trigger_man (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trigger_man) wrote2010-11-06 02:02 am
trigger_man) wrote2010-11-06 02:02 am
Conversations With Dead People
When Jack closes his eyes, he’s surrounded by the familiar environs of his room in Milliways, curled in his bed as a few rays of moonlight slant through chinks in the blinds.
When he opens them, it’s to a room which is nearly as dim, just as familiar, but nowhere near as comfortable. Concrete walls, blue lighting embedded in the walls, a one-way mirror dominating one wall.
It’s a room he’s seen so many times in his dreams--his nightmares--but this feels so much more real than it ever has before. The walls close in, the air feels oppressive, like a weight on his chest.
The dreams never go anywhere good from here.
When he opens them, it’s to a room which is nearly as dim, just as familiar, but nowhere near as comfortable. Concrete walls, blue lighting embedded in the walls, a one-way mirror dominating one wall.
It’s a room he’s seen so many times in his dreams--his nightmares--but this feels so much more real than it ever has before. The walls close in, the air feels oppressive, like a weight on his chest.
The dreams never go anywhere good from here.
no subject
This place almost was her grave; she didn't have any useful information to hide or to share once she retreated so far inside herself it seemed she'd never return. But even then, it was never silent here.
"It's okay," she says, keeping her voice low as they creep down the hall. "We're still safe. I know we are."
She reaches for Jack's hand, her fingers glancing along his knuckles.
"It's not like before."
no subject
“I know it isn’t,” he says, softly, squeezing her hand. It’s just not that simple to turn off the instincts that have been beaten into him, even as he realizes that this place isn’t that place.
They walk down the hallway, Jack taking quick looks in each of the cells as they pass by, the part of him still expecting some kind of surprise attack warring with the part that doesn’t want to look inside the cells because he remembers all too well what they look like. The smell of the place, the sound of their footsteps on the floor and the familiar surroundings is so heavy he can feel bile rising in the back of his throat.
The door at the end of the hallway is open a crack, light spilling through onto the floor. Something tells him they have to go through it, but they can’t do it together; he’s not sure how he knows, he just does.
But at the same time...
He turns to Audrey, his throat starting to close. “I know we can’t stay here, and I know we can’t leave here together, but part of me doesn’t want to let you go.”
no subject
She's safe, he's safe, they're safe.
Cheng isn't here, the guards won't drag her back to a cell; she won't ever feel the sting of dozens of needles piercing her skin again, pumping her so full of chemicals she can't remember her birthday or her mother's name.
Jack won't be held for weeks and months in a forgotten concrete cube, dying a little more every day for a country that left him behind.
Fingers tightening around his, she attempts a tiny smile.
"But you have to," she says, soft and sad.
She swallows, regret thick on her tongue.
"That's why we're here."
no subject
That doesn’t mean that he necessarily wants to be right.
His eyes and throat are burning and he blinks quickly, clearing his throat in the hopes that she won’t see just how much he’s struggling, but it’s difficult. Walking away from her in L.A. had been difficult, but since then it had been a deep, gnawing ache that never really went away. It’s only now that he has to walk away from her again, now that he knows he really has to move on, that tears start to threaten.
Cupping her cheek in his hand, he looks into her eyes, sincerity in his expression.
“I want you to get better, I want you to be happy. Don’t worry about me. Just...come back to the people that care about you. You’re a strong woman, Audrey. It won’t be easy, but you can do it.”
no subject
This ache is sharper, deeper.
A kaleidoscope of memories whirl and click, bleeding from soft-focus to full relief as her eyes meet Jack's.
("Your name is Audrey Raines. You were born Audrey Louise Heller in Albany, New York. Your father was the Secretary of Defense, James Heller. Your mother's name is Alicia, she died when you were nine.")
She thought she'd steeled herself for this.
("I hope one day you can forgive me. I love you with all my heart.")
Blinking hard, she nods, committing the warmth and weight of his touch somewhere secret and sacred.
"I'm halfway there," she says, closing her eyes to keep any tears from falling. "So don't worry about me."
She lifts one hand, fitting her palm against the back of his at her cheek.
"I want you to live. Don't just survive."
no subject
“I’ll try, I promise.” It’s the best he can do without outright lying. All he’s known for the last two and a half years--maybe longer--is survival. Learning to live, or even feeling that he deserves to, is going to take longer, but hearing it from her just might help.
There’s a moment of silence before he adds, “If you can, find someone you can be happy with.”
no subject
When she pulls back just enough to look at him, the weight of everything said and unspoken fills her red-rimmed eyes.
"You, too."
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Pushing back, he lets go of her quickly and blinks to try and clear the tears in his eyes.. This isn’t going to be any easier by drawing it out; it’ll just prolong the pain for both of them.
“You go first. I’ll be right behind you.”
The words ‘I love you’ are on the tip of his tongue, but he holds them back. They aren’t words that need to be spoken; they both know. This goodbye is difficult enough. If he’s going to do what she asks, he has to put her and how much he cares about her behind him.
no subject
With a small nod, she forces herself not to reach for him again.
Turning, she takes one step.
Another.
And another, toward the light.
no subject
this is the Audrey you need to remember, not the one that wouldn’t look you in the eye and that shrank from your touch, not the one unconscious and hooked up to an IV, remember the one she could be again
--before she disappears.
Without a single glance around him, he grabs the doorknob and steps through the doorway into the light, closing his eyes against the brightness as he pulls the door firmly shut behind him.
When he opens his eyes again; darkness surrounds him, and it takes him a moment to realize where he is: his room, his bed, in Milliways. His surroundings now feel as real as the ones he’d just left, but somehow he knows this isn’t some extension of the dream. There’s no one around, no sound other than the distant low hum of life somewhere nearby, and his cheeks are wet with tears.
He has to get out.
He’s not sure just what prompts the sudden urge to leave. Not wanting to stay in a place that can do those kinds of things to his dreams. A need for space that goes on forever and that he knows doesn’t loop back on itself. Maybe he just wants to get away from the people that know him well enough to ask what’s wrong because he’s certain he won’t be able to hide the deep, hollow pain in his chest and he doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Whatever it is, he needs out, this minute, and he’s spent so long listening to his instincts that he’s out of bed and getting dressed in an instant, without really even thinking about it.
He’d walked in with the clothes on his back and his wallet in his pocket; that’s all he needs to take with him. In less than five minutes, he’s on his way downstairs, where he slips out the door and back to his world, unnoticed.