Blindly they feel for each other. Blindly they search for a touch, a caress, a feeling that this is somehow real, that they are alive as a faint breeze sweeps over their bare arms and a raining mist falls slowly down on them. The air around them becomes heavy and stifling and a deafening silence fills the empty space where they sit embraced within each other's arms.
He can feel pain in his lower temple and towards the back of his head, but he is not sure why. Did he get hit? Was there an accident? He can feel something move. It is her; she is next to him. Desperate to feel her, to know that she is okay he pulls her closer to him. His heated breaths fall across her check and his hands firmly grip her bare shoulders.
Something is wrong.
He pulls her tightly to his chest; he can't let her go. He can't lose her. He is not sure why, but he has to hold on to her, hold on or she will be taken.
She tries to speak. There is no sound. She moves her hand to feel, needing to know who is holding her - as if she doesn't already know. But she has to make sure; she can't see anything. She can't remember where she is.
Her hand roams cautiously, wanting desperately to feel him, yet somehow she knows she needs to be careful not to hurt him. Is he injured? She is not sure yet. Her hand continues its journey slowly up his chest, feeling the muddied, course, fabric under her fingertips. His chest moving steadily in, out, in, out..his breath delicately moves the stray hairs on her cheek. She stops at a sticky wet spot near his shoulder. Uncertainty - what is it? She clutches his shirt tightly with her other hand; suddenly she feels like she has to hold on with everything she has. She can't let him let her go.
He winces at the touch on his shoulder. He pulls away slightly and moves her, pulling her higher up so that he can hold her more firmly with his good arm. And he wants to feel her closer, he needs to know, just like she does that she is okay. He can't see either, and his free hand starts slowly on a descent for any possible injury down her arm, across her stomach and to her hip.
He can feel her tremble at his touch. All he wants is to ask her over and over if she is okay. Like his sight his voice is gone. Nothing. No sound. Then he realizes he can't hear either; all that's left is touch: moisture, cloth, skin, texture.
She wants to relax against his shoulder just a little. It is not safe to do so, not yet; not when she can't tell where they are. At this moment all she can do is cling to him as tightly as she possibly dares. They need to wait; they need to wait until something happens. This isn't right.
She shivers as a light breeze runs over her bare skin. The misting rain is slowly sinking into the remnants of their clothing. Suddenly she is afraid because all she can do is feel him under her fingers. It occurs to her that she can't hear anything, can't see anything but the darkness. She needs him to hold her closer, tighter.
She can still feel the sticky wet spot on his shoulder. She hasn't taken her hand away, terrified at what it may be or may not be; she doesn't want to know and yet she can't take her hand away. He moves her up again and her hand drops down. Pulling her legs up to curl closer to him she lets her hand grab his shirt from around his waist and clutches with all her might. Her forehead and cheek now rest against the skin of his neck. He is warm, so warm and she is so cold.
He is weakening; he can't keep holding her like this, so tightly that his arms ache, but he is afraid to let go. He should not be afraid? Nothing makes sense, nothing except the feel of her in his arms. Somehow that is not right either. He shouldn't be holding her. This is wrong; so terribly wrong. He has to hold on though, just a little while longer, just until help comes.
He thinks he can see the hazy gray image of a man coming towards him. How can he see him when it is so dark? It has to be his imagination. He feels a warm breeze across his face and he feels the misting rain penetrate his meager clothing. There is a touching sensation near his feet. It is not her. A deep pain - throbbing, penetrating - starts in his forehead and left temple. It comes in a wave, sudden, fierce; his head falls forward onto her shoulder.
**********
He feels a cold sensation. There are gray hazy outlines that appear around his head. His fingers grip the edge of what feels like a counter top - smooth, white, textured and very cold. He can feel her close by, but he is restrained. His wrist and legs are held down by an invisible barrier. He feels paralyzed, helpless. He wants to move his head, but can only look up into a white blinding haze.
Small images of gray, human-like forms hover over him. Men, little men, begin to touch his body but he is so cold and so numb. Sounds like a drill start behind him. Lights are flashing, and they seem to come from nowhere, something else pulses. Everything is hazy, like early morning mist coming off a lake.
