A/N I feel pretty sure I'm not gonna get the love story I want next season, so I went ahead and wrote it. I don't own them, obviously, or I wouldn't have to write it.
The last of them arrives today. The one who terrifies me. I feel certain her arrival will alter things for me, but I don't yet know how. I have finally found a place where I belong. A home. I am content, more or less. Safe. I fear that is all about to change, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. He is on cloud nine. There is a lightness in his eyes and in his steps that tells me how much he is enjoying this reunion. How pleased he is to have his old crew, his family, under one roof, celebrating their togetherness after so much time. How much he is looking forward to seeing her. I am happy for him. If there is anyone who deserves to have his heart filled the way his is now, it is him. He has given so much, sacrificed so much, over his long career that these few carefree days are nowhere near his due. I love seeing him this way. That doesn't mean I'm not scared.
Of course, I've heard about all of them for years. He talks about them often and with great affection. Also, they're all famous, so it isn't hard to find information about them if I want it. The depth of their friendship and their devotion to each other is well-known. Honestly, I didn't believe the hype. How could a group of people, one of them a Klingon for pity's sake, be that cohesive? It doesn't seem like it should be possible, but when they started trickling in a few days ago, I saw the truth of it. They love each other. They bicker like children, and they are inseparable. Where you see one, you usually see them all. He watches over it all like a proud father. They are a family. A most unusual one, but a family nonetheless. It's clear to anyone with eyes what they mean to each other, and I realize that the stories don't tell even half the tale.
What has been even more surprising is how lovely everyone has been to me. I don't know what I expected, but, being Romulan, I've learned that expecting the worst is the safest way to prepare. None of them seem bothered about that, though. He must have vouched for me, and that is all they need. If I'm alright by him, I'm alright by them. Such trust. They have all been unfailingly kind, making every effort to involve me in their conversations, inviting me on their outings in town and around the vineyard, including me at their meals. I don't know what he's told them, but surely they know they're basically asking a glorified housekeeper to tag along. They don't seem to care, though, and their invitations are so open, so genuine, that I have found myself accepting. I've dusted off my sparring skills with Worf and have the bruises to prove it. I've discussed books, gone for walks, told jokes, shared bread and wine. I've been embraced by them. If I'm honest, that terrifies me too. It gives me a glimpse of what that other life, a life with him, could look like. After that night on the veranda, when I wanted to leave, he convinced me to stay, to give it a little time, and I agreed. I put aside whatever other hopes I may have had, and we've managed a less awkward friendship than I had expected. For now, it's enough. But having his closest friends, his chosen family, treat me like one of them, well, it breaks my heart a little because I know it is nothing more than an illusion, and illusions eventually vanish.
I think Deanna knows. Sees both my desire to belong and my desire to withdraw. I keep catching her watching me with a thoughtful look on her face. Damn Betazoids. Always rummaging around in people's heads and hearts. I wish I could hate her for being able to see through me, but it's simply impossible. So I guard my thoughts and feelings as best I can and carry on as always, and the past week has been delightful. I have felt like I was a part of something again. A family. A community. And I have missed Zhaban just a little less and I have been able to pretend things with Jean-Luc are a little more. But she arrives today, having been kept away by some medical conference, and I realize the illusion is about to reach its end. I have been a stand-in, of sorts, for the missing puzzle piece, and I fear that once she arrives, it will be clear that I don't fit quite perfectly. I certainly don't expect them to start treating me poorly. I'm just prepared to be overlooked, to be an outsider again. Being prepared doesn't mean it'll sting any less, though, so I've been a bundle of nerves all day. One minute, I'm trying to distance myself from them all, a little preemptive protection of my heart. The next, I find myself trying to soak up as much fellowship with them as I can, as if it's a resource I can hoard for a lonely day. Deanna seems to be watching me more closely than usual, so it's probably clear something is up with me. Everyone else seems pretty oblivious, so maybe she's kept her thoughts to herself. I glance up again and catch her eyes. She gives me a quirk of the corner of her mouth before turning back to her conversation with Geordi and Will. I take a deep breath and walk over to join them. I might as well enjoy their friendship while I have the chance. Before I can sit down, though, I hear the whine of shuttle engines. Beverly is here.
