Chapter 12

I finished one of my papers, can you tell? Heh. I've got another to write, so bear with me. But in celebration, you all get a chapter. I think it's a pretty fair trade, no?
"Timmy?" He raised his head at Alexx's voice. After Calleigh left, he'd wandered back to the patio to sit. The sun helped, a little, it seemed. "Are you all right, you didn't answer the phone," she said, sitting on the edge of the chair next to him.

"Didn't hear it," he mumbled. "Sorry." He wasn't at all surprised to see Alexx. Aside from the fact that he knew she'd be staying with him tonight, he had expected to see someone show up at some point when he'd told Calleigh he wasn't up to working.

"It's all right, sugar. Calleigh was just worried. She said she's sorry she didn't come by at lunch, but she got handed a bunch of bullets right at 11 and needed to get them done," Alexx replied.

He blinked. "What time is it?"

"It's almost 2:30. Why?"

"Lost track, I guess. I didn't think it was lunchtime yet," he admitted.

"How long have you been sitting out here," Alexx asked, with some concern.

He shrugged. "Awhile, I guess."

"Have you been out here since Calleigh left this morning?" she asked.

"I guess," he said.

"Tim, it's 89 degrees out here. Come on, let's go inside and get you cooled off," she said, standing up to prod him. He let her herd him back into the house. "There, that's better, isn't it? Let me get you some water," she said as he dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. He drank the water without comment as he watched Alexx bustle around the kitchen. "Here, I brought you a burrito. I figured you wouldn't have eaten," she said, setting a plate down in front of him.

"I'm not really…"

"I know you're not hungry, eat anyway," Alexx said in her no-nonsense voice.

His lips twisted into something that might be called a smirk, but he picked up the burrito and took a bite. It was probably very good, but he couldn't tell anymore. He managed three bites before shoving the plate away. "Alexx, I really can't," he said.

"Well, you tried. That's good enough for right now, I suppose," she sighed. She sat across the table from him. He squirmed a bit under her scrutiny, but she didn't relent. "It's because you turned thirty, you know," she said, finally.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"That's why it's worse this year. You turned thirty," Alexx said, with a bit of a shrug. "It didn't bother you in June because you don't really think you care about that sort of thing, but it's September, and it's worse this year because you hit that milestone."

"I don't…how do you…"

"Oh, Timmy, really," she said with some exasperation. "How long have I known you, baby?"

"A long time," he admitted.

"Yes, a long time. And every September, you lose it a little. You get lost a bit and wander off in your head for a week or so, and then you come back and it's all right. It happens every year. Don't think I haven't noticed," she said. "This year it's worse, because you got to thirty, and I'm betting the person you're mourning didn't, and that's very upsetting."

"Alexx…" he said, trailing off. He didn't think he could tell even her.

"In all the years I've known you, have I ever asked you why you're here?" she asked quietly.

"No," he admitted.

"All right then. If I haven't asked in ten years, what makes you think I'm going to ask you now? You can tell me whatever you want to tell me, baby, but I'm not going to push you on this. You should know that by now," she admonished him.

"I do, I guess," he said.

"Good," she nodded.

He got up from the table and wandered into the living room to escape the conversation. She followed him, like he knew she would, but he ignored her as he flopped down on the couch. Alexx sat patiently in the armchair, but left him to his own thoughts.

She'd understand, you know.

Of course she would.

Then why don't you just TELL her.

Because….

Because why?

Because I can't, that's why.

You can, Timmy. You really can.

His chest hurt again, and his breath was coming in little hitches. He tried to fight it, push it back, but the more he tried the worse it got until he was almost panicking with the feeling that his heart was going to explode.

Let it go, Tim.

I….I….

Give yourself that much at least.

It…hurts.

I know. It's going to.

Alexx had noticed his distress. "Baby?" she asked gently.

"It...I…it hurts," he gasped out.

"Oh, honey," she said, moving to the couch. "Oh, oh, my baby. It's ok, Timmy, it's ok." She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close when he tried to pull away. "No, no, honey, let it out. Let it go, baby."

And then suddenly, he was crying. Great big gasping sobs that made him feel as though he was being turned inside out. His head pounded and his chest throbbed as the storm just crashed down upon him. Alexx held him and rocked him as he cried and cried until nothing, nothing at all was left, and he was finally silent. Silent, it was all silent. He couldn't hear his heart or his breath or his thoughts swirling around anymore. It was all calm and still and fragile. He felt as though he'd shatter in a million pieces if he moved.

"How're you doing, baby?" Alexx asked, at length.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"That's all right," she said. She hugged him tight a moment. "I'm going to get you a glass of water and some tissues, ok?"

"Ok," he whispered, sitting himself back up. He felt disconnected, kind of dreamy in a nightmarish way. But nothing hurt. For the first time in a week, nothing hurt.

Alexx returned presently with a box of tissues, a glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen and a cool washcloth. "Here, take these, honey. They'll help," she said, shaking two of the pills out and handing them to him.

"Thanks," he said, softly. He blew his nose and drank the water. The coolness felt good.

"Why don't you lie down for awhile," she suggested.

"Ok," he said. He would have agreed to just about anything at that point.

She helped him lie down on the couch and put the cool washcloth over his face. "There, that'll help your poor eyes."

"Yeah," he said.

"Ok, love. You rest. I'll be right here," she said, gently squeezing his hand.

"Thanks," he whispered, closing his eyes under the weight of the washcloth. Through the fragility, he felt safe. Safe and protected. That would be enough, he thought. That would be enough.