title: under
author: nw’s chick
summary: dick needs some tlc
warning: danger! danger, will robinson! the beginning of this fic has some graphic descriptions. bad, bad evil things… just so that ya know.
*-*-*
I put my face in my hands. I don’t know if I’m crying or shaking, or both. I don’t have the strength to hold it anymore though…
I’m in the boathouse, the boat just docked. The fire….
The only way I could get anywhere near the fire was by sea….
I wish I could stop smelling it. If I could get the stench of burning flesh out of my nose, maybe I would stop seeing it. Hearing the screams, the people, the *children* begging for help. I could stop feeling the heat. The fear. I wish I could, but I can’t, I can’t stop seeing it…
The taste of bile is still in my mouth. I really wish I could stop tasting *that*, maybe I could get my stomach in order if I could just…
The boys behind the alley were 12, tops. They couldn’t have been older than that. What the *fuck* was wrong with them, that they would do that to a 4 year old…
No. No. I… I have to stop. I can’t… no.
I couldn’t do anything to help with the fire. Three buildings in the Zee Mores went up in flames, the fire started, God knows how, and spreading so fast that by the time the first fire truck was on the scene, one building was already almost to the ground.
There were elderly there, probably felt their lungs filling with smoke before they heard an alarm, if the alarms even went off…
No! No, I can’t *do* this, I can’t….
It had to be arson. Most likely. Although, the projects were so poorly constructed…
I heard on the radio that 75 people are estimated to be dead, more injured.
The little girl in the alley was bald when I got there, cuts and scrapes all over her, she was just *naked* and big clumps of hair and blood…
Stop! Dammit, fucking hell, just stop! Stop thinking, stop feeling, just *stop*!
I had gone back there to vomit. The stench had been unbearable. There were four boys, and I didn’t even recognize what was between them at first.
It sure as hell didn’t look human, much less like a four year old girl.
Christ, what the *fuck* was wrong with those boys!!??! Why, why does shit like this *happen*? What had that girl done, what had *any* of those people *done*?
What the fuck does justice mean? I can’t believe there is such a thing, not tonight.
Christ. Why? Just… why. Fuck.
I was shaking, but not crying. I didn’t even have the energy for tears. I have nothing left. I’m empty. Dead. I wish I was dead.
I couldn’t help any of them. The girl died, in horrible agony. The people, all died, of heat and suffocation. I couldn’t do a thing.
I am empty.
Without a word, he brings me to my feet, and begins to divest me of my clothes as he brings me to the water’s edge. I try to speak, but I don’t know that words. I can’t feel.
When I am naked, too, he puts his hands and his mouth on me, speaking words that weave magic into my throat, through me. He alters the condition of my being, and I can *feel* the magic so deep in me… I was still breathing. He pulls away from me long enough to give me a crooked smile, and then he pulls me to the water.
At first, as always, I try to hold my breath, and when I do gasp under all the pressure, I feel like I’ve been set free from my captivity. It occurs to me that this is how Garth always feels when he first takes in water again, but before my synapses can complete the circuit of that thought, we are moving, propelled through the water by Garth’s magic, pushing the currents, purifying the water as we pass through it. We move so fast, I can’t see anything but motion.
We spin and turn, the bubbles and the churn of water reminding me of cheap science fiction shows. Purple light and energy surrounds us.
I am oddly at home.
We stop, and it takes a moment for me to realize it. I look up, around, everywhere. There isn’t much to see but Garth. He’s perfect, his nude body outlined in violet.
He smiles, a rakishly beautiful smile that makes me want to laugh, even now, and brings his hands together, as if in prayer. His eyes close, and I can see each lash outlined in the energy of his magic spilling out of his eyes. His hands glow from the inside, and he separates them, as he opens his eyes, smiling broader.
He holds the light of the sun in his hands, but miraculously, it isn’t hard to look at. It illuminates without burning.
As he separates his hands further, the light dissipates, filling the chamber we are in. I gasp, as I really *see*.
We are in a groove of an iceberg, the long slanting walls made of thick, heavy ice bigger than any mountain I’ve ever climbed. It’s like being in a crystal palace, light everywhere, reflecting and disintegrating into the ice.
I turn to Garth, who is looking serious now. He pulls me to him, tenderly, and we twine ourselves around each other, intimately associating all of our appendages within and around one another.
He kisses me, and I *feel* him, in me, around me, within me, holding me together as with his fingers and tongue he tears me apart.
Magic weaves around us in grand spirals. Everywhere Garth touches me becomes hypersensitive. I *feel* my whole body being spun into a spring, tighter and more tense than I have ever felt before.
Garth’s hand on the base of my cock and my own training are the only things that prevent me from exploding after 5 seconds.
He whispers, with such lilting beauty, into my ear,
He has me, he holds me.
I am safe.
I am bliss.
*-*-*
It’s dawn before we return home. I’m going to miss a shift, but who the fuck cares, I’m far too well fucked and exhausted right now to help anyone.
I call in as we drive home, as Garth drives me home, and I don’t care how many ‘sick’ days I’ve taken so far, I really and truly don’t.
I rest my head on Garth’s shoulder, fuzzy and content.
“Garth?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeats?”
He grins. “It was the only book of poetry you have. I figured it must be special.”
I look off into the distance, seeing nothing that is really there. “It was my mother’s,” I say softly, as if remembering. “She loved all things Irish. Her heritage was important to her. She read those to me as a child.”
He looks at me, I can tell even though I’m faced away from him. “Did she read that one to you?”
I chuckle at the way Garth has transformed that poem for me. “She did. You read it better.”
He grins.
“Garth?”
“Yeah?”
“When you need me to, do I take care of you the way you take care of me?”
He pauses. He never speaks in haste. “When I feel I haven’t the courage to continue the fight, you are there to bolster me by example, in the way of a true leader. When I feel isolated, you have a casual way of being intimate that makes me feel at home. You have a strange and charming sense of humor that lightens me at the most unexpected times. I suspect that we together support each other like that, unconsciously, all the time. But, when I heard the news last night…”
“I don’t want to think about last night.” I speak quickly, but without the bitterness I would expect to be speaking with so soon afterwards.
“I know, brat,” he speaks with such gentle affection, as he rubs his cheek against the top of my head, “I just mean… it was unusual. I think that under similar circumstances, that yes, you would take care of me like that.” He pauses, and I know he isn’t finished. “I just haven’t lost my faith since we have come together yet.”
I hear all the unsaid things, but just snuggle closer, content in my certainty that he knows.
“With a faery hand in hand, indeed,” I snicker. He smiles with smug affection.
He steals me all over again.
*-*-* end *-*-*