AUTHOR: Karen "Powrhug" Wood
TITLE: Reasons to Believe (1/1)
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: Angst, Isabel POV
COUPLE: Michael/Isabel
NOTES: If you don't like the idea of Michael and Isabel angst/longing? Well you probably won't like this. Spoilers--the middle of the episode called "The Once and Future King." Written 3/10/2.
SUMMARY: Isabel's thoughts right after Michael saved her life.
ARCHIVE: Sure, if you want it just take it...but let me know where so I can come visit! Anyone I've said okay to before doesn't need to ask.
DISCLAIMER: The usual. I don't own them. The creators/producers/writers of Roswell do. I'm just writing my thoughts down about the characters and sharing. Without profiting of course.
I looked at him and smiled. As best as I could against the dizzying pain and overwhelming fatigue I still felt from the gunshot wound.
It wasn't so much that I was grateful as that I was relieved.
Yes. He'd saved my life. So I owed him for that. And I'd do it for him in return if, god forbid, he ever needed it.
But more than that. We had made a connection. One I'd feared was lost.
I thought it had slipped away over the past several years. In fact, I had felt it slip away. Slowly sliding over the palms of my hands, down over my fingertips. Falling just as I realized I needed to clench them shut in order to stop its descent. Only finding out that I was too late to hold on.
And I had come to a point in my life when I thought...no I knew, I would never get it back. I'd never be able to hold it. Embrace it. Envelope myself in the feeling of being around him. Being with him. Or simply being. Because of him.
There was no pain involved in that absence. Not anymore. I'd long ago resigned myself to Michael not being a part of my life. Even as I saw him almost daily. Even as I sat next to him in a diner booth. Sharing laughter and memories and tobasco-covered strawberry waffles.
Because I couldn't let myself feel the pain of seeing him near, of having him in my presence without touching him. Kissing him. Loving him. Forcing myself not to feel around him was my greatest accomplishment, second only to not letting him know for so long how I feel. How I felt.
There were periods of time that were easier than others. Some days were easier than some minutes. Some weeks easier than some months. Some hours easier than next. Or subsequent. And I knew I had to take it as it came. Dealing with each meeting as a separate part of going on with my life. In his ever-present absence-that-wasn't.
But when I was wounded. When the bullet hit. My last conscious thought was of him. Standing beside me. Fighting the enemy with me. It felt like the most natural state of being in the world. Or out of it. And as I slipped toward the darkness that threatened to engulf me, I felt him. I was cradled in his arms and I felt safe. And I had never felt his presence so profoundly.
During the surgery and the time following I never felt him leave my side. He was always there. Sometimes in body. Others in spirit. But he was always there. Holding me. Touching me. Trying to call me back to him.
When he told me the story of our first meeting, it wasn't about the words. I'd been there. I knew what had happened. And it wasn't about him heeling me either. I knew he'd do that. Deep down inside I knew it was only a matter of time before he figured out that he was the key to my survival.
It wasn't about anything like that. It was about him, coming back to me. From wherever he'd gone. Or maybe I was the one who'd gone? I'm not sure. But I knew, at that moment as he cried over me, that we'd found each other again.
And that I had a reason to live.
-end-