Black Sea Horan: Longing
Rose was still standing frozen in place atop the hill, watching the distant battle. The Russian encampment had been quickly overrun by cavalry and infantry, turning it into a slaughter. Not even the Grand Vizier, barreling out of his tent in horror with the Russian emissaries trailing behind, could stop the carnage once the bloodlust had taken hold.
Someone spoke in her ear, then touched her arm. She didn't move. The person took a gentle hold of her arm, then, and pulled her around slightly, dragging her eyes away from the horrific sight. It was one of the guards of the Khan's tent, gazing at her soulfully. He motioned her towards the tent flaps, then reached across her to take hold of her other arm, turning her around completely, and helped her totter inside on numb, wooden feet. She stood for a moment, swaying, then moved to the Khan's chair and sat heavily on it, staring down at her folded hands in her lap, unable to move or think.
An age slowly passed – or maybe it was only an hour. The distant sounds of battle; the screams, the shots, the trumpet calls, all slowly faded, until there was only a distant murmur drifting through the tent flaps. Still she sat, frozen in place. Not until another half a lifetime had passed was there suddenly movement at the doorway. She tore her gaze away from her hands, looked up, and gasped.
Thorsten stood there, his face wooden, his eyes sunk deeply into his skull, burning into hers in turn. He stepped slowly across the carpeted floor and dropped heavily onto one knee before her.
"Tsar Peter is dead," he choked out. "Charles is wounded – shot – and may not last the night. I trust that is enough of a change to split the timestream?"
She slowly nodded. "It must be – I'm still here." A sudden sharp intake of breath. "Did... did you find..."
His silent eyes gave the answer.
A sob burst out of Rose, her hands flying to cover her face. She'd never get home now. Never...
"Rose..." Thorsten whispered, his voice full of unspoken emotion. "Would it be so terrible, to stay here? … With me?"
How could she answer that? How could she choose?
And her silence was answer in itself.
"Of course," he said bitterly. "I've nothing to offer, and I'm twice your age." He reached up and gently pried her hands away from her face. "Well, then, I suppose you'd better have this."
And into her palms, he placed... the time jumper.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. She stared at it, eyes and mouth wide, the object of her searching for so many weeks.
Thorsten cupped her cheek with one hand, and then suddenly leaned over and kissed the other cheek. "I wish you well," he choked out. Then he abruptly lurched back to his feet, whirled around and walked swiftly to the doorway with long steps, seeking escape.
"Thorsten," she whispered after him, her heart breaking. He checked for but a microsecond, then went on even faster, disappearing into the night.
Rose sobbed gain, pressing the back of one hand to her mouth to stifle them. Then she flipped open the jumper, pressed the keys to unlock it, and – hesitating an endless second – pushed Recall.
The backlight had changed, from white to a beautiful pale yellow. Blonde, like his hair. She was back in her own parallel.
She sobbed again, then screwed her eyes tightly shut, and stabbed Execute.
^..^
She dropped out of the transport flash and landed hard on her rear, a can rattling out from under her. Taking a deep breath for courage, she forced her eyes open, and found herself in a filthy, modern alleyway, beside a large, hideously-smelly green dumpster.
She was back in the alley behind her own shop.
Just as it dawned on her, she heard the shop door open on the other side of the dumpster, and jerked back, hiding, as footsteps came round the bin and stopped, the top pried up, and a bag of trash tossed in. The footsteps retreated, and Rose leaned forward to peek around the corner, knowing what she'd see: her own back, dressed in that peasant blouse and skirt, walking swiftly towards the street. She witnessed the fake policeman come around the corner and flash his badge, then grab "her" arm, and disappear with "her" in a brilliant flash of light.
Without thinking, Rose was suddenly scrambling to her feet. The school! She zipped to the corner and around it, and took off down the avenue at a dead run, ignoring the stares and honks she garnered. Two blocks, one, across the street...
…. and there he was, angelic, standing with his mates outside the kindergarten door, laughing with them. "Paul!" she cried out, and then dropped to her knees and flung her arms out to the side like she so often did, and he laughed and ran to her, flinging his five-year-old arms around her neck and hugging her tightly – much too young yet to have learned distaste for public displays of parental affection.
"Mummy!" he laughed.
She clutched him to her, hugging him so tightly he almost couldn't breathe, her sobs coming fast now, tears streaming down her cheeks. She held him for so much longer than usual, of course he began to squirm. "Mummy..." He pushed away slightly. "Why are you crying?" he asked, all preschool concern.
Rose forced herself to let him go, and dropped back to her heels, smiling through her tears up at his brilliant sea-green eyes, so heart-stoppingly startling in the adult Corvantes' face. She managed to stifle her sobs again. "Mummy had a very, very, very long day," she finally answered. "And I thought I might not make it here on time."
"But you did!" It was an old exchange.
"Yes, I did! And... I have a surprise for you. You and I are going on a holiday – a REAL holiday, not a pretend one. And it might be a very long one," she added, more to herself than him. Then she smiled back up at him again. "Would you like that?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Are we going on a airplane?"
"Nope!" she grinned. "We're going by magic. Real magic."
"Wow! Harry Potter magic?"
"Nope!" she said again. "Swedish magic. That's even better. But first.. we need to go pack!"
