Erebos
Two Shot
Part 2: Elpis
In life we all have an unspeakable secret, an irreversible regret, an unreachable dream and an unforgettable love. ― Diego Marchi
She unclenched her hands, staring at the marks her nails had made on her sweaty palms. So unsightly.
I can't be here.
She pushed to her feet, willing her hands to stop trembling, her legs to stop shaking.
I shouldn't be here.
And before she knew it, her feet had carried her through the threshold.
The bed was empty.
He thought he was dreaming, if not for the leftover impression left on the pillow beside him. The faintest smell lingering on the sheets.
A cold silence settled upon him. A hushed stillness, cutting through the rioting noises in his head.
The door was left slightly ajar. He went to pull it open, sleepwalking through the hallway.
He went from room to room, finally coming upon her lone figure, surrounded by the near darkness.
He stood there, breath held, tracing the fragile outlines of her back. The contour that was engraved in his memory. He had longed for this, to have her within reach, for so long, that the very image seemed like a lie even now.
She turned to acknowledge him, with too bright eyes and a fixed smile.
The staining fog dissipated. He knew he wasn't dreaming then.
He towered over her, looking down. His gaze was darkly intense, more an avenger than a knight, searching for a monster, a behemoth needing to be felled.
Where there was none to be found. It was just her, and those nights of sleeplessness. When the wait for dawn was long yet felt so brief, and the stirred up unrest inside refused to recede.
She smiled at him, seeking to soften the tense expression on his face.
He went to her, taking the hand she held out. Settling down by her side, his hold tender.
"It is nothing," she told him.
His eyes remained hard, unrelenting. It was not nothing, they seemed to say.
He was not good at talking, her Heero. Not always good at listening, either. But he was very good at seeking her out, at finding her.
And she was grateful for that.
For a while, she simply sat there on the couch, hugging herself tightly.
There were moments like this, when she had that faraway, solitary look in her eyes. And he would look at her, not knowing what to do, what to say.
The hand she held out to him was cold, so he took the blanket folded over the arm of the sofa, carefully wrapping it around her.
She leaned into his touch, and the lump of anxious uncertainty dislodged from his throat, falling back into place.
"Nightmare?"
"Not quite." The golden head moved slightly, resting on his shoulder. "Weird dream. Didn't mean to wake you up."
Something in her tone made him ask, "Since when?"
"Just a little while ago."
He stiffened at the evasive reply, and as if she had taken notice, Relena turned her head to the side, casting him a small smile.
She raised one hand up, keeping her eyes on him, folding her ring and little fingers down.
Thirty minutes. Was it really? Three hours?
Three nights, more likely. Longer?
She lowered the hand, settling it back on his. "It isn't as long as you think."
That was not an answer still. She was so good at keeping things hidden. White lies and half-truths.
He put his arm around her. If he pressed for it, she would tell him, no doubt. The truth. But did it actually matter?
The Relena he knew was, always, so needlessly accepting. Far too ready to take on pain. Chronic, grievous afflictions of others… and her own. He only wished that she wasn't so keen on keeping them all to herself.
But that was her kind of love. Gentle, selfless, sacrificing.
The kindest heart inflicted the worst pain. Sometimes, he couldn't help but think of that.
"And you didn't tell me."
Because you would make that kind of face.
It was too much to hope that he would be completely unaware. She didn't know why she bothered, he always found out in the end. She wasn't that good of a liar.
He never seemed to believe that, though. Giving, as usual, far too little credit to himself.
So she let the amusement shown on her face, not the remorse. If she pleaded guilty, he would worry. More. He was too much a worrier already.
And so, like a premeditated compulsion, she couldn't stop trying.
"It wasn't that terrible," she said lightly. "It was almost funny, actually. The one just now was about a puppy that suddenly grew as big as a hellhound."
She paused at his frown. In a softer tone, adding, "Not funny?"
She was trying to lighten the mood. His mind, instead, went in the completely opposite direction.
Did this hound bite her? Did she bleed? Was he not there again?
"You know big dogs are actually much easier to handle than small dogs."
