"There are magnets in my bones for the iron in her blood." –Atticus
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow, I can't believe it's been so long since I've updated! Since the show had ended, I've had hard time writing for it, but inspiration struck suddenly and this came about. It's a Soulmate AU based on this post ( post/144380748003/master-list-of-soulmate-aus), where soulmates swap bodies for one minute at midnight. I've always been horrible with time zones so please ignore the inaccuracies that there may be. Hope you all enjoy!
16
11:57 pm
Clarice paced the length of her room, watching as the clock changed, twisting the end of her unraveling fishtail braid and biting her lip. She hated how nervous she was, how shaky her hands were, how fast her heart was beating, and she hated that she'd been affected in the least by her foster sisters berating her for not "primping" herself for her first Switch.
She'd never cared much for what other people thought, especially for the foster siblings who'd always looked down at her for her purple hair, eyebrow piercing, and matching tattoos on the inside of her wrists.
11:58 pm
If this person, her soulmate, was going to be her other half, they wouldn't care about any of that.
At least that's was she hoped.
Clarice had had enough disappointment in her life.
She glanced at the clock.
11:59 pm
Clarice forced herself to stop pacing, to take one deep breath after another before she sat cross-legged on the end of her bed. She wiped sweaty palms off on the comforters and rolled her shoulders.
She needed to be calm. To relax.
She closed her eyes as she felt a tug in her chest.
…
When Clarice opened her eyes, she found herself sitting on a different bed.
She looked down at her, no his hands.
Russet brown skin, scarred knuckles, and beaded bracelets that were distinctly Native American.
She rotated his arms, watching the muscles ripple underneath the skin, and reaching back to run a hand through his hair when she felt the familiar weight of a thick braid. She brought it over his shoulder, the strands the color of a starless night. She caught the reflection of a photograph on the bedside table when she turned and went to stand, momentarily disoriented by the fact that he was taller than her by at least a head…
She picked up the photograph just as she felt that tug, seeing a boy her age with his arm wrapped around a young boy, probably his brother and older woman that appeared to be his mother. She put it back, sat in the chair, and closed her (his) eyes.
…
Clarice was back in her room within the same breath, a folded note in her hand.
Guilt gnawed at her for not leaving a message, fingers trembling as she opened it.
A single word written in a language she didn't know: De'nzhone'.
17
Clarice slammed her door shut, wedging the desk chair under the knob, and winced as the front door slammed shut moments later. She moved to the vanity, cursing at the fresh bruising around her left eye.
She wanted to scream. Cry.
She didn't have the time to cover it up convincingly and besides, concealer couldn't cover up the throbbing pain he would feel the second he Switched. The one time her drunkard foster father wasn't passed out when she came back from classmates' Pre-New Year's party…
What would he think of her when he saw it?
Would he think her weak?
Clarice shook her head. No…no he wouldn't think that. She wiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed the small wooden box from the back of her sock drawer, pulling out the worn note and running her fingers over the word. De'nzhone'.
Beautiful.
He'd called her beautiful.
Someone who could look at her piercings and tattoos and brightly colored hair and still say that wouldn't let a bruise change anything. She remembered his scarred knuckles. Her soulmate knew what it was like to fight. To take a hit…
She put the note carefully back in the box.
With the box next to her and the note she'd written for him the night before in hand, she positioned herself cross-legged at the end of the bed. She watched as the second hand moved around the clock face, fingers combing her hair to make it at a little bit more presentable and to stop her hands from trembling.
She took a deep breath, loosening her shoulders and rolling her neck before closing her eyes.
...
She was in the same room as before, sitting at the desk instead of the bed.
There was a wallet-sized photo sitting next to a small mirror turned face down.
Clarice picked up the photo first, noting the wear and creases in the corners that told her this was a treasured possession, something that was extremely important to him. She frowned, sadness creeping in as she realized who the man in fatigues was as well as the little boy grinning up at him. Him and his father, who'd probably been dead for nearly a decade now.