I walk with the rest of them to where her shuttle has landed on the large yard behind the chateau. I've seen pictures of her, of course, but in the flesh, she is truly captivating. Not beautiful in a traditional sense, but it doesn't take a genius to know that she commands any room she's in. Tall and slender, with graceful hands, a kind mouth with an easy smile, and eyes that are sharp and intelligent, seeing everything. I know her hair used to be red, but it is silver now and beautiful. And it is clear how beloved she is by this group of people.
As she walks down the ramp, everyone rushes forward to greet her, vying to be the first to embrace her, tell her what she's missed, pull her into the hole her absence had left in the fabric of their togetherness. I hang back, not wanting to intrude. He, of course, is first, pulling her to him and holding her so tightly my breath catches in my chest. After our conversation on the veranda and the several that followed in which he convinced me to stay on at the chateau, I knew my feelings were not returned, at least not with the same depth. Now I know why. I fear it will always be her for him. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he closes his eyes, a smile on his lips. The embrace doesn't last long, but I've seen enough. When he releases her and the others rush in to take his place, all chattering excitedly, I slip away back to the house. I have work to do anyway, and I doubt anyone will miss me. I feel eyes on my back as I walk back across the yard, but I don't turn around to see whose they are. I suspect Deanna. She's the only one who might even be aware of my existence right now. It doesn't matter, though. I am an outsider once again.
Tonight's dinner will be al fresco under the giant oak tree at the edge of the vineyard. It's cool in the shade, and the view is spectacular. It's the first night everyone is here, and the excitement in the air makes the whole affair feel like a party. He asked a couple of the household staff to stay the night and help with serving dinner, and he insisted on setting a place for me at the table. I wish he hadn't. I would feel less of an interloper if I were working in the kitchen with the rest of the staff. Instead, I sit at the corner of the table farthest from him and sip my glass of wine. I'm going to have to be careful. My racing mind and discomfort will make it all too easy to drink too much. Worf and I chat. He's the one I connect with best, I suppose because we both have a background in spy and security work and therefore have similar war stories. It's safe territory. And we are from races that are still viewed with . . . caution. It gives us common ground. I've found I love hearing about his time on the Enterprise, and it's a welcome distraction from watching Jean-Luc and Beverly in deep conversation at the other end of the table. When I glance at them, his hand is resting on hers with such familiarity it makes my chest ache. I take another sip of wine. I feel Deanna's eyes flicker toward me several times, and I notice a small frown sometimes appears for a split second. I wish she'd stop. She need not worry about me. I would never try to interfere with his happiness.
As soon as the dessert plates are cleared away and everyone's glass has been refilled with their spirit of choice, Jean-Luc stands. "Thank you all for coming. This little get-together is long overdue, and I am so pleased we finally made it happen, whatever the circumstances."
I had been preparing to slip back to the house, curl up with a bottle of whiskey, and try to find the emotional balance his little gathering has thrown off, but this last caught my attention, and I settle back in my chair for a moment. What circumstances?
"As I mentioned in my letters to you, I've been asked to take command of a ship for what Starfleet hopes is a diplomatic mission to the new transwarp corridor. We've received some garbled signals coming through, and we believe a ship is soon to emerge. We have no idea who or what will be on it, though. If it's Borg, that's one thing. We have Jurati, or whatever she's calling herself now, waiting. She has indicated she isn't sure it will be Borg, though, and that concerns her. Of course, that really concerns us. Starfleet is hoping that, with a small but powerful fleet, we'll be able to meet whatever does end up coming through. Hopefully with diplomacy but with force if necessary. Raffi and Seven will be joining us there, and Seven is bringing some of her Rangers. Everything is in place, except for the lead ship, which Starfleet has asked me to command. As I also told you, I only agreed to head up this mission if you all agreed to join me. The fact that you're here means that you have, so we have some planning to do."
