Small
Things
Notes: This is the companion to Pieces. You don’t have to have read that
to read this, they can be/are stand alone fics. However,
they were written as bookends, and are better off together. Beta props and
thanks for the opening line from the Cure to Eva. Drive-by
review shout-outs to Agent Rouka, Kaz, and Susan.
As always, all mistakes remain mine.
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Post BT and PKW
Spoilers: Barely, and only if you’ve
never seen the show.
Warnings: No for sex. No for violence. No for language.
Not even one bad word. Maybe for dark, adult themes. Depends on your tolerances. YMMV.
Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. It all
belongs to Henson, et.al. No copyright infringement
intended. No money being made.
However long I stay
I will always love you
Love Song by the Cure
The sheets are
warm and smooth against your skin, comfortable and comforting, your own
personal cocoon.
You remember
sharing this with her. Your world. Your
life. All of it right here with her. Your body keeping
your promises of a lifetime.
You reach for
her in the night, always craving connection.
The war had
broken over you in a wave, tidal, dragging and pulling you under. So you’d
engaged, destroyed dreadnaughts, command carriers, armadas, and worlds.
Half out of
your mind and pushed one step too far, you hadn’t cared whose. You’d had more
important things to consider.
But in the
end, when it was over, after you’d blustered and broken and brokered, you were
blond again and you had what you’d always wanted.
She’s always
here. Satin skin cool under your fingers as they glide along familiar hills and
valleys. You can feel her under your hand, welcoming your touch. You.
You murmur in
the dark, your love, your hopes, your dreams. Her breath is warm against your
chest where you cradle her, her touch always gentle when you bring her hand to
you.
She loves you.
And as you
press more tightly to her, clinging to each other, liquid movement, effortless
grace, smooth friction, she whispers your name and you come home.
***************
It’s good to
finally escape the labyrinth corridors and find your way out of the complex.
Twin
vivid pink suns glow in a pale purple sky as a scent that stirs a remembrance of
spring, some deep memory of jasmine and lavender wafting in the warm, mid-day
breeze.
Kiosks
overflowing with brightly colored fabrics and merchants with sparkling stones
and finery line the way, calling to the milling throng. But you have a
destination, a place you want to be. Everything else can wait.
You wrap your
arm around her waist, pull her close. She settles in against you as you synch
into step. A full-body feeling of joy spreads through you, anchored deep in
your cells. You feel your blood dancing in your veins as synapses fire happily.
You know
you’re grinning like a loon.
A quick turn
of your head, a quick step to the left sends you in the right direction.
Navigating the ground transports, you quickly find yourself entering the arched
gateway. Immediately it’s quieter, calmer on the narrower lane winding its way
in front of you.
Sunlight
glints through the canopy of green, glistens in her hair as you bury your nose,
breathe deep, and press your lips to her temple. You can feel her smile against
your neck as you bend your free arm behind your back to drum gentle fingertips
against her arm.
She slides her
hand into yours, fingertips laced as you slowly pull it back,
curl it around you to wrap your waist.
You run the
mental map you hold in your head and at the first junction branch off toward
the stone stairs in the distance. It’s just you and your girl in the spring
time sun.
At the top of
the steps you find what you want. Sparkling purple-blue water
lapping at the shore of a pond. Beyond the stone surround, a field of
bluegrass stretches as far as you can see.
White winged avians circle the pond, glide on the breeze, walk boldly on the sun-warmed stone, demanding tribute for
sharing their space with visitors like you.
You stop at an
open-air eatery, order the mid-day special to go and a loaf of bread. She takes
the bread, you take the basket and find your way to
the shore of the pond.
White water
fowl sail smoothly on the gently moving water, black tipped wings and beaks
start in the shimmering reflection of sunlight off the glassy surface.
You sit her
next to you on a low stone bench, break the loaf in half, hand
small pieces to her as a crowd of white makes its way quickly to you. Gentle
fingers offer up small pieces to the attentive throng.
She’s calm and
centered and quiet in ways you never thought you’d see, much less appreciate,
but sitting here in the sun you feel your lips slide into a quiet smile as your
eyes take her in, the way the sun lights the shadows on her face, the ripples
of light waving in her hair.
You read her
so completely now, see every nuance in her eyes, feel every one on her skin.
It’s a gift. One that you cherish, it warms you down deep in your soul just
like the sun on your skin.
She looks up
at you, eyes bright and shining. You offer her your hand and she rises, still fluid grace. Your fingers curled around hers,
you walk together to a spot in the grass.
She folds her
legs beneath her, settles elegantly. You mirror her,
run your hands through the living carpet beneath you, soft and lush, that
brings a sense memory to life. Something you’ve always wanted to share with
her.
She’s looking
at you, head tilted, eyes soft and smiling, full red lips parted slightly over
perfect white teeth. Parsing the delicate intricacies that
are you.
“Why are you
smiling?”
“We’re having
a baby,” you whisper as you lean over to take her face in your hands, nuzzle
her nose, kiss her lips.
“A baby,” she
murmurs, warm breath ghosting along your cheek.
You feel her
smile as you lean your forehead against hers, feel the
sun and her joy, scent the softness of the air and her hair.
You thank
whatever deity has seen fit to gift you so.
***************
You lay on
your backs in the grass, side by side, fused head to hip, your right leg laced
to her left. She’s using your arm as a pillow, and you cradle her close, linked
hands resting comfortably above her heart. Your free hand comes up occasionally
to point out an interesting cloud, but mostly you’re just quiet and content,
lying here with her and your thoughts.