He'd left this out for her. He trusted her.
She set the picture down, suddenly a little nervous to turn the mirror over.
Clarice sucked in a breath.
God, he was gorgeous.
High cheekbones, a ridiculous jawline, eyes the color of fresh soil, and a dimpled smile looked back at her as she grinned, letting out a low rumbling chuckle.
She was still smiling when she set the mirror down and closed her eyes.
…
When Clarice opened her eyes, she found herself sitting by her small bedside table, note in hand.
If you ever need someone to talk to.
-John
Below that was a cell number and email address and Clarice couldn't help the choked sob that slipped out, running trembling fingers over his name. John. Once again, he kept giving her so much while Clarice seemed to leave him with more questions than answers.
18
Clarice stared at her messages, dread knotting up her stomach.
He'd always responded, without fail.
So why wasn't he now?
Since moving in with the Struckers in the months before her eighteenth birthday, she knew instantly that this was a good place to end on. Reed was a prosecutor and his wife, Caitlyn, was a nurse. Their two biological children, Lauren and Andy, eleven and nine years old respectively, were absolute sweethearts and currently hovering behind her closed bedroom door.
She forced her voice out as teasing as she could, "I know you guys are there."
Lauren laughed, the two skittering away when their mom shooed them to their rooms.
"May I come in Clarice?"
11:56 pm
She turned off the screen, "Yeah."
The woman poked her head in, a concerned frown pulling down her lips almost immediately. Caitlyn shut the door quietly and sat down at the end of the bed next to Clarice, pale blue eyes seeing the phone clutched tightly in her hand, "Is something wrong?"
She sighed. "I don't know. His responses to my text and emails had been…sporadic the last few months. A week ago, they just…stopped." Clarice shook her head, "I'm afraid something bad happened."
"Maybe it's something he wants you to see for yourself."
"Why can't he just tell me?"
A sad understanding filled the woman's eyes, "Maybe he can't. Maybe he's afraid."
Clarice almost said that he wasn't one to be afraid of anything, but she knew that that was only a front he put up for his family and everyone else. Where she put up walls of sarcastic quips and a devil-may-care attitude, he played the perfect son, the doting brother, when he only wanted to set down the weight that had been put on his shoulders for just a second… "What could that be?"
11:59 pm
Caitlyn shrugged, "I don't know, but I'll be in the living room if you want to talk afterwards."
Clarice nodded, "Thank you, Caitlyn."
The woman squeezed her knee once before exiting the room.
Putting the phone beside her, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
...
The second she opened her eyes, she could sense something off. There was leftover tension in his shoulders that told Clarice that Caitlyn had been right in her assumption that he was afraid. Scared of what her reaction would be to whatever she saw in the next minute.
She was sitting on the end of his bed and she immediately caught sight of a duffel bag sitting next to the closed door. Clarice stood to get a better look, strands of hair falling in her eyes as she bent over to pick it up and she paused.
She knew the importance in him wearing his hair long, both sentimental and cultural. There'd been no deaths in his immediate family. She knew he would've told her if anything like that had happened. Clarice ran her fingers through his hair, trying to think…
She looked back at the desk, seeing the photo of John and his father and a note.
Clarice,
I graduated Marine basic training a week ago and I'm getting shipped out first thing in the morning. I'm sorry and I wish I could've had the courage to tell you before the Switch, but we both know I've never been that strong. I love you. Always remember that, De'nzhone'.
-John
She clutched the note in his hand, tears burning in his eyes when she closed them.
…
Clarice wasn't surprised to find her face wet with tears when she opened her eyes and for the first time, she wanted to hit something instead of scream. She wanted to throw her phone at the wall or out the window, but it was one of her only tethers to John. No matter how furious she was with him, she couldn't do that. She settled for sobbing into a pillow as anger and sadness fought a war in her head…
A light knock, "Clarice?"
"Come in."