He continues, but I hear nothing of what he says. He has gathered these people together with a purpose: to leave on a mission that will take who knows how long and will have who knows what outcome. He told them why he was calling them together. And this is the first I'm hearing of it. He has made no mention to me of any of this, other than letting me know the chateau would be full for a few days. I thought he was feeling sentimental and wanted to see his friends. I had no idea the extent of these plans. My heart is pounding in my ears, and I can't catch my breath. To be so excluded. To be the only one who didn't know. To be the only one not important enough to tell. Did they all know I didn't know? The fact that this little trip has not been mentioned once suggests that he asked them not to discuss it in front of me. Otherwise, I would think it would have been all they could talk about. I stand quickly, knocking over my wine and startling Worf. I mutter an apology and head for the house. I've had enough. I'm done.
I sit in the overstuffed chair in my room. It's next to the fireplace, where the ashes are cold, and faces the window. There is a bit of a chill in the air, but I don't have it in me to start a fire. I simply wrap a blanket around my shoulders and stare out the window, nursing a glass of Irish whiskey and my bruised feelings. The lights are off and the door locked, giving the impression I am either not in or am already asleep, I hope. I hear his footsteps coming down the hall. I would know them anywhere, and there is no one in this galaxy I want to talk to less right now. He pauses outside my door, knocking softly. "Laris? Are you still awake? I'd like to explain, if you'll let me." I don't move or make a sound. I'm not all that interested in what he'd like or his explanations. He knocks again. "Laris?" I hear him sigh. "Oh, Laris. I am sorry. I wish you'd hear me out."
Suddenly angry, more angry than I've ever been with him, I go to the door, glass in one hand, bottle in the other, slightly unsteady on my feet but fueled by emotion. I open the door and can tell he's surprised. I think he wasn't even sure I was in, and he certainly didn't expect me to actually respond. Well, I'm done being his predictable housekeeper and I am even more done being . . . whatever else it is I am to him.
"Laris," he begins but he pauses, clearly at a loss. He hasn't even bothered to think about what he'll say when he does tell me. And just like that, I realize it. I haven't crossed his mind while he's been planning this mission, communicating with his crew, meeting with Starfleet. Through all of it. Between the whiskey and the wine and this new understanding of my actual place in his world, my head is reeling. My anger keeps me standing, though, and when, after a few moments of us staring at each other, it looks as though he will speak, I hold up my hand, whiskey bottle dangling between my fingers.
"Don't. Don't say anything. I am not interested in explanations. Your silence has said plenty. And I can't do this anymore. I told you I would stay and try to make our friendship work. And I have tried. Harder than you'll ever know. But tonight made one thing abundantly clear. There is no place for me in your life, not really. And I learned long ago that the best gift to give someone who doesn't value your presence is your absence, so I'll be leaving. I love you, but I'm not going to live this half life anymore." My hands are still shaking with anger, and I feel hot tears prick at my eyes. I won't cry, not now. He might mistake my tears for hurt when they are, in fact, fury. Mostly. I realize he hasn't moved, hasn't spoken, since I ended my little tirade. In fact, he looks shocked. And then I realize what I said. Oh well. It isn't like he didn't know. "Goodbye, Jean-Luc. Have a safe journey." I shut the door, leaving him standing there, having said nothing but my name.
I am a little surprised at how quickly I'm able to pack my things. I've never had much, and what little I want to take with me barely fills a couple suitcases. I feel like a thief, leaving in the night like this, but I can't face them. To have so foolishly thought myself a welcome part of something only to find I was still an outsider. An observer. Well, it is humiliating. I've said goodbye to him, and I doubt anyone else will even notice I've left. Honestly, I'm not sure even he'll notice. I leave through the kitchen, as I have a couple personal items floating around there somewhere. Before I can reach for the switch to turn on the light, I hear a noise. I grab one of my concealed disruptors and slip the switch in one motion. Deanna's eyes widen momentarily, until she sees that I've recognized her. I shrug slightly. "You can take the woman out of the Tal Shiar, but you can't take the Tal Shiar out of the woman, I guess. Sorry if I scared you."
