Title: Pink Author: Susan E-mail: touchstone98@tx.rr.com Classification: vignette, sequel to "Brown" Keyword: major angst Rating: PG Spoilers: Orison, Pine Bluff Variant Archive: No archive without permission. Disclaimer: These characters belong to each other, not me. You can find all nine stories in *the blue series* at my site here: http://possibilities.bravehost.com/ Summary: Over time the bruising and scarring on her hands would fade and the swelling would go away, but she'd still be missing half of her fingers. ********************************************************** Pink by Susan ~~~~ It was the most difficult at night. He never was good at getting a good night's sleep, but now it was even harder for him, not because of nightmares, but because of too many thoughts before he closed his eyes. Thoughts of himself leisurely getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth, and going through his mail at his apartment while she was at hers, fighting for her life. Thoughts of that sick bastard slicing through her fingers and enjoying it. Thoughts of her lying unconscious on the bathroom floor, her hands bloody and hot candles dripping wax onto the cold hard tile all around him. Yes, night was the time he dreaded, the time he felt guilty and afraid and everything in between. The time he hated. ~~~~ It was hardest in the morning. At night time, she could close her eyes and make everything go away, but in the morning, she had to open them again and look at her hands. She had to watch the nurses unwrap her bandages and clean her wounds, listen to the doctors tell her that her hands were healing when they hurt even more than they did three days ago. She had to have help going to the bathroom, combing her hair, brushing her teeth, eating her meals. And though she was feeling well enough now to get out of bed and travel around in a wheelchair like other patients were able to do, she couldn't use her hands or even her arms to push herself around. Yes, morning was the time she hated, the time when she had to make herself deal with what had happened to her. The time she feared. ~~~~ It had been almost an hour since he'd started to run. It was cold and windy outside tonight, but right now he didn't care. He didn't care that his nose was numb, and his cheeks were burning. He didn't care that his muscles were screaming, and his head was pounding. And he sure as hell didn't care that he forgot to wear gloves and that his fingers were turning bright pink from the cold. At least he had all ten of them. ~~~~ She wondered what he was doing tonight. After he'd helped her eat her dinner, she'd told him to go home and get some rest, and though he said he would, she knew otherwise. Maybe he was checking on things at the office. Driving somewhere to clear his head. Running at the park near his neighborhood. Or maybe he was doing the one thing he shouldn't be doing. Sitting on his couch in the dark thinking of all the things he should've done to stop Pfaster, but didn't. Whatever he was doing, she knew it wasn't sleep. ~~~~ Changing his run into more of a slow jog, he headed towards the benches over by the playground. It was only 6:30, but because it was winter time, it was already getting dark, and there were no children playing on any of the equipment. He plopped his exhausted body down on the nearest bench and bent forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and trying to catch his breath. It felt even colder to him now that he'd stopped running, and he rubbed his hands together trying to generate some warmth. What a simple thing, rubbing two hands together to create heat on the skin of his palms and all ten fingers. A simple thing she'd never be able to do again. Turning his left hand over so the palm was facing up, he began to trace the pattern of lines on his smallest finger, the same finger that had been broken two years ago while he was working undercover. When Haley's henchman first snapped it, the pain was so excruciating he thought he was going to pass out, but gradually the dark pink bruising faded, the swelling went down, and his finger healed. But that was then, and this was now. Sure, over time the bruising and scarring on her hands would fade and the swelling would go away, but she'd still be missing half of her fingers. And he'd still feel useless. Roughly slapping his palm against the cold hard park bench, he jumped up from his seat and started to run again. To where, he didn't know. ~~~~ She wanted to call him. She wanted to pick up the phone like she always did when she was feeling restless and listen to him ramble on and on about whatever he was into this week. She wanted to pick up the phone, ask him to come back to the hospital, and stay with her until she fell asleep. But most of all, she just wanted to pick up the phone and dial the numbers herself. But she couldn't. She couldn't, damn it, just as she couldn't do anything else by herself right now. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she closed her eyes and imagined that Mulder was still in bed with her, his body still protectively curled around hers, his breath still soft and warm against the curve of her ear. And she slept. ~end~ possibilities http://possibilities.bravehost.com/ Originally posted September 2005.