He can sense her; she is afraid. He tries to yell out to her. He can't move and his voice is restricted. His mouth is covered, blocked. He is frustrated and determined to get free as he feels her fear. He thinks in his mind, willing her to hear him, willing her to not be afraid.
They have to hold on.
He thinks he can see a silver line coming at him, towards his eyes. It is rotating, spinning, his head begins to hurt. He feels a sudden warmth as a light grows brighter. The figures surrounding him start to fade. Floating, he feels like he is floating. His head, pain, deep penetrating ache; he begins a freefall into the nothingness around him, his world spinning out of control.
**********
His head feels heavy; he thinks he can see flashing lights and a gray translucent shadow. There are walls covered in red blinking lights, and a dull gray floor. He can hear a humming sound all around him. He realizes he is in her lab.
There is a vase - crystal diamond cut - filled with carnations, red and white ones, sitting on her gray and black work table. Another vase - white with fine, red scrolling lines around the base - sitting to the left side over flowing with daisies - white ones.
He gives her a rose - a single red rose with two green leaves. It is not supposed to mean anything; just that he didn't forget. Today is important. He needs her to know that he is thinking of her.
There is a single tear and a shuddered breath as he gives her the rose. There is the barest of touch as his fingers brush hers, this one simple gift, the only thing he can offer, the only thing that will say everything and nothing.
She is being congratulated for something, he can't quite remember what. It is vague, so very vague. He is not sure why she is getting flowers and cards. There are cards too - white cards with red text, flowers and poetic messages. Maybe she is being promoted.
She doesn't say thank you. She never says a word while he stands there watching her.
Something unspoken surrounds them, something ominous yet uncertain. He starts to think about her eyes, that tear, the unspoken words; somehow, they are all that matter, the only thing that means anything to him. His head is beginning to ache - pain. He feels almost paralyzed and wants desperately to reach out to her to touch her.
It isn't allowed.
The walls around him begin to spin. The floor moves and gray becomes white. He sees shadows hovering. He can feel the heaviness in his head and then everything goes black.
**********
Her mind starts to race and she can feel herself falling; tumbling over and over into an eternal abyss of black. She reaches out grasping at empty air. And then she is still. She can sense him close by. But, not close enough to touch. She is held down, held by something she cannot see.
Her skin is touching a cold hard surface. Cold; she is so very cold. She feels exposed, vulnerable. She tries to remember why. Why is she here? Where is here and how did she get here? Her mind is blank; she doesn't recall coming to a place like this - she doesn't remember being taken.
She becomes aware of silver lines and clear tubes coming towards her, something round hovers. She is inside of a room. The room is white, with no distinguishing features between the floor and the walls and the ceiling. It is all the same - white, bright and seemingly empty. Gray shadows, human like forms come and go.
Her voice is mute, but she attempts to scream. 'Where are you? Where are you?' She wants to run. She is afraid and needs to find him. He is close by but she can't see him. She feels like she is being pulled and then she is surrounded by bright warm light. Pain increases. The gray shadows moving, touching. She can feel his strength his reassurance that they will get through this. She keeps her thoughts focused on him and as she continues to watch the hazy images slowly she enters into the darkness.
**********
There is a vague image of white clouds, lined in silver and gray starting to swirl around her. She becomes dizzy and faint as she watches what she thinks are white walls shifting.
She is standing on a hill; no, it is the side of a canyon on a trail overlooking a raging river several hundred feet below. The canyon walls are red with dark black and gray lines, jagged, and sharp. There is a breeze that scatters leaves along the trail, leaving reddish, clay like dust on their boots.
They stop to survey the path ahead of them, needing to find a safe stopping point. It has been more difficult than it was supposed to be. They should have already been at the bottom of the canyon. They are supposed to meet the rest of their team before dark. But the sun is setting faster than expected or maybe it is the clouds coming from the East. Her head is starting to hurt, a headache maybe, dizzy.