She shakes her head, smiling at me a little ruefully. "It's my fault. I should know better than to startle Jean-Luc's Romulan bodyguard." She chuckles briefly but falls silent as she sees my expression as it finally dawns on me. Of course. To them, I am his bodyguard. Of course I should come with them, eat with them, sit with them. Of course Worf wanted to spar with me. They all wanted nothing more than to make sure their beloved captain is safe. I realize how blind I've been. So foolish.
"Leaving in the wee hours? No goodbyes? The others will be disappointed they missed you." She chides me gently, and for a moment I halfway think she's telling the truth.
"Yes, it's time for me to go. I've stayed longer than I should have, probably, and now that he's returning to active service, there's really no reason for me to stay. The admiral doesn't need me anymore, and there are still things I'd like to do with my life. At the end of the day, I suppose I'm not well-suited to running a vineyard." I shrug. "With you all preparing to leave, I thought no time like the present. I've told the admiral I'm going. Please give the others my regards." I finish gathering my things and turn to leave.
"He loves you, you know." At her voice, I turn to see her dark eyes intent on mine. My skepticism must be showing. "He doesn't express his feelings very well, or very often, but he does love you. I thought someone ought to make sure you know."
"I think you're confused, Deanna. I'm not sure what you've picked up from him, but it is not love. At least not where I'm concerned. He may be fond of me. We've relied on each other through some difficult times." I think of Zhaban and my heart aches. "But no. He does not love me. And, more specifically, he is not in love with me. And I do not have any more heartbreak in me." I turn back and open the door, stepping out into the balmy night air. I pause and breathe deeply. Then I slant my head, glancing over my shoulder at one of his oldest friends. "Please keep him safe," I whisper. I see her nod as I close the door.
The dirt under my fingernails is dark and there are wet patches on my knees where I've been kneeling in the garden. My garden. My little cottage on the cliffs with my little garden. It's strange after all these nomadic years to think of something as permanent as a piece of land as mine. After a few weeks with friends in town, I saw this place. I don't know how long I'll stay here, but for now this little patch of earth and I belong to each other, and it feels good. I'm beginning to find some balance, some peace. Ireland was my asylum when I first came to Earth, and it's been a welcome sanctuary since leaving France. I've enjoyed having some time to myself, and getting dirty in my little garden has been remarkably healing. I stand, brushing off my pants. I know the weeds will be back tomorrow, but there's a certain satisfaction in looking at my neat rows of vegetables and messy bunches of wildflowers. There's no rhyme or reason to this little patch of soil, and I love it that way.
Inside, I pour a cool drink and turn on the news programs. I try to resist, but every day I find myself searching for news of the mission to the transwarp conduit. I'm less angry than I was. I've come to terms with . . . us. I'll never see him again (dear god, how is it possible that I will never hear him say my name again), but I would like to know that he is back on Earth and safe. And, as it happens, today is the day. The news of a successful mission with no lives lost is buried in other headlines. Of course, it would only really be interesting if there had been some kind of catastrophe, but I'll take the passing mention and be glad. He's home and he's safe. I hope he's happy. I stand to gather the laundry from the washing machine to hang it on the line outside. I don't care how much technology has replaced the need for this type of housework. I like this kind of life. This kind of intentional living. It is therapeutic. Standing at the clothesline, I hear the chime of the alarm I put on the gate at lane coming up from town. I assume it's a friend from town, dropping by for a cup of tea. "I'm back here," I call.
"What a lovely garden!" The voice is familiar, but I can't quite place it. I turn, and she's standing there. My breath catches in my throat, and I can feel the blood drain from my face. I can think of only one reason Beverly Crusher would be standing in my yard. I force the words out. "Is he . . . ?"
"No, no, he's fine! Sorry I scared you," she assures me in a rush. "As far as I know, he is reigning in terror over the staff at the chateau as we speak, muttering about 'that's not how Laris does it' or something. He doesn't know I'm here. I thought we should have a chat." At that, she raises her eyebrows in question, and I motion her into the house. The relief that floods my body makes me willing to grant her just about any request she makes right now. That really pisses me off.
