From: specialagent_reyes Date: 7 Feb 2002 15:19:27 -0800 Subject: [all-xf] NEW FIC: "Abstract", by Bobbi Source: atxc Abstract By: Bobbi < smberens1013@aol.com > Summary: They're just abstract figures, stuck in a painting, created, feeling, being, but undefinable, because they're afraid to feel. Unable to move forward, because their colors might run. Keywords: DRR. Doggett. Reyes. Rating: PG for something implied Archive: Ask, please-- I like to know where it's going. Spoilers: None Disclaimer: Unfortunately enough, the characters aren't mine... they're CC's babies and once again, I am toying with them. I do hope I haven't horribly butchered them, but I'm not getting a penny from this anyway, so it doesn't really matter. Dedication: This one's for Margot! Thanks for being such a great friend, and an XF fanatic! Author's note: This has no dialouge-- I wanted to do something with no dialouge, from third person point of view, to give insight into the characters and how they live through a different way. This was written for an NC-17 Valentine's Day challange, but I decided not to make it NC-17 because I didn't want to ruin the elements I was experimenting with... although there is something implied. ~*~ `ab'stract-- 1. thought of apart from concrete realities, specific objects, or actual instances; an abstract idea. 2. expressing a quality or characteristic apart from any object or instance. 3. theoretical; not applied or practical. 4. difficult to understand, abstruse. 5. emphasizing line, color, and nonrepresentational form: abstract art. --from Random House Webster's College Dictionary ~*~ The blue-eyed man walks into his house alone, as he always does. He never really thinks about 'alone' anymore... the thoughts of that left him a long time ago when his son died, when his wife left him. That was been the end, the end of it all, at least that's what it seemed then. And then he built it back up. But it just keeps crashing back down. ~*~ She enters her house alone, too, dark hair visible from the back. Alone, though not as a choice-- and she thinks of the word often, realizing just how lonely and empty it really is, how it has affected over the years. She's still strong, she hasn't let it break her. She feels-- oh yes, she feels, and very much so. Sometimes though, she wishes she doesn't. ~*~ He finally realizes it... or maybe it's finally the first time in years that he decides to realize it. He's lonely. He doesn't want to be lonely. Being lonely hurts, and he's had more than his share of hurt. The picture, on the mantle. Of yesterday... of many yesterdays ago. The little blue-eyed boy riding his bike. Riding his bike over and over and over, forever, in some sick cycle. ~*~ She lays down on the bed as she does every night, alone as usual. The last time she shared this bed was a long time ago: actually, she doesn't remember that last time she shared this bed, at least not easily. But if she tries hard enough, she can make herself remember back to that night. It seems like yesterday, and she wishes it was today. ~*~ It is Valentine's Day. Should two lovers who love each other so, really be all alone? It's one cruel, evil, twist of fate, decided on a morning someone woke up on the wrong side of bed: they'd hurt for each other, they'd long for each other, yet they'd be blind to each other. A rose, by any other name, would smell just as sweet. Death, the memory still lingering in each of their minds, the image of the small child, taken all too young in the first dark twist of fate, brought them together. Death by any other name might not smell as sweet, but it was the bittersweetness, loneliness, and finality of that prospect that brought them together. Yet could death tear so strong a love apart? They're just abstract figures, stuck in a painting, created, feeling, being, but undefinable, because they're afraid to feel. Unable to move forward, because their colors might run. Unable to move forward, because they just might lose that one little something they've been clinging onto so tightly: that memory of that one night that was so long ago. But if they try hard enough, they can make it tonight. ~*~ He's at her door. It's not the first time, and surely, it won't be the last. It's just like that one night so many years ago that he sought her comfort, sought her love like a lost child, having lost his own: yet, it is so different. It's never the same, it'll never be the same again, but it's a start. He's not a lost child tonight, though he lost his child, and nothing can ever change that. There's a certain sense of desperation burning in his heart, a certain sense of desperation yearing to return to what was, and make it something more. And maybe, just maybe... ~*~ She answers the door, and looks at him in a silent disbelief. Confused by her expression at first, he backs away slightly, looking as if he might turn away. She breaks into a large smile and steps out, greeting him. For the first time in a long time, he steps forward and embraces her. He smiles genuinely, for the first time in years. They step into the house together, and there we shall leave them... for it is on Valentine's Day that lovers of the past can bring themselves into the future and make something more, love once more. Maybe the world won't crash back down, and maybe she won't have to keep wishing her dreams away... for once, they're not alone on Valentine's Day.