*Peeks head around corner* Oh hey there guys, I didn't see you waiting. For two years. I would like to publicly apologize for leaving you all for so long, I don't have anything to say for myself other than I'm sorry, and I hope you all will forgive me for abandoning you all. It is my sincere wish that all those that loved, and thought they had lost Syler the Beloved, will learn to enjoy her again. Because I have missed working with her. I'm not sure if I will be trying to revive this story and continue down the foggy path I started two years previous, or if I will throw out a couple of filler to end the story with a nice bow on top. Mainly it will depend on you all, and whether of not you are willing to take me back. Please don't forget to review after this, adn let me know if you still want more. Thanks guys, and enjoy.
The room drained of air and Syler's throat was too dry to speak. He hadn't really just said that? Had he? She couldn't breathe in this room without air, and she couldn't speak she was sure she could have moved, but couldn't find the will. Standing completely and utterly still, as the man she loved and who loved her back, watched intently. His eyes flashing to and fro across her face, squinting in mad desperation, waiting for any kind of sign.
His eyes were cringing at the sides, and she swore she watched them jitter in time to his heartbeat. They were always so telling, she had often wondered how he had even been a cop. Because as menacing as he might like to appear, in his heat, he was all soft and gooey. And anyone could see it if they caught even a glimpse of him staring. Goodness that good, wasn't something you could mask. His eyebrows were dropping, and he looked suddenly fearful of her. Which was simply ludicrous, she might like to dress up and act tough but there was, sadly enough, nothing scary about her.
She parted her parched lips and took a breath which crackled painfully all the way down her throat. For the first time in her life she had nothing to say, even if she had somehow found the ability to speak sitting where it always had on the tip of her tongue. Words still escaped her, which was odd, uncomfortable, bordering on painfully, as they were her living. But long before that they had become her life; her biggest love. Until Don that is. The thought flittered past an empty receptor in her brain and it made her want to smile. But it was truthfully difficult as her face was frozen, which meant in turn her mouth was frozen, and her lips didn't even tinge. But she pushed though this to focus on the matter at hand. Was this reality? Or some sort of dream? And if it isn't a dream, the how had her dreams gotten into her reality? And if this was her reality, then why wasn't Don pinned against her right now. Lowering herself down beside him, she stilled again, holding his gaze for a moment longer.
"Sy?" His voice sounded overtly loud in the silent room. The television was off, a phenomenon in its own right. But also her fridge, which she swore she could hear humming from clear across the apartment as she nestled into the warm of her sheets at O'dark thirty, chose that moment to run silently. She knew she would have to scold it later. If their relationship was going to work out, then it would have to provide a light and comical icebreaker when an awkward silence across silently between her and her guests. Instead all she had to listen to was her own heart, beating furiously in her ears. Or at least she thought it was, because the moment she honed in on the sound, it vaporized, as though it hadn't been there at all. Now all she had to listen to was Don, and his shallow breaths beside her.
His eyes were burning the curve of her cheek, as she turned her head to stare at the open window of her apartment, wondering how it was that the noises of the city weren't floating in, was it perhaps because the entirely city, like Don, was waiting on baited breath for her response. The couch shifted and she turned to look at him. He was now poised on the edge of her couch looking over at her, bringing into her mind Montana. She had seen a buck behave just like this once, when she had strayed too close to him, skittish and like he might bolt at any given second, but at the same time dangerous beyond belief. His eyes flitted back to her, and she found them telling a different story now. They were filled to the brink with loathing and she found the would they inflicted to be deep and life threatening.
"I'm sorry," his voice was low, and cracking with emotion, "It's too fast I know. I just thought…never mind it doesn't matter what I thought. I'm sorry I put you in this position. You don't have to say it back; you don't have to say anything." He was talking quickly and backing away towards her door. Syler was struggling to make sense of the situation, and her body's terrifying lack of response to her mind. But she couldn't really blame her body, as her mind was a hot mess of jumbled orders, not that that was new, but it was messy in an entirely different way.
It wasn't messy the way her room was messy. Where, sure her shit was all over the floor, but at least she remembered when she had thrown it. Now she had all this new shit, like love and insecurities in there, and she didn't know how to deal with it. This shit was' her shit.
Syler scolded herself, cursing was her resort when she got nervous, or tired, or angry, definitely when she was angry. But also when she was happy, more of a default setting than a real last resort. Don was now towering over her, fueled by her continued silence; he was moved back towards her door again. Spouting something about call her later, once they had had a minute to think and they would discuss what he said then. All at once his tone reached her, and she looked up at him. Feeling stretching in her limbs once more, and her words just beginning to wake in her jowls.
She was sure she had never seen a more saddening sight. His blue eyes were crystal now, as they brimmed with tears. His hands were shaking and his cheat was heaving thought she couldn't tell how, as it didn't look like he was breathing at all. And he was still moving away from her, fast. As far as she was concerned any situation in which Don was moving away from her, could in no way be tolerated. At once her mind was reeling bellowing at her to go after her. He was leaving her, and it was killing him, and she still hadn't said anything.
"Don!" She came to her feet, he stilled for a moment, but still eyed the door like it still a very real possibility that he would leave. She moved to stand toe to toe with the man who held her heart in his hands, presently shaking hands, but she didn't think it mattered much. The metaphor was a nice one all the same. She grasped his shaking hands in her, effectively tying him back to the ground, keeping in tethered, however flimsily to reality. Hopefully for a good hot minute.
But the shaking hands, which she thought she was thinking about a lot in that moment, were slick with sweat, and he twisted them out of her grasp through heavy protests. Before they came up in front of her, stopping her movements, "You don't have to Sy…I shouldn't have gone there. We agreed slow and steady would win the race. We've only known each other for a few years, this is my fault. You don't fall in love over baseball!" He said finally, running long, thin fingers through his hair. Scattering it in all directions. She grinned widely at him.
Her hands tried to cover his, which failed as his were larger than hers, on a scale of the Earth to a golf ball. But she succeeded in bringing them down and placing them on her hips. His face was passive, and she knew he wouldn't give anything away there. But his fingers twitched tightening for a fraction, and then letting them go, falling flaccidly at his sides. He was in pain, and it was all her fault. Her arms cam around his shoulders, encircling his neck, running her nails lightly over his nape, just underneath his hairline, she felt goose bumps forming. At least she could still get a reaction out of his body.
His eyes were staring down at hers, questions shining back at her. But he knew her well enough to know that she would say what she wanted to say, in her own time. And she felt like she fell a little harder for him in that moment. She was tugging at his neck and at first he resisted to come and meet her, the last thing he wanted was pity, but she cocked an eyebrows and rose on her toes in search of him.
Her lips came to his and she let her fingers massage the back of his neck. At first he was still but after a moment of careful probing, and a flick of her tongue, he dropped a fraction, melting, deciding perhaps pity wasn't so bad after all. She broke away after a moment, and grinned.
"What is the matter with you? Of I love you! His heart sank and rose, and he thought she might give him a heart attack if she tried to say anything more. In the end he opted that the best thing for his health was that they should be talking, his heart just couldn't take it. And he could only think of one thing for two consenting adults who have just confessed to living the other to do on a lonely Saturday night. And it sure as hell wasn't Jenga.