"Can I get you something to drink?" I ask. I turn my back while I pour us a drink, figuring if ever a conversation called for whiskey, this is it. I take my time, needing a moment to get my breathing back under control. Turning around, the sight of his lover sitting in my kitchen is almost more than I can bear. I left. I removed myself for a reason. I have nothing to do with whatever it is she wants now. I'm moving on. I can't imagine what we could possibly have to discuss.
"So. What should we chat about?" My tone is probably more clipped than she deserves, but, honestly, I'm just trying to get from one moment to the next right now.
"I think you know." She pauses, eyebrow raised, sipping her whiskey.
"I assume you have something concerning Admiral Picard you'd like to get off your chest, but I'm not really interested. I've said what I had to say to him. He and I, well, we owe each other nothing. We are nothing to each other, anymore, except old acquaintances."
Her eyes widen. "You don't really believe that, don't you?"
"It isn't a matter of belief, Dr. Crusher. It's a simple fact. Now, I really don't know what there is for us to talk about. The admiral was quite clear about where I stood with him, so what he does now really isn't my concern."
"For the love all things sacred, I will never understand Romulan pride." She throws her hands up in exasperation. "You understand absolutely nothing, I see."
My annoyance finally gets the better of me. "Beverly, I don't know what you're talking about. And, to be perfectly honest, I don't care. My life there is over. Done. I'm working on building a new one. I'm . . . not a concern of his. You two are free to make your lives together. I give you my blessing. I hope you're both happy. What do you want from me?" My voice has risen, and I realize I'm practically shouting at her. I take a deep breath and sink into the seat opposite her. "I don't know what you want, so I'll be as clear as I can be. I love him. Very much. He does not love me. We've discussed the future and come to the understanding that there isn't one for us. I'm living with it. Moving on. This isn't helping. Go back to him. Leave me in peace. Enjoy each other." I feel a tear run down my cheek, and I brush it away with frustration.
"Oh dear, you really don't understand anything." Her voice is softer, compassionate, and I swear it will be my undoing. "If you think you mean so little to him, then you are sorely mistaken. He loves you very much. He almost backed out of the mission when he realized you had left. Starfleet was barely able to convince him that they really did need him. Deanna gave him the lecture to end all lectures about how to treat people you care for. He tried to find you. He spent all his spare time contacting your friends, acquaintances, anyone you might have been in touch with to see if any of them knew where you had gone, but the remarkable similarity in their replies suggested you had asked them not to tell him. Laris, he is lost without you. Do you really not know that?"
I sit for a moment, trying to process what I've just heard. "I still don't understand though. You two were so . . . intent on each other. Once you arrived, he barely left your side. I don't think I saw either of you in conversation with anyone else. It was pretty clear what was going on."
"He spent most of that time talking about you. He told me he had made a terrible mistake where you were concerned, and he was hoping to make it right. He wanted to make you a part of his life. In every sense. He was anxious for our little trip, as he called it, to be over so he could make things right with you. He wanted all of us to get to know you, told us that you were important to him. I didn't get to spend any time with you, but everyone else loved you. After he left Starfleet, he was lost. Not really himself anymore. You help him be . . . him. Look, I know as well as anyone how well Jean-Luc expresses his feelings. Terribly." I smile a little at that, since no truer words have been spoken. "We might have had something, once. But that was a long time ago. We love each other very much, but our window is closed. There is no room for anyone but you now."
She pauses and leans forward, grasping my hand. "Trust me when I tell you that he loves you. And, more than that, he needs you. He truly is a terror around the chateau, and he was no picnic on this last job. Give him another chance?"
I sit back, absorbing. After a while, she stands to go. "Don't tell him I came to see you. He'd say I was meddling, which I am, and then he would dig his heels in and be an even more stubborn old ass than he is right now. But do think about what I said. Go talk to him. Hear him out. Then decide if you want to make a new life somewhere else."