The first diagnosian, and every one after that, had patiently
explained to you in terms you eventually understood that part of her brain, the
part that corresponded roughly to the parietal lobe in yours, was missing.
Striking
deficits she could have had, but didn’t.
Agraphia, acalculia, aphasia.
Striking
deficits she could have had, and did.
Apraxia, agnosia, ocular apraxia, optic ataxia, left-right disorientation,
contra-lateral neglect.
You’d taken
stock, counted your blessings, counted yourself lucky. She was yours, always
and forever, given to you irrevocably by a finally smiling fate.
The day you’d
married her had been the happiest day of your life. You carry her in your head,
heart, and soul. She carries you inside of her.
You turn your head, breathe a sigh and a kiss against her temple.
“What?”
Your free hand
reaches over and you wrap her in your arms, nudge her over onto you. You
imagine that you feel the gentle swell of her belly against you, the softly rounded
beginning of your child.
Your hands
cradle hers, bring them to your lips. You lay a kiss in each palm,
slide them along your cheeks. As she gently glides her fingers up through your
hair, you trail the backs of yours up her arms, her collar bone, the elegant length of her neck.
You brush
stray strands of hair behind her ear, tracing the delicate shell as she shivers
under your touch. You trace her jawline, run your fingers along her lips, her cheek, her eyebrow,
her nose. Feel her shiver again under your touch, your hands.
Feel her
respond to you.
You cup her
head, nuzzling noses and she rests her forehead against yours.
“Are you
happy?”
Her smile
tells you everything you need to know.
“Do you like
it here?”
“It’s very
nice,” she breathes against your lips, “for a planet.”
“Wanna spend a
little time?”
“You want to
have the baby born here?”
“It’s a nice
rock. We’ll find a place to stay,” you murmur as your hand trails down the fine
line of her spine. “Moya’s in orbit and she and Pilot can chill for a few solar
days. We’ll get some quality time together before the baby comes.”
You’ve seen
too many things go pear-shaped in your lives. Go south farther and faster than
you ever imagined. You won’t risk her,
this, to anything less than the best you can find.
Once, you
thought you’d forgotten how to dream. That she’d never known how.
You’re both
dreamers.
You’ve killed
for this. For the chance to be glad with what you’ve got.
Be done with what you’ve lost. Your whole life is stretched out here before and
with you.
“We’ll go back
up to Moya. Tell Pilot. Pack a few things. Come back.”
“Sounds like a
plan to me,” she exhales softly with a small smile.
“Very
funny, missy.”
You run your
fingers through her hair, free it to fall in a shimmering
curtain over you. You feel the grass beneath you, her covering you, the suns
shining on you both.
“Right now I
have plans for you.”
You cradle her
face in your hands, curve one around to cup her head, slide the other to trail
down her spine, wrap her waist, pull her closer to you
as you kiss her.
***************
You stand in
the doorway and watch her sleep, bathed in the warm golden glow of Moya’s sleep
cycle that streams in from the corridor.
She’s curled
on her side. One arm folded back, hand buried in the spill of flowing black
that fanned out on her pillow, the other a small fist tucked just beneath her
chin. Long, slender legs that you’ve always loved pulled up close, her thin
frame a faint outline under the sheet.
You palm open
the grate and step inside, listen to the soft whoosh as it closes behind you.
You stand and listen to the quiet, listen to her breathe, feeling the rhythms
of your own body fall into sync.
You let your
eyes adjust, and then run them along the familiar hills and valleys of her body,
hungrily taking in the long lashes brushing against translucent skin stretched
taut across the angles and planes of her perfect face. Skin
that’s still smooth satin against your touch.
You’ve never
tired of seeing this, watching her. Even cycles on when small
streams of silver run through the river of black. She’s ageless and
beautiful. And when you look at her you see your life, your love, your dreams
your hope.
The best of you.
She sleeps
more now. While your eyes in the mirror tell you that you have more silver
threaded through your short, fair hair, your heart tells you that she has less
time.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You banish the
thought with ease, long cycles of practice. You’ve been given more than you’d
ever dare hope for and you are still counting your blessings.
You’re quiet
and content as you move across the cell, comfortable in your routine as you unstrap
She’d never
again held her weapon, but she had held her children. Your
children. You’d given her that, but you’d always wondered how much she
remembered and hoped it had been enough.
You pull your
shirt out of your leathers, ruck it up over your
shoulders and head, free your arms and toss it into the corner. Your leathers
slide over your hips to puddle on the floor, and with a flick of your foot they
land in the chair closest to you.
You pull back
the sheet on your side of the bed, slide easily into your spot and roll to your
side. The sheets are warm and smooth against your skin, comfortable and
comforting, your own personal cocoon.
Sleepy
blue-grey eyes gaze softly at you as you reach for her in the night, always
craving connection. Full red lips part slightly as you rest your hand in the
hollow of her hip.
“Sorry I woke
you.”
“It’s all
right, I was waiting for you.”
You remember
sharing this with her. You waited for her. She waited for you. And then you
waited together.
“The kids are
on their way home.”
Your
world. Your life. All of it right here with her. Your
body keeping your promises of a lifetime.
You murmur in
the dark, your love, your hopes, your dreams. Her breath is warm against your
chest where you cradle her, her touch always gentle when you bring her hand to
you.
It won’t be long, now.