She pushed up off the ground and took his hand, the one with the birthmark, and they walked the three blocks over to their flat. She was halfway down the communal hallway when she suddenly remembered and groaned, and turned around, heading back to the superintendent's office.
"Mrs Douglas!" she called out at the half door, open at the top. "I lost my key again!"
A gargantuan woman lumbered out from the kitchen. "Again? That's the third time this year!" She took a large ring of keys off a hook on the wall, out of reach of the doorway, and handed them over.
"Yeah, well... I promise you, this will be the last time." Rose grinned. She took the keys and they turned around again. She found the right key, unlocked her door, and opened it, turning to Paul. "Listen. I'll be right back. But I want you to pull out all of your clothes and stack them up on the bed to choose from, OK?"
"OK, Mummy." And off he went.
Rose reached in and scooped up a coin from the dish she kept by the door, then walked back to the office. "I need to make a phone call." She reached in and grabbed the cordless phone on the desk, dropping the coin in the waiting bowl and the keys on the desk, and dialed the number of her shop. It rang... and kept ringing. Rose grimaced, remembering her incredibly busy last shift – was it only that morning? Finally, the answering machine picked up.
"Mrs. Corrigan? This is Rose, Rose Tyler. I'm sorry.. I'm really sorry, but I'm quitting. I'm won't be back. I know this leaves you in a lurch, but it can't be helped. Goodbye."
"Quitting?" Mrs Douglas pounced. "What'd you do, win the lottery? They haven't found the winner from last Saturday yet!"
"I wish," said Rose, turning back.
She stepped back into her tiny, one-room public-assistance flat and looked around, sighing. No, she wouldn't miss this. Stepping over to the wide bed she shared with Paul, she saw he'd followed her instructions perfectly, like he always did. "Good! Now, I want you to pick out two or three favorites from each pile – don't forget the socks and underpants!"
Turning to the beat-up dresser, she matched him, pulling out her own few favorite things, then they stuffed their chosen clothes into a pair of knapsacks. "Now," she told him. "You get to pick out ONE toy to bring. Just one. And it can't be anything with batteries, because we won't be able to get new ones."
While he was pondering that, she looked around again, and spied her parents' picture on the dresser. Smiling mistily, she picked it up, remembering, lightly touching Pete's and Jackie's smiling faces through the glass. The photo had been taken just a few months before that awful car crash that had claimed both their lives, leaving her and her son all alone. Nobody left in the world to miss us, and that's the sad truth. She wrapped the frame in a soft kerchief, one of her Mum's, and tucked it into her pack in between her clothes for protection.
"Ready, Mummy!" She saw he'd at last picked out his Spiderman doll, and grinned, unsurprised.
"OK, tiger. Let's get this backpack on," and she made sure the straps were snug, then put her own larger pack on her back. Then she got down on her knees, and had Paul put his arms around her neck. "Hold on tight! Ready?"
Behind his back, she opened the jumper, found the record of the last jump, and reversed it, took a last deep breath, and punched Activate once more.
^..^
They were back again in the Khan's tent. It didn't seem like any time at all had passed here. Paul was staring around, eyes huge, his mouth hanging open. "It worked! The magic really worked!"
She didn't give him time to absorb it. She had to find Thorsten. She sprang back to her feet and took his hand firmly in hers. "Do NOT let go, no matter what!" Then she led him to the doorway and out.
He was nowhere to be seen. Panic seeping around her edges, she stared around, then caught the eyes of the guard who'd led her inside a lifetime before. "Where is he?" she wailed frantically, knowing he couldn't possibly understand her – but he did. He smiled and pointed off to the right, rattling off some sentence she assumed meant "he went thataway."
"Thank you!" she said fervently, then started around the tent. She turned the corner, stumbled to a halt, and took a huge gulp of air.
There he was, tightening the cinch on his horse, preparing to escape this horror and heartbreak, his back turned to her.
"Thorsten!" she called, her voice barely above a whisper. But it carried.
He stiffened, unbelieving, then whirled around, hope lighting his eyes. He suddenly stopped, taking in her pack... and the boy next to her, holding her hand, wearing his own pack on his back. He took a deep breath, and slowly walked over to stand before her.
"You came back," he whispered, not quite sure whether to believe it.
Rose nodded, then took her own deep breath. "This is my son, Paul."
Thorsten tipped his head, asking without words, and she nodded again. "Yes, this is who was waiting for me."
He swallowed. He still wasn't sure. "And his father?"
She shook her head. "He doesn't have one," she replied softly. Jimmy Stones had laughed in her face and disappeared forever the day she'd told him she was pregnant.
Thorsten's face twisted. "He does now," was his simple, matter-of-fact reply.
Tears sprang to her eyes once more, and she bit her lips, as he knelt down in front of the boy. "Hello, Paul. My name is Thorsten." His voice was warm and kind, but he didn't try to hug the boy, holding out his hand instead.
Paul peered sideways up at his mother, unsure, and she nodded encouragingly. So he turned back and solemnly shook Thorsten's hand.
Thorsten smiled at him, then stood up again. He gazed at Rose, his eyes damp, and his hand slipped around her waist, pulling her in without a word for a lingering, loving kiss, the sweetest kiss in all of history.
And at long, long last, she was home.