One thing puzzles me. "Beverly?" She turns at the door. "How did you find me? You said he looked for me. How could you find me when the great Admiral Picard couldn't?" She chuckles. "I guess he didn't think to lie. I contacted your friends and told them I needed to discuss the results of some medical tests with you but didn't have your current location. Works like a charm every time." I roll my eyes a little . . . of course my friends would sell me out if they thought it was in my best interest. "One more question. Why did he tell everyone except me about why he had gathered everyone at the chateau? About the mission? I was the only one there who had no idea. The only conclusion I could reach was, well, not a good one."
"I'm not sure what was going on in his mind. We all told him keeping it from you was a mistake. My guess is that he remembered how you reacted the last time he decided to head off on some fool's errand and wanted to avoid a repeat." We both smile a little at that. It wasn't, perhaps, my finest moment, and it's a little funny to me that it made enough of an impact that he shared it with them. "I think this mission concerned him, scared him even. At dinner that night, he downplayed Jurati's worries, and Starfleet's, and I think he was truly afraid this mission could go badly. I think he thought if he talked to you about it, you'd pick up on it. He didn't want to leave you upset and worried, and he thought if he minimized it, you wouldn't think as much of it. And he thought if you found out in a social setting, he might be off the hook for the ass-chewing he deserves. Believe me, he heard enough I told you so's to last him a while."
I nod absently at this explanation and barely register the door closing behind her. The shadows lengthen until they envelop the room, and I realize I haven't moved all afternoon and well into the evening, my thoughts scattered and tumbling over each other. He tried to find me. He didn't want me to worry. He wanted his friends to know me. I still don't really buy that he loves me, but some of the other things Beverly said ring true. My heart aches a little less. I'm still confused, though, and in no hurry put myself in the path of any more disappointment. She asked me to give him a second chance, but I need to think about that. I've had enough rejection for a while. Eventually I decide I'll go see him. Let him know I'm okay and that I'm glad he's home safe. To tell him I understand, sort of, why he kept me in the dark and that I'm not angry with him anymore. That'll give us both peace and perhaps a little closure so we can move on. I don't have any more second chances in me, but I would like us to part on better terms. I'll go in the morning. Standing, I glance out the window. It is morning.
I enter the way I left, through the kitchen. My former assistant, it appears, has taken over in my place. She is at the sink, washing potatoes. A large pot simmers on the stove . . . the smell of his favorite soup. She looks up at me, surprised. "Laris! You're back!"
"No. Not back. Not really. Just . . . visiting."
She nods, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind. A smart one, that one. She smiles and turns back to the sink. "Well, however long you're here, they'll be glad to see you."
I nod, but then I catch myself. "They?"
"Yes, the admiral, Captain Riker, and Ms. Troi. Everyone else left shortly after they returned, but those two are staying for a bit. The admiral seems . . . off, a little, and I think they didn't want to leave him here alone." She shrugs a little. "Things just haven't been quite the same since you left, and none of us are really adjusted yet."
I don't really know what to say to this, so I nod again and make my way into the rest of the house. I expect to find them all together, so I'm surprised when I see Will and Deanna sitting under the oak tree where that last miserable dinner occurred but no sign of him. I'm suddenly not ready to talk to him, so I walk out to where his oldest friends are taking in the view. I see Deanna smile without turning her head, and I know she knows I'm there. "Thank you for taking care of him. I don't know what happened out there, and I don't really care, but I do know having you all with him made a difference."
Deanna smiles and stands. "We will always take care of him. And you as well, if you'll let us. I know you had a visitor. I hope you took her words to heart." She raises her brow in question.
"I . . . heard what she had to say, which is why I'm here at all. More than that, well, we'll see." I shrug and smile ruefully. It's all I can promise. I lost Zhaban, and that nearly broke me. Then I lost Jean-Luc, even though he is still alive and well, and I've still not come to terms with it. We Romulans are tough, but even we have our limits.
Deanna nods. Will stands and pulls me into a hug. I am so shocked I return his embrace without thinking. "You are good for him. Whether he is good for you is something you'll have to decide for yourself. Either way, I hope you know how much we think of you. We hope you consider us friends."