She has stopped a second time on the path just below the third highest point before the trail turns sharply back down into the canyon. He stands behind her, his fingers brushing her shoulder. He knows something is wrong. He says nothing as he watches her hand slowly rub the temple of her head. His concern grows as he points to a small depression in the rock fifty feet more down the trail.
The sun is setting faster, clouds coming in stronger. Thunder echoes as lightning flashes out against a black and gray sky. The wind picks up and he grabs her by the arm and tugs her gently but firmly the last several feet so that he can set up a makeshift shelter.
They settle into their small shelter and tenderly he pulls her close, touching the temple of her head and the base of her shoulders and neck to relieve the pain. She lays against him her cheek resting against his chest. She can hear his heart beating slowly, rhythmically. He holds her close as the storm progresses outside their shelter. They can feel the elements building, growing, shaking the canyon walls as the storm escalates. But she feels safe, so safe, as he touches her forehead with the barest of caresses with his lips; his fingertips gently stroke her pain away.
Something is not right. He would never do this; he doesn't touch her. She can't remember why but this is wrong.
She is dizzy again. Her eyelids feel heavy. She needs to sleep. She notices small flowers appear on the wall of their shelter - white ones with red centers. They weren't there a moment ago. The cave walls start to spin, circling, flowing round and round before her mind fades back into the darkness.
**********
Her hand moves up to his face, tracing the curves of his chin and cheek, his left eyebrow. His eyes are closed and his breathing is rapid. She knows by the delicate touch of her finger against his eyelid that he is dreaming. He fell asleep several moments ago. He is restless and she can feel his sudden fear when he grabs her tightly to him. A few more moments go by and his grip loosens his hand finds hers and fingers entwine.
He has to risk moving. They have to find at least some shelter from the wind and rain. Where are they? He thinks they are in a forest but he doesn't remember coming to any forest. The ground feels rough, rocky, pine needles prick his fingers; maybe there is a tree close by or maybe a cave. If only he could see or even hear. He will have to rely on his hands and what he can feel beneath his fingers.
He moves into a kneeling position; pulling her up with him. She hesitates, not sure what he is doing. He moves one arm around to her back to reassure her that it is okay.
Her breathing slows as she realizes that he wants them to stand. They have to move. They can't stay where they are as the misting rains become harder and the breeze increases.
They stand with his arm still across her back; he moves his left arm out in front to feel for barriers, obstacles, anything that would hinder their progress. He doesn't even know if he is headed in the right direction. He has to trust his instincts. His gut feeling tells him that he has chosen the safest path. Yet, something is still not right.
He remembers bright light, gray shadows. It is more like a dream - one with red and white colors. He doesn't dream in color though. Is this a memory? Is this something more? He tries to figure out how this could be possible. If only he could speak he could ask her opinion. He feels that she is thinking the same. But how is that possible? How could he know what she is thinking?
They continue to take small shuffled steps. Slowly, methodically, their feet carry them forward; hopefully they will find some shelter soon. He needs to get her warmed. She is shivering. He is not entirely sure it is from the rain even though her clothes have become soaked. The air is warm. Her body feels hot against his.
She doesn't remember this place. They haven't been to this planet. At least she doesn't think they have. She feels dizzy and so desperately wants to go to sleep. She shivers and he rubs his hand up and down her bare arm, lowering his head to whisper something she can't hear. She can feel him though, feel his breath against her ear and the vibration from his throat and she can feel that they are both now soaked from the misting rain that they can feel but cannot see.
She remembers that he was injured and suddenly needs to touch his shoulder. There is no sticky wet spot. He doesn't move as she starts to press more firmly. This isn't right. He is injured. She is certain of it; wasn't there blood a moment ago? She feels confused and starts to question what is going on. Pain, she feels the pain begin to build.
He senses her hesitation. Not sure why she is touching his shoulder, trying to feel for something. He needs them to keep moving and attempts to speed up just a little.
Sudden panic overcomes him. He needs to protect. He needs to protect her. Protect her from them - the gray silhouettes of little men. He panics more when she stumbles slightly. He pulls her to his chest, wrapping both arms around her.
