Fragile
by Hayley May
Rating: G
Summary: year one of their
lives as fugitives, the team break Murdock out of the VA for the first time and
retreat to an isolated cabin where they watch the rain fall.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them
*-*-*
It
was raining again… big heavy balls of water… deep thuds as it hit the trees and
the ground… washing away the dirt and dust… cleaning
the world…
A
figure perched on the edge of the porch, just staring out at the rain. He wore no coat, was warm enough in the muggy
heat, dry from the roof. He had been
here before. Not *here*, but here. It was warm, it was muggy and it was raining. If he allowed himself to relax he could
almost hear the deep boom of anti-aircraft guns, the fast high pitched scream
of automatic machine guns, the shouts and cries of soldiers stumbling and
falling in the mud. He could almost go
back there, did go back there, in his memories, in his nightmares.
Turning,
he found another figure standing by him: a boy, a kid, a young man with his
whole life ahead of him. Blue eyes met
his and for a moment he saw the pain usually kept hidden deep below the
surface. They said nothing. There was nothing to be said. He accepted the offered cigar and lit
it. The kid stayed for a few minutes,
both of them just staring out at the rain, before turning and walking away
again, pausing only by the huddle of blankets by the doorway before finally
disappearing back into the cabin.
The
rain continued to fall.
He
turned back to watch it, the smoke rising from his cigar. He did not know how long he sat there, just
watching, just remembering. Time had no
meaning. Time did not exist. Nothing existed, only the rhythmic plodding
of the heavy raindrops.
He
turned away again, noticing the presence of another figure. It was a strange sight; one that would have
touched him deeply had it not been so serious.
It seemed so out of character… that is if you did not know. The biggest, fiercest, strongest member of
the group was also the most gentle. He
was offering a steaming mug to the pile of blankets refusing to take no for an
answer. Not that the huddled pile said
anything or even moved. He had yet to
say a word to any of them. He wouldn’t
eat, he barely moved and his eyes… they were blank, it was as if there was
nothing in their brown depths.
Still
watching, he saw the look on the big man’s face when he finally gave up. It was an expression of despair. Their eyes met briefly, troubled brown
against his blue. No words were
spoken. Again there was no need. The mug was put on the side, left in case a
mind was changed and the big man returned back inside.
He
returned to watching the rain.
They
had been no more than boys when they had come to him: too young to drink, old
enough to kill. He had taken them under
his wing. Had helped them, steadied
them, taught them all he knew and had tried to keep them alive. He had done all he could, but it had not been
enough. In some way they were all
marked. They all bore the scars. They had all lost something: innocence,
youth, lucidity.
None of them were complete any more.
The
rain continued to fall and he continued to watch it in silence.
“Will
it ever stop?”
The
words caught him off guard. Turning he
faced the huddled bundle of blankets.
The mug still sat on the side untouched.
The figure had not moved. A pair
of blank brown eyes stared unfocused out at the falling rain. Despite the obvious subject matter, he knew
the question went much deeper then that.
What affected one of them, affected them all, it just showed up
differently.
“I
don’t know,” he finally whispered his eyes lowering. “I don’t know.”
He
turned away and watched the rain as it continued to fall.
*-*-*
On
and on the rain will fall
Like
tears from the star
Like
tears from the star
On and on the rain will
say
How
fragile we are
How
fragile we are
“Fragile”
by Sting
*-*-*
Sequel
– “Bluebirds”
*-*-*
