonna call the police and tell them to keep it quiet."
"Sure," said Fillmore, "my mom's driving you, right?"
"Yeah."
Fillmore walked Ingrid to the door and then returned to his room. He sighed, a happy sigh, not the tired, sad, stressed ones that he had been sighing so often lately. He hadn't told her, what was he supposed to tell her? 'Oh yeah, by the way, while you were gone I realized I love you and I want to go out with you.' He thought it out, yeah that would go well. Ingrid had known that no one believed she was alive except Fillmore. That was enough for her to handle in one day. Why tell her now, she was back, she was safe. He could tell her anytime. Or so he thought...
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A/N: Okay, I'm sorry it was so long but there you go. It's NOT the end, I'll update soon. Maybe tomorrow, but probably Saturday. So, send me reviews and tell me what you thought. Especially if you thought it was sappy, cuz' I don't want it to be.