She can feel his panic, his concern, fear. If only she could see where they were; they are on a slow march towards uncertainty, towards a destination in the dark. She has to trust his instincts. She tightens her grip on his shirt and forgets about the injury as she feels his body and the strain of something else unknown.
She doesn't understand this irrational fear or his panicked feeling. This is not right. This is not who they are.
She swears that she can see a flash of light and then hears a ringing in her ear. She thinks she can see little men faintly appear. It has to be in the deepest recesses of her mind though; she still can't see.
They start to turn in a circle. She is being pulled from his grasp. Her fingers forced from the cloth of his shirt. It is hard to breathe; they are being restrained, held down. An invisible barrier, it holds them away from each other. He can't touch her; but he can sense her to his right, her presence and the heat from her body.
Lights begin to flicker; the silver lines twirl above his head, above her abdomen. Sounds; he can hear sounds of someone behind him. It is the sound of bare feet shuffling through grass. He tries desperately to turn toward the sound, his head is restrained and he can't move. Suddenly he can't feel her. His head: in pain; his lungs: he can't breathe. He can hear her scream as the black consumes him.
**********
There are other tables in the room - long, white and smooth; one against each wall. Gray-white outlines shadow the underneath of each table and round hovering red and silver glowing orbs float along the top spinning, flashing, and changing shape in rhythmic sequences.
Their appearance - mesmerizing, surreal; he wonders what their purpose is as he watches from the corner of his eye.
He is startled. He can hear her crying - painful, pleading, mournful. Her cries are filled with grief and despair; he struggles against the restraints he cannot see to go to her. He needs to get to her to make sure she is all right. He can't move. He knows now that she can sense his thoughts as he at moments can sense hers. The emotions - the strong ones - he feels the most.
He deliberately slows his breathing and starts to repeat over and over in his mind, 'I am here, just hold on. I am here.'
Her cries lessen as he continues. His thoughts, hoping beyond all hope, that she does feel what he feels in his heart. They will find a way out of this - whatever, this is..
Her cries stop. He can't sense her grief any longer. A silver orb comes to hover over his head. It starts to spin, beat, enlarges then shrinks in systematic pulses. He has seen this before. He's not sure where. He tries to remember. Somehow it is important. This is familiar.
The object continues pulsing as the pain in his head begins. The tables, the round orbs become blurred. He can't see, can't hear; but, he know that she is still next to him. She is so close and he wonders if the little men are doing this to her as well. He is certain that they are; but he has to hope that they have left her alone - deep down he knows better.
He is almost nauseous; the pain is more intense this time, more directed. He feels like his skin is on fire. Burning sensations - cold intense burning - envelope his entire body; for the first time since this has started he is afraid. He needs to scream, to release the pain with sound. His voice is still mute. He can't hear his own thoughts, can't concentrate. He must concentrate, focus, he needs to focus. He is confused. The feel of liquid, sticky and warm, trickles down his left cheek. It feels like acid.
She is back. He can sense her again; can sense her strength. As he concentrates on her, he can no longer feel the little men around him, touching him. His heartbeat slows. His breath becomes steady and even. He listens to her thoughts.
The room he is in seems to shift; the lights turn to gray then black.
***********
He can see his son running across a hill. He is flying a kite - black, with a red dragon and long red tail. His son is laughing and skipping through the tall grass. He turns at the sound of a scream and then looks back for his son - he is gone. His arms stretch out towards the hill, he wants to scream, wants to move, but all he can do is feel the ground beneath his feet as his heart races and lungs struggle to take in air.
A light flashes above him, his head falls forward and he watches the ground shift.
Her soft hand brushes gently against his chest; touching the scar that runs across his right shoulder. She kisses softly the bare skin of his neck. She whispers words, loving words into his ear and then kisses the lids of his eyes, his cheek, his lips. Her left hand continues to explore his shoulder, his right arm and comes to rest entwined with his fingers. Her other arm holds him securely around his waist. She whispers more words; he can't hear what she is saying but he feels safe, he feels loved and like he has finally come home.
