First Words Part II
by elfin
(Intersections story viii)
I feel ridiculously like a puppy dog, but Stephen's fingers in my hair
are the most comforting thing I've known in a while and I wish he'd
just leave them there when he goes off to do whatever it is he has to
do. I know he's a busy man and I'm well over the age of being
this needy but everything hurts so much and it's nice....
Damnit.
I can hear voices - Stephen's and Michael's - and I know when Michael
comes to sit with me. I know I need to face him, to apologise.
I failed him.
After everything we'd been to one another I never thought to ask why he
was so angry with me, never thought to question his behaviour with
Stephen or Lyta. Was too caught up in my own problems, my own
war. With Delenn. If I'm honest with myself, I don't know
what I was thinking. When I returned from Z'Ha'Dum I was drawn to
her in a different way than before. She stood for the power I
wanted, the strength I needed. And all I could see was Michael
fucking it up for us. How the hell do I ask him to forgive me
that?
He hasn't touched me, he's just sitting there. Looking at him, I
know how much he's blaming himself. That's partly why he hasn't
stayed around when I'm awake, I think. He can't face me.
Oh, Mike. What have they done to us? How hard must it be
for you to sit there?
*"God, John, I'm sorry."*
No, Michael. You have nothing to be sorry for. I have to
tell him. I have to speak to him. I wish I could remember
Kosh's lesson. But as hard as I try, I can't. They fried my
brain in that cell and although Stephen's assured me there's no
permanent damage, it's all confused. Like a thief's gone through
my mind and messed it all up. I'm worried Michael's going to walk
away again and I can't understand why he's not touching me.
Childish, I know, but I hate being isolated.
So I start tapping my thumb on the bed. It reminds me of an
impertinent kid but after what I've been through I figure this little
dent in my dignity's not going to make much difference. When
you've had countless men's cocks up your ass it really leaves your
dignity in tatters.
It worked - the thumb tapping I mean. He's looking at me and all I can do is gaze back.
Come on, Mike, you need this as badly as I do - don't let that bastard Bester destroy us.
It's amazing what a difference that one touch makes, even if it's the
tenuous cover of his hand. The best I can do is squeeze his
finger and smile.
Ow. That's opened up one of the cracks in my lips - I can taste
the blood. But hey, it was worth it because if you believe the
look on his face, all his Christmas' have come at once.
It's not that that great, Mike, it's only me.
*"'Sorry' doesn't come close, I know that."*
Oh, Mike.
*"It's a million miles from how I feel and it... it could never be enough to make up for this."*
You don't have to make up for this! You didn't do this!
Bester did, Clarke did. Not you. All I can do is hold on to
his finger. I keep trying to speak but there's no sound, no
words. Not even a whisper because that would have been enough to
hang me.
Best not to think about that.
I need to remember. Kosh taught me to put blocks in my own mind,
real ones, ones that hid memories or knowledge not only from others but
from myself too. I used that in the cell. I blocked my own
ability to speak. But now... I can't remember how and I
can't remember the password.
Password - there's a password, a key to the block. What the hell would I have been thinking of?
I can see the tears in his eyes and want to wipe away the answering
moisture in mine, but I don't. I just keep trying to remember.
Through the whole ordeal on Mars, Michael was at the forefront of my
mind. I used him to focus my anger, hatred, self-loathing, every
feeling, every emotion.
Deliberately saying his name in my head doesn't have the slightest
affect. It wouldn't. I wouldn't have used anything so
obvious, anything I might have accidentally sent in times of stress.
But it must be linked. Must be.
*"John? Say something."*
Looking at him I try again to speak but I can't - it won't come!
He's going to call Stephen, I can see it in his eyes. They
haven't realised that I can't speak rather than won't - but Michael
knows. He knows now like he's always known me, inside and out.
Inside....
Daffy! It's Daffy!
"Michael."
Was that me? Oh, God, my throat hurts.
It was me. Michael's leaning down and I can feel him drop a
gentle kiss to my thumb. I did it! Think I'll stick to
whispering though. Wonder why my throat hurts?
Doesn't matter. I can't return the kiss, not with him down there
anyway and I know he's not coming any closer yet. But I can
acknowledge it at least, touch those incredibly soft lips.
He's looking at me now and I try again, keeping it to a whisper. "Nothing to forgive," seems to sum it up quite well.
*"How can you say that?"*
How do I answer that one? The words won't form themselves quickly
enough and it's frustrating. I shake my head once, wishing I
could launch into one of my famous speeches.
*"I betrayed you."*
No, Mike....
*"You can't tell me you didn't hate me in there, can't tell me you sat
and imagined tearing me limb from limb as long as you could think
straight."*
I did. God forgive me, that's exactly what I did. It
helped. There was so much violence and the only place I could
fight back was in my head.
Michael, I'm so sorry....
The alarms are going again - too damn sensitive.
Stephen's going to go mental at this little scene.... Thought so.
But it gives me a second to take a couple of deep breaths. And if he'll just listen to his patient....
"It's okay, Stephen. He needs to talk and I need to hear it."
He's staring at me and the expression on his face is actually vaguely
amusing. I haven't laughed in... I can't remember how long.
*"Speaking of talking...."*
How do I put this?
"I think... I stopped myself."
He understands, I knew he would.
*"So that you wouldn't talk, wouldn't tell them anything, wouldn't say... whatever it was they wanted you to say."*
"Not ever."
Glancing at Michael I can see the cogs turning but he's not saying a
word. We so need to talk but I don't know how much strength I
have for this right now.
Stephen's leaving us alone again. He's so protective now, it's
going to be months before he lets me out of his sight at this rate.
Mind you, given that most of me is broken, bruised, stitched and
bandaged, and there seems to be more tubes coming out of me than I can
count, I'm grateful for it right now.
My thoughts are wondering again - means I'm close to dropping off to
sleep. I have to say something that will hold us, just for now
until we can really talk.
"Mike."
He's come closer, my thumb tucked into his palm, his thumb rubbing my
hand gently. It's very relaxing and it's definitely not helping
me fight the need to sleep.
It must be obvious my eyelids are drooping because he's talking softly.
*"It's okay, John. Sleep, I'm not going anywhere."*
Maybe not, Mike, but to be honest, I don't know if I am.
Stephen's glossed over enough details of my condition that I know
things aren't good.
Still, best not to think about that right now. Think about his
hand on my head, fingers in my hair. Has Stephen been passing
this on?
Whatever. It's nice. Think I've said that before. What was I going to say to him?
That's it.
"Mike... don't let Bester win. Please. Stay with me."
*"You have my word. Whatever it takes, John, whatever you need."*
You, Mike. I need you.
But I can't summon the strength to say it.
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