Caitlyn didn't say anything at first, pulling Clarice into her arms. "What is it?"
"He's leaving." She choked out, "He's leaving like everyone else."
"Hey, hey, hey…look at me." Caitlyn was searching her face, "Talk to me."
"Apparently he's a Marine now. He's getting shipped out in the morning." She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, "And I…and I know he wants to live up to who his father was but his father died in this war and I don't…I can't lose him. Not when we haven't even met."
"Oh, sweetheart." Caitlyn murmured into her hair, "I'm so sorry."
21
Clarice traced the rim of her glass, glad that Lorna had left for the night with her soulmate Marcos. The last two Switches had been nerve-wracking, but she'd only opened her eyes to a quiet solitary room both times.
He'd sent a letter once a month without fail. It had taken her three months to respond to them, still angry that he hadn't bothered to tell her until he was leaving. She knew he'd known about her fears of abandonment, of getting left behind because she wasn't what was needed….because she wasn't enough.
He'd assured her that that wasn't the case over and over again. That the thought had been in his mind since before the first Switch, which made her angry for a whole other slew of reasons, but she couldn't ignore him. Her fear of losing him trumped her anger, though, and she kept in touch with him.
She downed the wine, setting down the glass and leaning back against the counter.
…
Explosions. Gunfire. Pain.
Her eyes snapped open, her movement stopped by a hand that was not his.
Pale blue eyes pleaded with her, "Clarice, right?"
She nodded, head falling back against a…hill? Wall?
"My name's Gus." Once side of his face was caked with blood and he winced as a nearby explosion kicked up dirt, "I don't want to scare you, but your idiotic soulmate went and got himself shot. I need you to stay as still as you can."
Shot? Against her better judgment, she looked down.
There was so much red, spreading from where his hands still pressed against his stomach. His uniform was stuck to his skin, bright scarlet seeping through his fingers and dripping onto the ground…
Her eyes burned and she shook his head, near throwing up, "No. Nonononono…"
"Look at me, Clarice. Look at me."
God, everything hurt. She swallowed thickly, forcing her eyes up.
"He's going to be okay. We're almost out of here."
Clarice nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I can't…I can't lose him."
Gus' smile was brittle, "I know. I hope I meet you for real when all this is over."
"Me too." With a ragged breath, she closed her eyes.
...
She scrambled off the barstool so quickly it made a horrible metal screech as it clattered to the linoleum floor, pulling up her tank top and running trembling hands over her uninjured stomach with a broken sob, "John…"
"…went and got himself shot…"
Clarice shook her head, tears streaming down her face, "No. No…"
"Look at me, Clarice. Look at me."
Her world spun, her lungs burned as she failed to pull in a breath. "No…"
John. Shot. Blood. Red. So much fucking red.
"He's going to be okay."
She staggered to the sink, emptying the meager contents of her stomach, her vision darkening at the edges as her chest seized. In a burst of anger and grief, she grabbed the glass and threw it at the nearest wall with a scream.
Clarice slumped to the floor, like a marionette with their strings cut. She curled into the tightest ball imaginable, eyes squeezed shut against the tears, but all she could see were his hands slick with his own blood…
"We're almost out of here."
"Clarice?"
She lifted her head to find Lorna crouched in front her, dark eyes heavy with concern.
"What is it? What happened?"
"John…" she swallowed thickly, "he…he was shot and I…"
Lorna muttered a curse. "He's in the Marines right? Afghanistan?"
Clarice nodded numbly.
"Do you need me to call someone?"
"His mom, Maria. Call his mom."
…
Nearly a week had passed before she found out anything.
Turns out Maria Proudstar was just as stubborn as her sons, repeatedly calling to get a hold of John's superior officers every day without fail. Once it was brought to their attention that the Switch had taken place during this attack, they were quick to get to the bottom of it.
Denying unBonded soulmates information on whether one of them was still alive (especially given that the ordeal had been experienced by the civilian soulmate) was frowned upon and they were able to track down where he was.