The lids of his eyes feel heavy. His head - the pain comes in rapid pulses. She shouldn't be here. The pain escalates. This isn't right. He tries to look at her, to look at her eyes. She doesn't live with him. She doesn't touch him like this. His head falls backwards to the edge of a hard surface, the little men are there, closer. Lights flash again and he sees dull reddish-gray waves.
He sits in a rocking chair - oak with a red seat cover. His feet are crossed, his hands rest in his lap. He is old. The chair is old. The porch he rocks on is old.
He rocks back and forth slowly, rhythmically in time with the waves lapping on the shore of the lake. He knows his time is short. He is alone. She is gone and he will die alone.
A tear trickles down his weathered worn cheek. He still loves her, longs for her touch; but she left him behind on a planet far away. She is buried beneath the bough of a tree with red rose bushes covering the surface.
His heart aches, its beat slows, and the light fades from his eyes. The blackness comes one last time.
**********
There is a wall to the right of her - bare, translucent like fine mist. Hazy colors of red and gray spiral and contort the wall. She is mesmerized; it gives the appearance of sun on black glass. The pulses move in rhythmic beats - five, four, two, four; stop and then start again. She watches fascinated at the rhythm, wonders at the reason and purpose of the motion.
She can hear something like heavy breathing. It is him; he is in pain, severe pain, anguish. He has lost something. She can sense bitterness. She attempts to speak again, needs him to hear her. It is no use. She focuses on him, stops watching the wall and slows her breathing. She repeats over and over in her mind, 'This isn't real, this isn't real.'
Her concentration wavers as the little men touch her again. They shouldn't be touching her. This isn't real. This.isn't.real.
She thinks of him again as a scrapping sensation begins on her legs and the sound of breaking glass comes from behind her. Her heart races at the sound and the feel of scaly leather against her abdomen. The red orb hovers.
She can feel herself spinning again. White blurry walls reforming, changing shapes. Her senses become overwhelmed; she tries to control the motion, control her own fear. She feels her world speeding, faster, faster; she needs to fight the sensations. She senses him near, willing her to not be afraid. The men, the little ones, they are playing with her mind. The motion stops and she looses control.
**********
She watches the funeral procession. It is her mother's. There are red roses and white carnations surrounding a grave and a cherry wood coffin. A picture is on a white oval table etched in silver filigree. A small girl cries uncontrollably in her father's arms. A young man stands close by, mute, pale, and uncertain.
She wants to reach out to her. She needs to stop the girl's pain. Her heart wrenches, short gasping breaths shudder through her body as she watches the procession start to leave the area. She is paralyzed, unable to move from the spot by the oak tree next to the grave.
He is standing behind her, his hand on her arm. She sways and reaches out, her hand braces against the oak tree. Red leaves fall to the ground.
The pain in her head begins. She can feel herself spinning as she falls into darkness.
His head is in her lap as they gaze up at the stars. He points to each one that he knows. She repeats without words the names he speaks. She moves her hands to touch, feather light touches to his hair. He tilts his head back to watch her instead of the stars; then pulls her hand down to softly kiss her palm. Her heart beats faster and she gently leans over to brush her lips against his.
She sees a flashing light; her head - deep surging pain. She starts to think; concentrating she look down to him. Something is not right. This isn't what it is like between them. He doesn't touch her; she doesn't touch him.
The ground beneath her shifts, she looks up and feels her self curl into a fetal position.
It is difficult for her to breathe. She lies alone in a dark room next to a lake. She is heavy with child and will give birth soon.
She can feel the baby - moving slowly, deliberately to enter the world. She is afraid for the baby; because, they will be alone. They have been left stranded on a strange world far from home. He died, and is buried on the hill covered with the tiny daisies.
The baby comes with a final push. Alone, she brings the child to her chest.
She is disoriented and blinks as a light flashes.
She places the baby on her knee as she sits on the hill where he left her - left them. She speaks to the air, to him, to tell him the baby's name, to introduce the son he will never know. She tells him that she loves him, that she misses him. She can still see his face after so many months. Feel the touch of his fingers caressing her skin. He loved her. She still loves him.
The baby cries as she stands. She feels intense grief and helplessness come over her. The ground starts to spin; she is dizzy, faint, losing focus she falls one last time into the darkness.
