A Little Peace by BlackDiamond, admin
Part 2 by BlackDiamond
Disclaimer: You all know The Pretender is not mine, so why do I even bother to hope? Oh well, until they really do belong to me, I guess I'll have to be happy with being a fanfic writer. At least this way they can have a little fun . . . oh, wait a minute, this is an angsty story, what am I talking about? And now I've turned the disclaimer into an author's note, so why don't I just get right to that? All right then. Oh, yeah, and the song Holy Tears belongs to Tara McLaine, one of the greatest artists of all time. (Go get her cd Silence. It kicks)
Author's Note: I seriously suggest that you read the first part of this before you read the second, hence part one coming first, then part two, but if you're determined, there's nothing I can do to stop you. Just don't say I didn't warn you.
Second Authror's blah blah blah . . .: Thank you so much to everyone who sent me feedback on part one of this thing. I never would have sat down and written part two at all if no one had like number one. So if you guys like this part, thank yourselves, then tell me. : )
A Little Peace
Wrapped inside a twisted world
I can't decide what is even real anymore
as though I ever knew
Tangled in these sillhouettes
Floating face down in a river of regrets
and thoughts of you
they linger on
You believed she'd never leave
Rosy cheeked and oh so young
and full of flame
Here in this bed of emptyness
Button by button I come undone
and only twenty-one
they linger on
Gone like the broken words at your feet
You're gone in the venom lips that kissed me sweetly
Gone like a firghtened bird into the sky
Won't you take everything I ever had
and leave me to die as I cry
I'm tired of being alone.
Every night it's a different lair, a different name, a different job, a different life. And the only ones who understand want to put me in a cage.
You're the only one who really understands, because you're the only who knows me. Even Sydney in his role as protector and father is ignorant of the workings of my mind compared to you. And it tears me apart to know that you want to throw away the key to my life.
I want to go to you, I want to beg you not to chase me and I want to make you understand just what its like to live my life, but I won't. I can't do that to you.
I need to go to you and convince you to love me the same way I love you.
But my need for your soul and warmth refuses to overcome my unwillingness to do anything like that to you so soon after the death of the one you loved.
My back is pressed against the cold brick where I crouch on the balls of my feet, and as I think about you, I can feel the place where your back must be aching right now. I'm glad that I had the chance to save you, even if that meant three weeks of Lyle inside my head.
It was worth hearing your voice on the phone tonight, even laced with tears as it was.
I'm not far from you, no more than an hours drive. I want to see you so badly my mind is fighting with itself almost violently. Kicking and screaming and cajolling myself to visit you, even just to see your form through the window.
Finally the side of me that doesn't want to remind you of him gives up, and I stand wearilly. Moving to my car, the part of my mind that wants to see you jumps for joy, singing and laughing and praising itself and it's street fighting abilities.
I'd give almost anything to see you smile at me, to hear you laugh in actual merriment rather than just sarcasm or wry amusement. Your beautiful smile . . .
Your smile brightened my days as a child of the Centre, and the memory of the sound of your laughter kept me from giving up in times of hoplessness. You were my ray of sunshine when I couldn't even remember seeing the sky.
My car starts smoothly, and inexlipcably I'm hit with images of my sister. The few seconds I saw her with my mother years ago, and the picture I saved from a firey destruction. And with those images I realize that I don't even know what my own sisters voice sounds like.
Is it deep and throaty like yours, the woman I am on my way to see? Is it light and lilting and melodious like nothing I've ever heard before? For some reason I think it's a mixture of the two. Lilting and raspy. Pure Emily.
I can't ever remember meeting her, and already I have a handle on the kind of person she is. Smart and funny and a lover of yellow roses with a lilting lounge singer voice. Beautiful black hair I suddenly have a flash of pulling. What else are big brothers for?
Lost in thoughts of the sister I just barely missed finding, I realize with a shock that I'm not thinking about you anymore. I don't know if there has ever been a time when I didn't have you or something involving you somewhere in some part of mind, and I'm disconcerted by the discovery that I can forget about you, even for just a moment.
Flashes of our shared childhood float through my mind as I keep my eyes on the road.
I remember when I was sixteen and a too tall gangly fifteen year old who was all long bones and sharp angles in soft skin and dark hair taught me how to dance. That was the last time I ever heard you laugh.