"He's coming home in a week. His plane will be landing in Sierra Vista at 11:45 am."
Clarice nearly dropped the phone in relief, "Thank you so much, Maria."
"Anytime." She took a deep breath, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
She swallowed, "How did you do it?"
"Day by day." Maria sighed, "You know, you're allowed to come and meet him…if you want."
Her face flushed, "I…I don't know."
"I won't pressure you, Clarice. I'll talk to you later alright?"
"Yeah…and thanks again."
…
With the insistence of the Struckers, Lorna, and Marcos, Clarice found herself stepping out into the scorching Arizona heat. She slipped on her sunglasses, smiling as she caught sight of Maria waving to her and James leaning back against an old red truck.
She'd expected Maria's hug, but not James', laughing in surprise as he lifted her off the ground.
Maria scolded him, smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand.
Clarice stuck out her tongue when Maria turned her back, James shaking his head with a small smile. The sight jarred her for only a second. He and John looked so much alike… She brushed the thought aside, slipping into the passenger seat while James took and hoisted himself into the bed of the truck. "Is he allowed to-?"
Maria waved the question, "Him and John do it all the time."
She snorted, "Idiots."
Maria laughed, expression sobering, "Are you ready?"
"I don't know why I'm so nervous. We've been talking for more than three years now and I've literally been inside his body." She blushed at the unintended innuendo. "This shouldn't be so hard."
"Trust me," She turned into the airport a soft smile, "when you see him, the nerves will vanish."
God, I hope so.
…
Clarice stared out at the tarmac, watching a speck in the sky grow into a plane.
The minutes seemed to drag as the ramp lowered and people began to exit, all sporting various combinations of slings, bandages, crutches, and even a few wheelchairs, but only one was being pushed by a man with golden hair. John…
She was running toward them at full speed, both men snapping their heads up.
Gus grinned, while John's expression was one of total and complete shock.
She squeezed between his legs, wrapping arms around him the best she could. She closed her eyes when his arms snaked around her waist, his forehead pressed into her shoulder. He was warm and solid and alive…
Clarice pulled back, trembling fingers running along his cheekbones and the edge of his jaw, the ends of his hair tickling her hand., "You're here…you're okay."
"I'm sorry, de'nzhone'." His thumb brushed away a tear, "I'm so sorry."
She leaned into his touch with a small smile, sucking in a breath as his other hand rested on the curve of her hip, "If you weren't currently in a wheelchair, I would punch you for scaring me like that."
He smirked, "So violent, yet so cute."
Clarice huffed out a breath, "You're pushing it, soldier."
"Permission to kiss you?"
She blushed as those eyes looked up at her through dark lashes, tawny flecks within the deep brown shimmering like liquid sunlight and filled with just as much heat. Her fingers raked along his scalp, the inky strands like silk between them, "Permission granted."
He smiled against her lips, pulling her as close as he could.
Her mouth parted beneath his and something in her clicked. A hole in her chest she didn't even know she had filled in that instant, completing her, making her whole. She leaned forward, to sink into his warmth-
The wheelchair rolled backward sharply, Clarice falling backward instead of forward, like her body instinctively knew that John was injured and falling on him wouldn't exactly go over very well…
"Gods, are you okay?"
Laughter bubbled out of her as she brushed off her hands at the sight of his flushed face, and the shit-eating grin Gus was sporting a few yards back. No doubt he hadn't engaged the brakes on the wheelchair on purpose… She got to her feet, "I'm fine John, really. You?"
"I'm on some pretty heavy meds. Can't feel much."
Clarice shot a look over John's shoulder, narrowing her eyes at Gus.
He shrugged, expression one of faux innocence.
She flipped him off. "You friend's a dick."
His head fell back with a loud laugh.
Gus strode over, "I like your girl, Proudstar. She's got spunk."
John took Clarice's hand and squeezed, "That she does."