From A Distance
By EclipseKlutz

PG
Romance/Angst/Drama
Implied Freedman/Judith

Freedman's POV

Disclaimer: Okay, if I owned Joan of Arcadia I highly doubt I'd have to beg on my hands and knees for money. So, no, I don't own the show or it's cast of characters. The lyrics at the beginning and end of the fic are Evanescence's "Give Unto Me".

" I've been watching you from a distance
The distance sees through your disguise
All I want from you is your hurting
I want to heal you; I want to save you from the dark…"

The buttered toast my mother had made me eat that morning tasted like sand in my dry mouth, but it hadn't mattered as I could hardly swallow a bite. And as I stood there later that day, decked out in black beside her coffin, it felt as though that bite would come right back up. My intestines were tense and felt like they'd been tangled into a million knots. And my heart… my heart seemed to have stopped beating altogether.

I couldn't breathe as I focused on the casket. I could barely see, my line of vision had become blurry from the tears I was desperately fighting to keep from falling. What I could see disgusted me.

The casket was willow wood with no carvings, no personality to it. The wood should have been darker by several shades, and should had shape—something elegant, something at least semi-worthy of the woman that lay inside of it. There should be carvings—slightly crazy yet organized and tame nonetheless. Just like her.

God, how I missed her. My grip on the bouquet in my hands tightened, the prickly stems of the white roses dug into the flesh of my palm. I didn't notice. I didn't care.

She died three days ago, and for all that I could see I could have prevented it. I'd just finished memorizing that damned play for her, but of course, in all of my insecurity, I'd figured one night of rehearsal couldn't do any harm. I've never been so wrong in my life, and I never want to be again.

From the moment I'd seen her, I'd been in love with her. Judith was my opposite—where I was stupid in life matters, she'd grown wise from experience; where I had intelligence in school, she didn't care enough to try; where I'd been ugly and bland, she'd been beautiful and spontaneous. Yet still, somewhere I knew that she was the one.

I know—I'm seventeen, and therefore every girl I'll adore will be the one in my eyes. But she was different from all the other girls. Her personality radiated, and I just wanted her to be happy, even if meant that I could take no part in her life. I felt as though I could never give up on her, and I knew I never would. We'd be old and decaying in a hospital and I'd still be there beside her, holding her hand, telling her that she was the only one for me.

All the other girls were just there. No matter how obsessed I was with them, it was a single-track thing. There was no love involved, despite how pretty they were. Every last one of them was dull… It was just the simple thought of seeing them naked that kept me stalking them like a lovesick puppy.

I wouldn't have memorized 'Hamlet' for any one of them. I wouldn't have blown what little cash I still had on those flowers for them. The flowers had been perfect, though—quality shape, excess white petals with a pink blush, freshly bloomed, and fragrant with a sweet perfume. They'd been captivating, just like her.

And I knew when I gave them to her that she felt something for me. It was there in her eyes, flickering like a candle stubbornly refusing to extinguish despite how much she tried to put it out or disregard it. I saw her pride then, too, and I knew and somehow expected that I would have a lot more work cut out for me before I got her to admit it. I didn't mind; I'd give her the world and more if I could.

And now… now all my dreams were torn away from me. Judith had been the single strongest person I knew, the most promising, the most beautiful. And now she lays cold and lifeless in a coffin, her entire future stolen from her because her other so-called "friends" were too terrified to save her.

I would have…. Saved her, I mean. I would have died for her then and there and I wouldn't have regretted it.

Joan passed by me, tears stains on her cheeks and more building up in her eyes. Her mascara was running and blush smeared but I could see she didn't care. She left soft imprints in the dewy grass as she walked over to Judith's coffin, and I watched her hesitate before leaning over and gently running her hand down her face. I knew Joan was a strong, persistent young woman, but all who were watching could see that she couldn't bear it any longer.

She walked off, fresh tears strolling down her cheeks as she buried her face in Adam's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and set his head on the top of hers.

A pang of jealousy shot through me, gripping at me hard and filling me with even more remorse. I could have saved Judith, and then maybe someday we could have been the same… we could have been happy, and close and…

It was my turn. I swallowed hard and crossed the earth to the coffin. The trek was three yards tops, but it seemed to take forever before I stood there, my shadow cast across her features. Quietly I told her how I'd loved her so, told her how much she meant to all of them, and me, and then I leaned over and gently kissed her on the forehead.

I felt my own bottled tears threaten to fall, but at this point I wouldn't mind the embarrassment of crying in public. I let them fall, and they came streaming out uncontrollably in thin, snaking rivers. Finally, I managed to tear my gaze away from her features—she looked so perfect, even in death.

I knew then I'd always remember her for what she was—a beam of light that brought so much hope and joy to so many people. Even when I was old and senile, she'd be the last thing I'd ever forget.

From the moment I met her, and maybe even before, I'd loved her from a distance. And I know that somewhere, no matter how hidden or buried it is, she loved me too.

"…Fear not the flame of my love's candle
Let it be the sun in your world of darkness…"

A/N: This is my first Joan of Arcadia fanfic, so I'd appreciate feedback. Flames are something to roast marshmallows with, and constructive criticism is accepted, but I think I prefer positive reviews…