Fiction: A Rift
Feb. 28th, 2014 11:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyTitle: A Rift
World: Extranormal Crimes
Word count: 842
Prompt:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic Antique Brass 8, I want you to know that you can tell me things.; Moonlight 2, Half-asleep; hc_bingo: job-related trauma
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: (skip) Implied loss of a pregnancy.
Notes: Tosharpeningthebones's prompt to pair the Antique Brass and Moonlight prompts.
“Shh,” he said, stroking her hair. “Shh. Shh. It’s all right. It’s just a nightmare.”
“Mmg,” she said, shuddered, and turned her face into his hand. He stroked her jaw. She opened her eyes.
“Jared?” she muttered, her voice still thick with sleep, her eyelashes drifting down and up.
“It’s me,” he whispered, cupping her jaw firmly, wanting to reassure her that he was there, he was real. He was afraid to touch her anywhere else. “What are you afraid of?”
“What?” she mumbled. “I’m…” Her eyes snapped fully open suddenly, dark and fathomless in the night. “There’s nothing. I’m not afraid of anything.”
“You can tell me,” he said, but she was turning away, pulling her face out of his grasp and tucking the blankets tightly over her shoulder.
—
She didn’t wake him again that night with her nightmares; when he woke to the sun glittering through the curtains, she was already gone from the bed. He wandered into the bathroom and then the kitchen and then the basement, looking for her, but she had gone.
It was work, he knew. She had an important and difficult job, and there were few people who could do it—no one at all who could do exactly what she could. That was one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her, and he’d been so proud of her when the job wanted to reward her for her own special skills. But now it seemed that the job that should have been so good for them was just pulling them apart.
It was the weekend. He showered and made himself an elaborate breakfast. He ate it slowly while reading the newspaper. He kept his cell phone by his side, but she didn’t call.
He wanted to call her, find out what was going on, but he knew that was a bad idea. The last time he’d called to find out where she was, she’d nearly taken his head off, because he really should have known she’d be at work and she was busy. Besides, he knew that if she was in the middle of a case, calling her would only delay her.
He finished reading the newspaper. The cell phone sat still and silent. He opened it, just to make sure it was turned on, and then closed it again.
He went into the basement, turned on the news, and got on his elliptical. Every time he heard a noise, he stopped the machine, hoping it was her coming home, but it was either the house creaking or the television blasting or just his own ragged breathing echoing in his ears. By the time she did come home, he was too exhausted to say anything.
—
“Lynn,” he whispered. “Lynn.” Maybe her name would bring her back from the place of those nightmares. But it didn’t work.
“Shh.” He ran his hand down her arm. “You’re safe—“
She struck out with the arm, catching him in the jaw and nearly knocking him out of the bed. His curse of pain had her sitting up half-awake before he entirely realized what had happened.
“You can tell me,” he said, covering his jaw and staring at her.
She shook her head and turned away.
—
In the morning he had a bruise. Hopefully no one at work would ask him about it. He didn’t think he could manage to make a joke about it.
She left for work before he did. He did the dishes from breakfast, then left the house, a little earlier than he had to. He could get started early. Sometimes he was so grateful that his job involved working with caustic chemicals: it forced him to calm his mind, to narrow his focus until there was nothing in front of him but the work. Also, there was always the possibility of a cathartic explosion.
—
That was the night he found her pills.
He saw her in the bathroom mirror, her throat working as she swallowed a glass of water. He recognized that gesture; she didn’t swallow that hard if she was just drinking water. She was swallowing a pill. He watched her slip it back into her makeup shelf beneath the sink.
When she left the bathroom he went in and looked there. He picked up the little packet of pills. He didn’t have to open it to know what it was.
He turned around and she was standing there, watching him. “What is this, Lynn?” he asked her, holding out the pills. “I thought you wanted to try again.” Not that they’d had sex at all. Not that she’d even let him touch her except when she was asleep.
She took the pills out of his hand, calmly, but there was no calm in her dark eyes. “It’s my choice, Jared,” she said.
“Of course it’s your choice,” he said, confused, devastated. He was still holding his hand out toward her. “But…”
She turned away. He let his hand drop.
“Why?” he whispered. “You can tell me.”
She did not respond.
Did you enjoy this story? You can read more stories in this world or see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!