Damn these people. I have been near tears more often in their presence than in my entire life before I met them. I've never experienced such generosity of spirit. Well, not from anyone but him. I nod quickly and turn to walk back to the house. The day isn't getting any younger, and I don't want to walk up the lane to my cottage in the dark if I can avoid it. I need to finish this business and get home. Although, standing here, it is completely foreign to me that any place other than this one could be home. I'll have to work on adjusting that thinking, I guess.
I suspect he's in the library, so I go there first, entering through the French doors from that damn veranda. He isn't, though, so I look for him in all his other usual places. He isn't in any of them, so I start looking in less usual places and then in places I've never known him to go. I finally find him, standing at the window in what used to be my room. He's brought an old-fashioned record player in, and the soft strains of his favorite opera fill the room. He is a lover of old things, an old way of life. I can tell by the way he's standing that he's a million miles away and doesn't know I'm there. I tap softly on the door frame, not wanting to startle him.
"I've told you, when I'm in here, leave me alone. Whatever it is can wait." I'm shocked at the sound of his voice, so gruff and full of annoyance. So unlike him. I file away for later the information that he comes here to be alone.
"Jean-Luc." He stiffens at the sound of my voice but doesn't respond. "I heard your mission to the transwarp corridor was a success. Congratulations."
He turns and looks at me in silence for a moment. "What do you want? Did you forget something?" So he's angry at me. Fine. I can still be angry at him too. Dammit, I should have kept my ass home in Ireland.
"Yeah, I did. I forgot all sense, left it in Ireland. Guess I better get back to it. Welcome back. I'm glad you're safe." I spin on my heel, furious at him and even more furious at myself. What did I expect? And, more importantly, why did I let myself expect anything. I manage two steps down the hall before I feel his grip on my arm, stronger than I expected. I turn, preparing myself for a fight, but his eyes freeze the words on my tongue. He doesn't look like he's slept much recently, and his eyes are so deeply sad it takes my breath away.
"You left without saying a proper goodbye. How could you? How could you just leave like that, in the middle of the night? I thought I'd lost you. For good. You left no hint of where you were going, and I couldn't find you. And without you . . . ." I don't have to be a Betazoid to feel the waves of emotion emanating from this man, and I am having difficulty processing them. He doesn't share his emotions. Ever. Not the deep ones. I'm not sure what to say, so I say the first thing that comes to mind.
"I didn't think you wanted me." I feel like I should say more, but I really don't know what else there is, so I just shrug. That's it, the long and short of it. I can tell he's searching for a response. This man who locks up his feelings and desires so deeply that he isn't even aware of them himself is trying to tell me . . . something. I'm patient. I know this isn't easy for him.
Finally, he sighs, releasing tension from his shoulders and loosening his grip on my arm. He was so intent on holding me in place that I suspect I'll have bruises tomorrow. Taking a deep breath, he meets my eyes, and I can see the hesitancy in his. "I told you once that the part of me that 'really wanted' was the part that had to wait in line. You asked me about my heart and what it might find if I decided to stop my constant motion. My response to that question is the biggest regret of my life. The part of me that 'really wants' wants you very much. I am learning to be still, but it's too hard, too pointless, without you."
I take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. When the man does share, he goes all in. I unconsciously take a step toward him. That was the signal he was waiting for, apparently, because suddenly he pulls me to him. I'm going to really need to work through some stuff later, because I am not built for this kind of emotional turmoil. I can't pull away, though. I wrap my arms around his neck as his snake around my waist, pulling me closer to him. When we break apart to breathe, he doesn't let me go. "Laris, I am so deeply sorry that I made you feel unwanted. Come back. Let me show you how very wanted you are."
I can't speak, so I just nod my head ever so slightly. It's enough, and he pulls me even closer. I breathe in his scent and feel his hands on my back. Perhaps, at the end of the day, I do have one more second chance in me. We stand in each other's embrace, just breathing, holding each other, being still. Turns out, I'm pretty happy I didn't keep my ass home in Ireland after all.
