Elizabeth & Raymond: Tidal
Everything has gone dark, dark and so heavy. She panics briefly, struggling to breathe through her suddenly weighted chest. It is the voice that calms her, that brings her back to herself enough to realize that she is…back to herself.
The voice, so familiar, deep and rich, murmuring broken words of pleading, of desperation, of…love.
Oh, Red, she thinks, Raymond, full of longing and sadness. Tears slide down her cheeks, silent and unbidden.
I want you
Yeah I want you
And nothing comes close
To the way that I need you
It is need that brings her out — the need to see, to feel, to speak, to use this physical form.
But even opening her eyes is a struggle that feels monumental, like more than she can manage. The light blinds at first, even through the thin slits she manages; as her vision adjusts and clears, the first thing she sees is his face, tired and worn, anguished and hopeful together.
"You," she manages to say, raspy and hoarse. Her last words still linger in her mouth, tumbling out to be her first. "Raymond, I do love you."
He smiles at her, like a beam of light.
"Lizzie," he breathes, and his hand squeezes hers tightly, so tightly. "You're awake. You're here."
"Red," she says, and her voice sounds far away and strange. "Raymond — Agnes…"
"Of course," he says briskly, drawing himself together in that particular way he has. "Agnes is safe, I promise you — Tom is with her now. I'll make a call, have them come, shall I?"
He stands, gently placing her hand back on the bed beside her, on the phone issuing terse instructions within a moment.
Red, she thinks again, I wish…
I wish I can
Feel your skin
And I want you
From somewhere within
He is beside her again almost before she has time to think of what she wishes for.
"There, now," he says, taking her hand again naturally, like it belonged. "They'll be here soon, your family."
There is a slightly odd inflection behind his words, one she would not have noticed before this voyage, before she had been with him, unknown and unseen.
You're mine, too, she wants to say, you belong here with me, but she cannot, is without the right words even now. Instead, she curls her fingers around his hand with as much pressure as she can muster.
"Thank you," she says, instead of the words she wants, instead of the truths and feelings that clamour within. "I need to see her safe, my little girl."
"Of course you do," he says warmly. "She's just beautiful, Lizzie — she looks just like her mother."
She tries to laugh, but cannot; lets her eyes slip closed.
"Thank you," she says again, with no other words to be found.
It feels like there's oceans
Between me and you once again
We hide our emotions
Under the surface and try to pretend
It is almost a relief when the others return, to have to step back, to breathe, to readjust to the world with her back in it, back as suddenly as she had disappeared.
Even in the pale gauntness of her long sleep, her face at the sight of her child is breathtaking. And the three of them together…a family, glowing with happiness.
He closes his eyes briefly, to put himself back together, to button his weakness back up and safely away.
I want you
And I always will
I wish I was worth
But I know what you deserve
Her presence beside him has a tentative quality that he doesn't expect from her, but is still unmistakeable.
"Later, Kate," he says quietly, not looking down, not moving at all. "I don't have it in me to deal with you right now."
A quick intake of breath, then empty air is beside him again.
And he watches, his world made simultaneously right and wrong again, and another puts his arm around her and kisses her happy face.
She is speaking now, quietly, rapidly, Tom leaning in close to listen, his face still and sober, expression darkening.
And what now, he wonders. What do we do now?
He scrubs his face with his hands, aching with love and pain, lost and found.
You know I'd rather drown
Than to go on without you
But you're pulling me down
Then, suddenly, with a clatter of a chair and the slam of a door, Tom is gone, gone, and she has a hand stretched out to him.
Like a dream, like swimming through air, he makes his way back to her side, taking her hand again without thought.
"Raymond," she says — and oh, his name in her mouth is lovely. "Just look at her."
He is able to smile at that, and agree wholeheartedly.
"She's perfect, sweetheart. Just…perfect."
She glances up at him through lowered lashes, and his heart beats painfully.
She gathers it now — the confidence born of watching him grieve and love; the strength that has always been hers to wield; the bravery that comes with motherhood — she gathers it all to take the last leap.
"Am I, Raymond?" she asks softly. "Your sweetheart?"
His body, his breath, even time itself seem to stop, to freeze, to crystallize in a moment of perfect stillness.
"I've been with you," she says, watching Agnes' sleeping face. "I couldn't seem to leave you, Red. I heard all the things you said, then, today, to me. And I love you, too. With everything I have. And I want to be yours, the way you are mine."
Her eyes finally meet his, deep blue wells of emotion, and his breath finally releases in a rush.
"Oh, Lizzie," he says brokenly, healed, whole. "Lizzie mine."
I want you
I want you
And I always will
A/N: lyrics from Oceans by Seafret.