You thought it was so funny that someone so smart could be so clumsy when it came to dancing, and I was very glad that you didn't figure out that I was being clumsy because I had my arms wrapped around a girl I had been in love with since before I knew what love was. I kept stepping on your feet and mumbling stuttered apolagies, and everytime it happened you would brush it off with a toss of your head, a little giggle, and we would keep going.
For hours I stumbled through the steps of every kind of dance you could think of to teach me, until you finally got frustrated and said, rather angrilly, "Hold me close, feel the music in your bones, and just move. It's not brain surgery."
And after that, I realy got it. I understood that dancing isn't about taking the proper steps, it's about being close to someone and expressing that with movements. And we twirled and danced long into the night.
Your father had a late meeting, and he forgot about you, so we spent the whole day and night dancing and playing. I cherish that memory of you more than any other, excluding only our kiss.
And now I'm in your driveway.
All the lights are off and the grounds are silent. At your window I look inside and see a sweater layng on the floor in the living room, discarded thoughtlessly. And following the path to your bedroom I see a pair of jeans.
I assume your asleep and that rationalization allows me to once again break into your house. Its a simple matter to disarm your alarm and pick the lock, and then I'm in.
I make my way through the house, immersing myself in your things, in your smell, in your life. I see the rabbit I gave you sleeping quietly in his cage, and I see a flash of you playing as a child in the midst of white fur.
Entering your room, it takes me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark, and when they do I am stunned.
You look dead. Limply laying on your stomach in your bra and panties, one arm falling over the edge of your bed, the dressing on your bullet wound dark red and beginning to drip down your too pale skin, masses of your thick black hair blocking out part of your face. The dressing needs to be changed, and I wonder only briefly why you didn't do it before you went to bed. Then I remember the sound of your voice on the phone a few hours earlier, and I know what happened.
You were too tired to do anything. I bet that for a while, you were even too tired to sleep.
Three men are living inside of me. One who loves you more than my breath and can't bear to wake you when you so obviously need your rest. One who cherishes his freedom almost as much as you. And the doctor in me who can't just sit here and watch you bleed, just as I couldn't watch you die out on that air strip.
Where were you during my second tenure as prized lab rat in the Centre? You never came to see me, and I learned very early not to ask about you. I know that you must have been in the hospital for at least part of the time, or you would be dead now, but the fact that your wound is still bleeding shocks me.
It should be healed. You shouldn't still be bleeding.
Did They put you somewhere to keep you away from me and what your twin was doing? Did your own twin put you away somewhere? I wouldn't put it past him, and he did claim ignorance of where you were.
I can barely see the movement of your ribcage as you breath. The tiny inhalations and exhalations that are my reason for being. Well, part of it anyway.
My doctor self can't take it anymore. I have to wake you up.
Gently, I lean down and brush the hair from your cheek, stroking your face lightly. Your skin is almost softer than I remember, like satin.
Like cold satin. You're too cold. You need to wake up. You need to wake up now.
I can hear the desperation in my voice as I call your name and berate myself for it, because if you hear it you will know. You'll know how I feel, and maybe someday you'll use that information against me.
The relief I feel as you stir is so great that for almost a second I can't breath, and I just try to make my heart keep beating using sheer will alone.
And then your eyes open, hooded blue surrounded by dark lashes, and recognition is so instantaneous that I almost miss the red rimms and puffyness, evidence of your tears. You sigh my name and all I want to do is hold you. So much pain, so much lonliness, and for the first time I know that you truly are the only one who understands who I have been forced to become.
We are the same. But instead of stealing you from the one you love like they did to me, they stole your love from you.
"What are you doing here?" Your voice if harsh from sleep and sobs and I become worried when you don't try to cover yourself. That's not like you.
Ignoring your very relevent question, I ask one of my own. "How long has it been since you changed your dressings?"
Instead of something sharp and scathing like I would expect, you answer simply. "Hours." I see your eyes fill with tears, and my heart litterally breaks from your pain.
I interrupted maybe the only chance you've had at peace for a long time now, and I'm more sorry for that for anything else I've ever done to you.
All you need is a little peace.
Okay, okay, okay. The next part will be coming soon. I hope. I pray. And everyone thank Nikki for being the most amazing Beta around!!! Yeah for Nikki!!!!!!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.