**********
She can see some movement by her feet. It is one of the little men. He does not look so much like a man now. His head is large, round, his skin grayish-red, rough and scaly. He has no discernable neck, but as he turns she can make out what must be his spine - knobby, protruding down to his waist. They don't wear clothing, and they don't even look male from what she can tell. But she knows; somehow, she just knows. Maybe it is their size, or the way they stand over her.
She knows that they are playing with their minds. She senses him close by thinking and rationalizing what is going on. She can feel him understand. She concentrates on her surroundings, needing to figure a way out of this place.
The little men come and go through the walls. There must be a door. There must be something she can use to free herself - to free them.
One of the men touches her bare shoulder. The eyes turn black and large as it looms in closer to her. A larger orb comes to hover over them both. The flashing pulses of light intensify. She feels momentarily afraid, but then remembers she will be with him again. He reminds her too, wills her to be calm. They will be together again soon. The pain in her head increases; the light starts to fade as the wall to her right begins to move.
**********
They are in a cave. He is holding her close. How did they get here? They were standing in the forest. She is cold, shivering, wet from the rain. Hazy images come into his mind. He can see - no, he remembers vague images of light, shadows. The little men; hazy gray outlines of human forms moving in circles, motion, pain, darkness; what were they? Where were they? He forces himself to breathe as he tightens his hold on her.
He still can't see or hear. But he smells the remnants of the soap she uses. They couldn't have been here long. But, how long have they been here? Where are they?
He can feel her breath on his neck, warm, soft and slow. They are out of the rain. Somehow he feels safe in this place. He still doesn't know where here is. They could be in danger and he would never see it..he would never hear it coming.
He concentrates on her in his arms. The material of her clothing is dry. It was wet a moment ago.
Strange. This is so very strange.
She can feel him move his arms protectively around her shoulders. She is uncertain what is happening. She thinks she can remember being in the forest, feeling their way to some sort of shelter out of the rain. She was wet, now she is dry. He was too.
She can't worry about that at the moment. She does worry that they may never find a way out of this. How can she call for help when her voice is still mute? Her sight is still gone, her hearing not returned. She can smell his scent, however. Feel the hardness of his body holding her close, so close that she can barely breathe. She doesn't want to let go; she won't let go. He is her only connection to who she is and where they come from.
He can hear in his mind the questions she is asking herself. He wonders how this is possible. He decides to answer her. Decides that it will at least take his mind off what they will do to get out of here. But then, there is nothing they can do but wait.
He wonders if they will be found. If they come to rescue them, will they find them? He doesn't remember finding the cave; are they even in one? How did they get here?
He feels the headache again. There is always pain. He tries to figure out why he always feels pain before things change, before he thinks he is blacking out. Why? What is happing?
She can hear him answer her question. At least he tries to. They are both confused, uncertain, lost. Where are they? How did they get here? She thinks of more questions, waits for his answers, listens to his questions and tries to answer back.
This is not possible. They can't read each other's mind. But she feels comforted at the thought of this, that because they can't see or hear or speak that maybe, just maybe they have developed something more. She wants - no needs - to hope.
She can feel the pain in the back of her head again. Why, why has the pain come back? She listens to him as he questions his own pain and tries to answer. She suddenly collapses in his arms.
He can no longer hear her questions and answers; can no longer sense her as she goes limp in his arms. He is, for the first time since they found themselves in the cave feeling fear. He should not be afraid. But he doesn't know what to do. Helpless, he feels so helpless.
He watches a man, what looks like several men come toward him - it is the little men from that room. The room; there is a room - white, tables, the red orbs.
His vision seems to be returning. He clutches her closer to his body. He can't let her go; they will take her from him. He panics and the pain increases. He thinks he can hear a crashing sound, maybe an explosive; but he can't fight the pain anymore, and then he too falls limp with her in his arms to the floor.
**********
He's on a floor - white with silver etchings. There is a vibration coming from the far left of the room. He wakes at the feel of a tingling sensation and looks up towards the ceiling. He wonders what just happened. He thinks he can hear a sound, like someone yelling, 'Are you there? Are you there?' He is uncertain; the sound is faint and muffled. He thinks it is just his imagination.
