She wanted it to storm.
She prayed for it with every fiber of her being. She was desperate for the gales of wind, bolts of lightning, bark of the thunder, and the curtain of rain that was both prison and protection.
She called to every force of nature, prayed to every god, offered up her own soul in exchange for her wish being granted.
Not that it was.
Body trembling from a combination of fatigue and shock, she sunk to her knees in the dry, dusty earth.
Alone with her rage.
And her grief.
It was that which filled her now, rushed inside her in wild, pounding strokes. Like a painter gone made.
And so, perhaps, it was.
Or maybe it was that she had.
Honestly, she didn't know anymore. All she knew was she came here soon as the fires burned out and the smoke cleared.
To the one person, the only person, in fact, who'd understand the emotions burning a hole in her gut.
"I wish you were here."
The words came out as little more than a rasp.
Hardly a sound.
Not that it mattered.
She spoke to a pile of bones.
Bones buried beneath a mountain of dirt.
In a grave marked with a small wooden cross on which a name had been lovingly, painstakingly inscribed.
No date of birth.
No date of death.
No beautiful epithet to remind people about the man who unselfishly gave his life so others could live.
"I wish you were here," she said again. "You could help me understand why we keep fighting in these senseless fucking wars."
Wars, she added silently as voices echoed in the distance, that nobody really wins.
Wars that were more about egos than making life better for people.
Wars that accomplished nothing but get good men like Paul Rovia killed.
Tears blurred her vision.
Wet her cheeks.
Cut through the blood and dirt and ashes coating her face.
Ashes and blood and dirt.
That's what they were left with now that everything was all said and done.
Ashes and blood and dirt. To slowly rot in the cold, hard ground once Death decided to come collect their worthless souls.
She dreamed of the pale rider, begged him to come.
Then she'd be reunited with the only friend, the only family she had.
"You'd be angry if you were here." Especially if he saw her sitting there and crying like a baby. "You'd yell at me about wanting to give in. For wanting to give up. Tell me there's something to still live for."
A gust of wind lifted the hair off the back of her neck. For a moment, just one crazy, unexplainable moment, she imagined his hand settling there, those long, graceful fingers of his gently kneading away the tension.
Easing away some of her aches and hurts.
Same as she did for him in those infrequent times when he'd let her. Stoic, stubborn, and strong. All three words described the man she affectionately nicknamed Kenobi.
"I'd listen to you, too." Her cracked and swollen lips edged up into a small smile. "Because I always listened to you. Why wouldn't I? You were good and kind and wise. But I'm tired. So goddamn tired. All I want..." She breathed out a tiny sigh. "All I want is to lay down here and wait for the Grim Reaper to come and take me to where you are."
More tears ran down her face after her shameful confession. The aches of her body mixed with those of her heart.
Grief hung over her.
She was barely holding on beneath its shroud.
One wrong move and she'd be crushed beneath that lead cloud.
"I miss you." She set a hand covered in blood and soot on the ground in front of the cross. "You weren't just my friend. You were also my brother. Not by blood, maybe, but by love and loyalty. Respect and trust."
They were two orphans who had nobody that found somebody in each other after the world went to hell. Until assholes in human skin suits decided to take him away.
Her beautiful Jedi.
Now a pile of bones inside a dirt grave.
"I'm leaving here." Another breeze chilled her scorched flesh. "Where I'm going, I don't know. I don't care honestly. I just know I don't want to stay here. I don't want to keep fighting. I don't want to keep hurting. Most of all... I don't want to keep burying people. I buried you." Her voice broke. "I buried you. That's enough."
"Aimee."
She spun her head around to see who dared intrude on this private moment. The furious words she'd been about to let fly died when she saw Aaron, covered in blood and dirt and ashes standing a few feet away, eyes soft with compassion and understanding.
"He wouldn't want you giving up." His voice shook from the same rage and grief flowing through her. "He'd want you to keep fighting. To keep believing."
"I know he would." Aimee wiped her face on the sleeve of her torn and tattered shirt. "I know he would. I just... I can't." Her eyes flicked to the devastation that lay behind them. "Not after this."
"Hilltop is lost." Aaron crouched down beside her. "We are not."
"I've been lost since you brought his body back to Hilltop for burial."
"You don't gotta be lost anymore is the thing." Aaron set his hand on her shoulder. "You have family in me and Gracie."
"Why?" Tears again threatened but she forced them back. "Why would you offer me that?"
"Because I loved him, too," he told her quietly. "And I know he'd want us to be a family."
Aaron's face swam before her. The lid she'd kept on her emotions during the battle cracked, split. Everything came hurtling to the surface. Like lava contained for too long.
"I wish he was here." A tear slithered down her cheek. Was followed by dozens more. "I wish he was here, Aaron."
"Me too." He curled his around around her, drew her shivering form against him. Placed his cheek against her crown. "Me too."
A/N: Hello, all! I have never been happy with the way the Walking Dead treated Tom Payne or Jesus. I don't feel he ever got the character development he deserved. I also felt they wasted that brief tease of Paul and Aaron. So, this story is giving some of that development and acknowledging that hint of romance.
This is also for my fourth Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: Grief/Mourning
Please, if you like this piece, favorite/bookmark/kudo it! Comments are also deeply appreciated! Thanks for reading! Take care!