Seeing, 1/1: M/L, Oneshot, Teen, 8/28

[Dangermousie]

Thank you for all the reviews for "Real." I am overwhelmed!

Title: Seeing
Pairing: M/L
Disclaimer: don't own, no profit.
Rating: Teen
Summary: He is with me, so he is safe. He is with me. He will never be safe.

When he touches her she dissolves. It is not a chemical reaction, something to be written about in a scientific abstract, sensationalized on the news. The feeling of bones fusing together has nothing to do with anything other than the feel of him in her arms, his own arms wrapped around her.

She thinks if she looks into his face, she will see his eyes look at her, steady and gentle and unguarded, but when she does take a look, they are closed, eyelashes lying darkly against his cheeks.

His chin is resting on her neck, near the collarbone and the weight is reassuringly there, human, correct.

She whispers to him and he whispers back. There is no need to be so quiet: they are alone, and they have been talking in far from quiet voices minutes before. But she likes the intimacy of it, the feeling.

His hands are warm and solid, no energy pulses, no magic powers. They are comforting on her back, and his chest feels steady and normal against her rib cage.

Then he kisses her and she sees. His mouth is gentle and steady on hers. Manacles and needles and drugs and drugs and more drugs. His lips feel warm and a bit tentative, and she shivers, just so, when he grazes the corner of her mouth. Dizziness and pain and fear and complete, utter helplessness. Impossible choices and restraints.

She can't bear to continue and she can't bear to stop. She has a crazy thought that if she sees it, shares it in her head, she will take some of the hurt for herself and leach some from him. She knows it is untrue, but she can't stop thinking that, can't help herself. Maybe it's her way of coping.

He falls asleep and her eyes are open. He is there, solid and warm and real, and it reassures her and frightens her. He is with me, so he is safe. He is with me. He will never be safe. And like a refrain she can’t get rid of: It is all my fault. The fact that he does not see that only makes it worse.

She does not want to hurt. She only wants to see that dazed, warm look in his eyes. She only wants to hear his quiet voice, seeking her out, weaving words into sentences just for her. She only wants to feel his lips on hers, her mouth and his tangled. But she knows what she will see when they kiss. Suffering that is her fault.

And yet she touches his hair and his head moves a bit on her shoulder and she shivers and she is happy.

**************

He looks at her with love and despair and blank incomprehension in his eyes.

All she can think of is “Tess is his destiny.” She is the destiny that didn’t destroy his life. She didn’t cause him to get hunted. She did not cause him to get caught. Her eyes are open but she can still see the ice bath and the needles and the knives. Tess did not do it to him. She did. He saved her life. She will give him his back, in return.

And she runs as fast as she can, her tears blurring the sharpness of the rocks and the color of the sky and her breath hitches, her throat too tight to allow her to really cry. She can’t think of anything but that he was hers and she gave him away. That she lost him. That, it appears, she never should have had him at all.

She gets back home, somehow. She is unclear on the details. She usually loves her parents for their hands-off approach (did they even notice she was gone all night?), but she wants them to be home this time, to demand answers, to rage at her. She will not tell them anything, and their anger will help her focus. She will take any distraction she can get.

She is on her bed because the energy she had is over. She doesn’t even feel like moving to take off her grimy shoes. She tries the old mantra, the one she used in 8th grade, when her shiny new boyfriend of a week left her for another girl in their class whose name she can’t quite remember. It doesn’t matter. It will stop hurting soon and I will have other boys, after all. Better ones. That time it worked like a charm and after three days she forgot all about him. But this time she can’t even think the words to their conclusion. She knows there is no one like Max, and no one else for her, and the mantra is a childish lie that does not even paper over the hurt.

The door creaks and her mother walks in, familiar perfume and worried voice.

“Liz? We didn’t hear you come in last night.”

And Liz turns, eyes swollen almost shut, and at the look in them her mother drops her purse. Liz is five again, and she’s scraped her knee and Mom will make it all better, even though this time they both know it’s a lie. Liz’s face is on the familiar lap, and warm hands are stroking her hair as her mother begins her own litany of comfort: “Shhh. It’s all right. You are home. Shhhh. It’s OK. Shhh.”

And Liz Parker cries. She is at home and she is forever lost. She will never be home again.

End