2014-01-02 20:11![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lux_mariko
lux_marikoStory: Reunion
Year: 2189
Word Count: 400
Rating: PG
Characters: Ruth, Simon
Warnings: References to amnesia and past SI
Notes: This takes place in the Ruth AU.
Her heart skipped a beat because she knew for a fact this wasn’t her mind playing tricks again—something about the sum of the parts, even if some of the details seemed slightly off—and she drifted over to him, hardly daring to speak.
He’d come back, when he promised himself he wouldn’t, would spare her his presence, because she was the first thing he’d remembered this time—not the horrors, but her.
She watched him turn, and there was the proof—after ten years, her husband had come home.
This was a mistake, he had to turn and run, he should never have looked at her, never have let her see—how could he tell her that he wasn’t her husband anymore?
She reached out, resting a hand against his cheek, reassuring herself that he was real, was really here, and held that moment, breathless, as long as she could before she had to ask, “where were you?”
He wanted to look away, familiar guilt twining up his spine, but he couldn’t, because she was sad, not angry, and it made the guilt worse but he couldn’t run from her, so he just said, “it’s complicated.”
“That’s not an answer,” she pointed out, but it was better than I remembered someone else, someone I loved more than you.
He owed her the truth—the whole truth—but that could wait, would wait, so he said, “I lost my memories again, and I became…someone else.”
It didn’t make sense—but very little about her husband ever had, in hindsight, so she nodded, and said, “you remember me now?”
Now he flinched and looked away, but whispered, “I remember everything,”
She knew what he meant, she’d traced his scars more than once and they’d both wondered, but she knew better than to push now—all she really wanted to know was, “do you still love me?”
That, at least, was an easy question for him to answer, “yes,” the only thing about this that he didn’t doubt.
She nodded, “then the rest can wait,” and it could—their son, his other memories, his real name, who he’d been for ten years; he loved her and the rest could wait.
“The rest can wait,” he echoed, and reached up to find her hand, twining his fingers in hers, and, for the first time in as long as he could remember, feeling whole.
Year: 2189
Word Count: 400
Rating: PG
Characters: Ruth, Simon
Warnings: References to amnesia and past SI
Notes: This takes place in the Ruth AU.
Her heart skipped a beat because she knew for a fact this wasn’t her mind playing tricks again—something about the sum of the parts, even if some of the details seemed slightly off—and she drifted over to him, hardly daring to speak.
He’d come back, when he promised himself he wouldn’t, would spare her his presence, because she was the first thing he’d remembered this time—not the horrors, but her.
She watched him turn, and there was the proof—after ten years, her husband had come home.
This was a mistake, he had to turn and run, he should never have looked at her, never have let her see—how could he tell her that he wasn’t her husband anymore?
She reached out, resting a hand against his cheek, reassuring herself that he was real, was really here, and held that moment, breathless, as long as she could before she had to ask, “where were you?”
He wanted to look away, familiar guilt twining up his spine, but he couldn’t, because she was sad, not angry, and it made the guilt worse but he couldn’t run from her, so he just said, “it’s complicated.”
“That’s not an answer,” she pointed out, but it was better than I remembered someone else, someone I loved more than you.
He owed her the truth—the whole truth—but that could wait, would wait, so he said, “I lost my memories again, and I became…someone else.”
It didn’t make sense—but very little about her husband ever had, in hindsight, so she nodded, and said, “you remember me now?”
Now he flinched and looked away, but whispered, “I remember everything,”
She knew what he meant, she’d traced his scars more than once and they’d both wondered, but she knew better than to push now—all she really wanted to know was, “do you still love me?”
That, at least, was an easy question for him to answer, “yes,” the only thing about this that he didn’t doubt.
She nodded, “then the rest can wait,” and it could—their son, his other memories, his real name, who he’d been for ten years; he loved her and the rest could wait.
“The rest can wait,” he echoed, and reached up to find her hand, twining his fingers in hers, and, for the first time in as long as he could remember, feeling whole.
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