He managed a murmur of assent. That was true enough. And she could take care of herself, that was true as well. But he shouldn't be negligent. Such as now, failing to notice that she had been having trouble sleeping.
In retrospect, he seemed to fail her often. If he was quicker, better, stronger. The many things he could have done differently…
"Don't look like that," she called out, halting that line of thought.
"I'll forget all about this by mid-morning. I forget almost all of my dreams, you see. Can't seem to recall the details—"
She stopped herself and gave him another smile. "I said the wrong thing again."
There were times like this, when they were so in tune with each other, that she knew without him giving away any outwards reaction.
Dreams and its trade-offs. Some things gained, some things lost. Guilt, incessant regrets, mirrored in her eyes. This was but another reason they understood each other so well. Different yet the same.
She turned to hug him fully. As he hugged her back, he couldn't keep himself from thinking…
If I were but a more complete person, would I be able to support your heart better?
"Reality is better than any dream." He pulled away to look at her, wondering if she grasped what was running through his mind. "Do you know this saying?"
Looking him in the eye, she placed one hand over his heart. "I'd rather have the actual thing than a good dream."
And just like that, he realized that the ideal, best version of himself he had pictured in his head couldn't compare to her. Then again, no one could.
He smiled a little. "I am supposed to be comforting you."
"You are," she assured him. "Positive thinking, Heero."
He cradled her face in one hand, deliberately asking, "If you prefer to be alone..."
There was surely a reason she removed herself to another room. She must have wanted some time to herself.
And here he was, a plague in the guise of a caretaker. The last thing he wanted was to be an annoyance. If he was not making himself useful, might as well make himself scarce.
As it was, he needed her more than she needed him.
"I've had enough time, being on my own." Leaning in, she let her eyes fall closed, her voice threadbare. "I think I'd like some company now."
But she did need him a little.
A place to rest. If he couldn't be that for her, then he could at least stay up with her. "Strength in numbers?"
"Strength in unity."
That, he could get behind on. He pulled her against his chest. "Call me in your dream."
"Lucid dreaming?" came her amused musing. "It will be cheating. I am supposed to rewrite the story myself."
He made a low sound of acknowledgement. "But I can help." He had had enough of just watching as well.
"You did." Her hand over his heart moved in a gentle caress. "You do."
Then quietly, in a barely a whisper, "Next time you have me in yours..."
She wanted to offer the same to him, he knew. A lifeline to hold on to. Which she was, really. In the daylight, in his waking hours.
But in the darkest of nights…
"I'll bring Po and the entire medical team."
He wasn't sure what had prompted that thought or compelled him to voice it. But she broke into a breathless laughter, her first genuine one that night. And he was glad he followed through.
"Very prosaic," she said, sounding significantly more uplifted. "But that works."
"Positive thinking," he echoed. The fear of losing her was still there, lingering. Dark, heavy tendrils of shadows, circling, reaching, like a disembodied spirit.
He wrapped his arms around her more securely. Her own grip tightened.
But it was just that. A spectre.
"That's right," she whispered. "I love you."
The first time he heard her utter those words, he felt as if he had swallowed a mixed cocktail of muddled emotions: excitement, nervousness, joy, fear. Feeling too choked up to keep it, let alone return it.
But with each subsequent confession, the words, and the searing sentiment around it, became a little more palatable. Gradually distilled into a clear, liquid fire, without losing its potency.
He returned the same words to her, and the coldness dissolved into warmth.
Reality was better than a dream.
He would continue to hold on to remember that.
It is said that there is no more human existence without Elpis, daughter of Night, sister of Moirai (Fates), Moros (Doom), as well as Hypnos (Sleep) and his mirror twin Thanatos (Death). Elpis, whose name ἐλπίς means Expectation, is twofold herself, both foreboding and sanguine, giving light to the true meaning of Pandora's tale. As the Greek poet Hesiod once wrote:
Yet even as one pair of hands raised the jar's great lid,
released all, and wrought grievous cares for men
Alone there, Elpis, in her unbreakable house,
remained within, beneath the lip, and did not fly away
Thus be the plight of mankind, to wander in a world that has become the Pandora's jar, in which Hope lays at bottom.
