Small Things
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.
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Slightly AU post BT
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.
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.
*************************
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 Winona from your thigh, unbuckle your belt. It’s drops to the floor and you watch her eyelids flutter as you slide Winona beneath your pillow.
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.