World: Extranormal Crimes
Word count: 842
Prompt:
rainbowfic Antique Brass 8, I want you to know that you can tell me things.; Moonlight 2, Half-asleep; hc_bingo: job-related traumaRating: PG-13
Warnings: (skip) Implied loss of a pregnancy.
Notes: To
sharpeningthebones's prompt to pair the Antique Brass and Moonlight prompts.“Shh,” he said, stroking her hair. “Shh. Shh. It’s all right. It’s just a nightmare.”
“Mmg,” she said, shuddered, and turned her face into his hand. He stroked her jaw. She opened her eyes.
“Jared?” she muttered, her voice still thick with sleep, her eyelashes drifting down and up.
“It’s me,” he whispered, cupping her jaw firmly, wanting to reassure her that he was there, he was real. He was afraid to touch her anywhere else. “What are you afraid of?”
“What?” she mumbled. “I’m…” Her eyes snapped fully open suddenly, dark and fathomless in the night. “There’s nothing. I’m not afraid of anything.”
“You can tell me,” he said, but she was turning away, pulling her face out of his grasp and tucking the blankets tightly over her shoulder.
—
She didn’t wake him again that night with her nightmares; when he woke to the sun glittering through the curtains, she was already gone from the bed. He wandered into the bathroom and then the kitchen and then the basement, looking for her, but she had gone.
It was work, he knew. She had an important and difficult job, and there were few people who could do it—no one at all who could do exactly what she could. That was one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her, and he’d been so proud of her when the job wanted to reward her for her own special skills. But now it seemed that the job that should have been so good for them was just pulling them apart.
It was the weekend. He showered and made himself an elaborate breakfast. He ate it slowly while reading the newspaper. He kept his cell phone by his side, but she didn’t call.
He wanted to call her, find out what was going on, but he knew that was a bad idea. The last time he’d called to find out where she was, she’d nearly taken his head off, because he really should have known she’d be at work and she was busy. Besides, he knew that if she was in the middle of a case, calling her would only delay her.
He finished reading the newspaper. The cell phone sat still and silent. He opened it, just to make sure it was turned on, and then closed it again.
He went into the basement, turned on the news, and got on his elliptical. Every time he heard a noise, he stopped the machine, hoping it was her coming home, but it was either the house creaking or the television blasting or just his own ragged breathing echoing in his ears. By the time she did come home, he was too exhausted to say anything.
—
“Lynn,” he whispered. “Lynn.” Maybe her name would bring her back from the place of those nightmares. But it didn’t work.
“Shh.” He ran his hand down her arm. “You’re safe—“
She struck out with the arm, catching him in the jaw and nearly knocking him out of the bed. His curse of pain had her sitting up half-awake before he entirely realized what had happened.
“You can tell me,” he said, covering his jaw and staring at her.
She shook her head and turned away.
—
In the morning he had a bruise. Hopefully no one at work would ask him about it. He didn’t think he could manage to make a joke about it.
She left for work before he did. He did the dishes from breakfast, then left the house, a little earlier than he had to. He could get started early. Sometimes he was so grateful that his job involved working with caustic chemicals: it forced him to calm his mind, to narrow his focus until there was nothing in front of him but the work. Also, there was always the possibility of a cathartic explosion.
—
That was the night he found her pills.
He saw her in the bathroom mirror, her throat working as she swallowed a glass of water. He recognized that gesture; she didn’t swallow that hard if she was just drinking water. She was swallowing a pill. He watched her slip it back into her makeup shelf beneath the sink.
When she left the bathroom he went in and looked there. He picked up the little packet of pills. He didn’t have to open it to know what it was.
He turned around and she was standing there, watching him. “What is this, Lynn?” he asked her, holding out the pills. “I thought you wanted to try again.” Not that they’d had sex at all. Not that she’d even let him touch her except when she was asleep.
She took the pills out of his hand, calmly, but there was no calm in her dark eyes. “It’s my choice, Jared,” she said.
“Of course it’s your choice,” he said, confused, devastated. He was still holding his hand out toward her. “But…”
She turned away. He let his hand drop.
“Why?” he whispered. “You can tell me.”
She did not respond.
Did you enjoy this story? You can read more stories in this world or see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!