[ The realization has been slowly growing inside him that at least for now, he can't support her in the way he wants. He can't be the partner he wants to be, the partner she needs. A sense of regret and loss tugs at him again, and his eyes cloud over. Not with darkness, but with emotion. Feelings that are just as powerful as the hold the darkness has on him.
For the briefest of moments, he focuses on the humming, the resonance from Polaris. Of course he knows that she and her receiver are talking. They probably always talk. Or it's more like a running commentary, a give and take between the two. He doesn't want to interrupt, but this is important.
Polaris, if you can hear me... please take care of her. I know you always do; I want to help too, but I just can't right now. I won't be there to help in the way I wish I could.
He has to stop or his emotions really will spill over, and he can't let that happen right now. It doesn't matter how raw inside he feels, or how much he dreads it when their respective circumstances finally pull them away from each other. If he's bleeding inside now, it's nothing compared to how he'll feel when she steps through that door and goes back to reality where she belongs.
Alan's eyes close then as Jesse reads. He doesn't want to see her reactions as she reads the story. There'll be a look of horror, he's certain. Horror, disgust, fear... she might even throw down the manuscript and refuse to read more. He wouldn't blame her for that in the least. How many times has he wanted to do just that? To throw it away, to tear it apart. His edits have changed it, but he couldn't go as far as destroying it. Once made, the story has to be used as written.
How can I use this? I have to use it, I know that, but how? What ending will satisfy the terms of the story and bring it to an end in a way that gets everyone what they want? I can't see it, I can't see the ending. Scratch isn't how he was, in the draft that didn't work. I can't burn him out with a film and flood lamps. That won't work this time. What do I do? What the hell do I do?
I can't think. I don't know what to do. What if this story never ends?
He very nearly groans aloud again but he just barely manages to hold it in. He doesn't want to worry her more than he already has.
I want to be there for her, to be there with her, but I can't see a way out. What if there never was a way out? I'll never be free. I lost the plot.
While Jesse's reading and making her notes, Alan's head has slipped forward into his hands. He doesn't remember moving his hands, but he just sits there, head in hands.
Some hero I am. I never was a hero. Saga and Jesse, they're the heroes. They could finish this in no time at all, if they were the ones in this position instead of me. What was I thinking? I should have known then that I'd never be free.
His hands fall away from his head again when he registers her putting the manuscript to the side. He's still exhausted, still hurt, but he can't stay like this forever. There's work to do. There's no time for him to be like this. There's no time for the thoughts that sound dangerously close to how he sounds when he's drowning. He can't drown. Not anymore. Not now. Jesse stopped him from drowning. Saved him. He can't go back and dive into the water again.
I won't.
She places her hand on his cheek, and his eyes, tired look and all, shift to lock with hers. He's awake. Not asleep. Not drowning. If she's gone tomorrow, or whatever passes as tomorrow in this place, he wants to remember this. He doesn't want to remember drowning, or being asleep, or being lost. He wants to remember her. How her hand on his face feels. How her lips on his lips feels.
He might not have much strength in him right now, but he has just enough to lean into the kiss. I'm really going to miss this. I'll miss her. ]
no subject
For the briefest of moments, he focuses on the humming, the resonance from Polaris. Of course he knows that she and her receiver are talking. They probably always talk. Or it's more like a running commentary, a give and take between the two. He doesn't want to interrupt, but this is important.
Polaris, if you can hear me... please take care of her. I know you always do; I want to help too, but I just can't right now. I won't be there to help in the way I wish I could.
He has to stop or his emotions really will spill over, and he can't let that happen right now. It doesn't matter how raw inside he feels, or how much he dreads it when their respective circumstances finally pull them away from each other. If he's bleeding inside now, it's nothing compared to how he'll feel when she steps through that door and goes back to reality where she belongs.
Alan's eyes close then as Jesse reads. He doesn't want to see her reactions as she reads the story. There'll be a look of horror, he's certain. Horror, disgust, fear... she might even throw down the manuscript and refuse to read more. He wouldn't blame her for that in the least. How many times has he wanted to do just that? To throw it away, to tear it apart. His edits have changed it, but he couldn't go as far as destroying it. Once made, the story has to be used as written.
How can I use this? I have to use it, I know that, but how? What ending will satisfy the terms of the story and bring it to an end in a way that gets everyone what they want? I can't see it, I can't see the ending. Scratch isn't how he was, in the draft that didn't work. I can't burn him out with a film and flood lamps. That won't work this time. What do I do? What the hell do I do?
I can't think. I don't know what to do. What if this story never ends?
He very nearly groans aloud again but he just barely manages to hold it in. He doesn't want to worry her more than he already has.
I want to be there for her, to be there with her, but I can't see a way out. What if there never was a way out? I'll never be free. I lost the plot.
While Jesse's reading and making her notes, Alan's head has slipped forward into his hands. He doesn't remember moving his hands, but he just sits there, head in hands.
Some hero I am. I never was a hero. Saga and Jesse, they're the heroes. They could finish this in no time at all, if they were the ones in this position instead of me. What was I thinking? I should have known then that I'd never be free.
His hands fall away from his head again when he registers her putting the manuscript to the side. He's still exhausted, still hurt, but he can't stay like this forever. There's work to do. There's no time for him to be like this. There's no time for the thoughts that sound dangerously close to how he sounds when he's drowning. He can't drown. Not anymore. Not now. Jesse stopped him from drowning. Saved him. He can't go back and dive into the water again.
I won't.
She places her hand on his cheek, and his eyes, tired look and all, shift to lock with hers. He's awake. Not asleep. Not drowning. If she's gone tomorrow, or whatever passes as tomorrow in this place, he wants to remember this. He doesn't want to remember drowning, or being asleep, or being lost. He wants to remember her. How her hand on his face feels. How her lips on his lips feels.
He might not have much strength in him right now, but he has just enough to lean into the kiss. I'm really going to miss this. I'll miss her. ]