He looks around to see where he is. He is no longer restrained - vaguely he remembers restraints. He feels his wrists, forehead and a sore spot on his left leg. Why was he restrained? How did he get here? Where is he?
He moves his arm, reaches out towards his right, not sure why, but he remembers that something should be there - no someone. He hears a soft moan; it is her.
She startles at his touch on her arm and sits up frantically. Where is she? She feels momentarily disoriented and remembers that he was being pulled from her. They were being torn away from each other and forced to lie on a table - white, cold, hard. She can still hear what she thinks is screaming. She takes a deep gasping breath as her heart skips a beat and tries to stifle a muffled cry.
She can feel his arms come around her from behind. She knows without looking who it is. She should be safe. She should be able to deal with what has happened. He whispers, "let go," into her hair. She turns to face him. She wants desperately to stay calm. She needs to stay calm.
His face is soft and expresses deep concern as he looks at her. She wants to say something, to let him know that she is okay. It is too much; a tear escapes her right eye and a soft whimper from her throat. She looks down to the floor, ashamed. He touches her face; she looks back into his eyes. She lets go the anguished cry and he brings her into the security of his embrace.
He is beginning to remember the little gray men and what they did to him. He tenderly brushed her hair with his lips and wonders what they did to her. It doesn't make sense. Why? Why did they bring them here? What did they want from her? What could they possibly want from him?
He remembers the visions. They were so real. But they weren't; none of them were real. It doesn't seem to matter at the moment, however. He will deal with them later. He will help her deal with them later.
He can hear what sounds like feet shuffling behind him, glass breaking, pounding on a wall. But the room is empty. There is no one there. He can hear what seems like whispered voices, yet somehow he knows that they are no longer wanted. He is not sure why. He still feels that he must protect her, though. He needs to make her feel secure. Shuddering slightly, he needs to feel secure.
She has calmed and they both know that they need to find a way out of this room. Deep down he knows he should respond to the voices he can still hear in the distance. He can't respond and she clings to him waiting. He closes his eyes, he doesn't want to see what will happen if he opens them again; doesn't want to believe that the voices - now stronger - just outside the walls are here to take them home. He is not ready, he can't let her go - not yet - it is too soon, much too soon.
**********
They are found in the room - the white one with silver etched floors. It is a room with nothing in it except emptiness; and two huddled figures clutching desperately to one another. There are no other signs of life, only two words, written in red and outlined in gray on the far right wall - 'SUBJECTS - FINISHED'.
It is uncertain how they got here or even why they are here. They have only been gone for two days. They disappeared without a trace, without a sign as to where they were taken. But, they are found, and that is all that matters.
They look helplessly on the two huddled together on the white floor. They can't tell if anything is wrong with them, they almost look normal. The gear they carried surrounds them as they sit clutching each other in the middle of an otherwise empty room.
They refuse to let each other go as their rescuers try to pull them apart to take them home. They must hold on. Their eyes don't open; they refuse to hear the voices of people they should know. They can't let themselves be taken again.
They have to be sedated before they can be pulled apart and gently placed on stretchers. Even then, they shift restlessly, reaching blindly for each other.
**********
They are alone. The room is filled with the sounds of monitors. Whispered voices and rubber-soled shoes echo in the distance. The lights are dimmed and they can smell distinctive infirmary smells.
Turning their heads towards each other, they instinctively know; she is to his right, he is to her left. They can see each other and they can hear the world around them. They can't remember how they got here. They can't even remember why they are here. But, they do remember the white room, flashing lights and orbs of red and silver, the pain, altered memories, and hazy images of little men. They remember too, the connection; their connection, their reliance on each other to help them through.
He reaches out his hand towards her and she puts her hand into his. Their eyes close. Their fingers entwine. He gives, she receives. She offers, he accepts. Touch.
Story Notes: A/N: - Many, many thanks to MV and Layton.
Copyright - Emry Wild 05/03.
Copyright - Emry Wild 05/03.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]