6-20-2001

Title: This is Time (or Lament)
Author: C
Archive: http://stellarsoldiers.homestead.com/StellarSoldierspage2.html
Rating: ::shrugs:: G or PG?
Pairing/s: That's left to you
Warning/s: Slight angst, POV
Feedback: Please!
Note/s: This fic was heavily inspired by "Lament" from the Evita opera (disc two soundtrack). Lyrics inspiring it are posted. (More notes following fic)

 

{ The choice was mine and mine completely
I could have any prize that I desired
I could burn with the splendor of the brightest fire
Or else--or else I could choose time
Remember I was very young then
And a year was forever and a day
So what use could fifty, sixty, seventy be?
I saw the lights and I was on my way
And how I lived!
How they shone!
But how soon the lights were gone!
--"Lament" (Evita soundtrack) }

 

Each day more your body is slowing. Each day more your strength diminishes. Each day more a bit of you dies.

When I enter your room, you lift your head and offer me a smile. Each day more the light in your eyes fades. "Good morning," you say to me. I don't understand how you can still appear so content. Even when you can only lie in your bed, your body unable to support itself completely. I can only stand by, as helpless as you have become, because you refuse my help.

"Good morning," I say, stepping inside no further. Your room is full of windows, all open and letting in the morning light. "He's here, as scheduled." I look at you expectedly.

Your head is turned away, looking out a window again. You say, "As scheduled? I don't remember that. Tell him there's been a mistake and send him away."

"Again?" I say. "Everytime he comes, you send him away. You can't keep doing this." I want to shake you so that you realize. But I keep myself calm and my voice only sounds observant.

You say quietly, "Send him away, okay?" Each day more your voice is meeker.

"But the plans --"

"Okay?" You look at me. 'Don't make me beg,' your tone, your gaze pleads.

The only time I have approached your bedside was the day you could no longer stand alone. I helped you into your bed and that was all. Others were here to bring your food, to make your bed, to tidy your room. I never stood within three meters of your bedposts. I have always kept to the door because you refusded my help. But now I venture to your side and stay there. You're startled, I can see on your face.

I say to you, "The plans must be made."

Your face falls.

"No, they don't," you try to insist, looking down at your hands. "No plans must be made. I'm fine, all right? It's just - just the flu or something. I will be okay."

"You won't," I say gently. "You won't ever be okay any more. You can hardly move your own body, for God's sa --"

"I'm fine!" you say, glaring at me then aburptly turning away. "I can see it, why can't you?"

I shake my head, even though you won't look at me. I tell you, "You're not fine. You are dying. All of us can see that. Why can't you?"

You raise your hands -- balled into fists now -- to your face. "I'm not dying," you protest weakly, into your tightly curled fingers. "I've faced death before, a thousand times before, and this can't be it. I'm not dying."

"Then what do you call this?" I ask.

You smile at me again. Each day more your smile saddens. "It could have been different for me, you know," you say. "It could have been different for all of us. I could have blazed with the brightest star. I could have stopped my suffering and ended in glory. But instead," you sigh, "instead, I choose time." You pause. "We've all chosen time." I only look at you with a confused statement. "I'm not dying," you say in a whisper. "This is time."

Your hands have long since fallen to your bedsheets and your lifted head lays once more against your pillow. Each day more you grow more tired than usual. "I'm sorry," you say, a bit of sleepiness creeping into your voice, "but the choice was mine. Tell the lawyer to stay away. My plan is to stay here, until the time comes. And then I think you'll know what to do after. You always seemed ... to know."

I nod and watch your eyes flutter.

"No need for worry anymore," I say to you, tucking you in your bed like a child. "We'll take care of everything. Sleep now." I press my lips to your forehead. You smile.

Then you murmur as you drift off, "Tell everyone, all right? Tell them I said good night." You snuggle further into your mattress. Each day more you are become frail.

I have my hand on the knob and turn back to look at you. The morning sun still bursts through the windows, falling on the floor and the walls, shining on you. I say again, "Sleep now," and close the door behind me.

Each day more Time takes you away ...

... From us.

 

[End]

_____________

I didn't mark it as a death fic because no one actually dies.

Okay, more notes. I saw this fic from four different POVs. They were (1)Heero-POV with Duo dying; (2)Trowa-POV with Quatre dying; (3) Dorothy-POV with Relena dying; and (4)Mariemaia-POV with Saint Une *or* Dorothy dying.

Personnally, I think I like the POV #3 better. But since I figured it can be seen as any of these POVs (or maybe more) I decided to post it whereever I thought it applied.

Or you don't even have to see it from any POV. You can just see it as two people who know and care about each other, one dying, one helpless. That's why I didn't put in any names or specific characteristics.

Make sense?

Responses please!