I'm so annoyed. I had written this, but then somehow it closed without saving (never has happened to me with a story before!). So I had to rewrite this! :(
Maybe it's better now, though. Hopefully. Lol.
Chapter Eight: Slumber
The moment he walked in, her scent assailed him. His eyes closed as the door shut behind him. He didn't even take in his surroundings, too overwhelmed by the smell of her—so familiar, so lovely, so…home.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, breathing her in and feeling his body relax slowly. It felt like hours, days. It felt like seconds. It felt like more than he had had in weeks, but less than he needed.
Finally, he opened his eyes, looking around the condo. His eyes widened. Her stuff was still there, as if she had just left to grab something from the market. He idly wondered if the team had been keeping up her residence. His gaze took in her TV, her coffee table, her couch. A blazer was tossed haphazardly over the arm of the couch and it drew him to it like a bee to particularly succulent honey.
Sinking into the embrace of the couch, he reached out hesitantly and his fingers brushed the fabric of the blazer. His breath caught in his throat. His hand fisted in the material, drawing it to him.
His eyes felt suspiciously wet. Holding the blazer a mere hair's breadth away from his face, he inhaled her concentrated fragrance.
He could almost pretend that she was just upstairs, swiping some mascara over her eyelashes and wondering suspiciously if he was snooping through her things.
He could almost pretend that she would come down, snarking at him for showing up unannounced.
He could almost pretend that her eyes would snap green fire.
That her chest would rise and fall with her indignant breaths.
Rise and fall. Breathing. Living.
He could almost pretend…
His throat was tight and he pressed his face to the forgotten blazer, trying to absorb whatever he could of her. Curling up on her couch, he saw his daughter in his mind's eye. Two years old and clutching her blankie.
He wrapped himself around the blazer—the only thing he had left of her—and tried to banish thoughts of yearning, loss. He could no longer tell what he was yearning for, what the loss was for which he grieved most. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't come here to see her. That wasn't sane. Once someone was dead, they were gone.
He wasn't disappointed that she hadn't appeared to him.
He hadn't expected that.
Really.
He wrapped himself around his fragmented memories of her dark hair and green eyes and steadfast loyalty. Surrounded by her scent, hugged by her belongings…
He enveloped himself in dreams of her and slept with no desire to wake.