From: CMUnsworth@aol.com
Date: Mon, 4 Dec 2000 14:15:06 EST
Subject: Blurry Watercolour (1/1) by Charlotte Unsworth
Source: xff


TITLE: Blurry Watercolour
AUTHOR: Charlotte Unsworth
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: V, A, MSR
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere. A note would be nice.
SPOILERS: all things post-ep
DISCLAIMER: I don't think so. The similarities to Sophie Zelmani's "I'll 
Remember You" come from listening to it way too often. 
SUMMARY: She has shared everything with this man. Years of her life taken 
by his quest which against her will has become her own. Drawn in by his 
passion, and kept in by her own.

:------:

Dawn casts its shallow light across the room, filtering softly through the 
curtains. It rouses her from where she lies, a place so familiar to her, 
yet at this moment completely unknown. For a moment, not quite awake, all 
she wants is to stay with him. To feel his arms around her as though even 
in sleep he needs to feel her near. But rationality, as always with her, 
takes over and she moves away. Is it instinctive, this burning desire to 
be as far away as possible, at home in her own safe bed? For whose 
protection does she run?

The mirror is avoided as she dresses. She is unwilling to be faced with 
herself, the actions she does not want to consider but cannot get out of 
her mind and the reasons she is sneaking away like a teenager. The reasons 
she must leave before he stirs. 

His reflection, clearly visible, irresistibly draws her back.
Back to the memory. It is a blur of movement, of tender kisses and of soft 
hands. Of them. She does not recall who instigated the first kiss or who 
shed the first piece of clothing. She does not know if it matters. All that 
matters now is that he is sleeping peacefully beside the space where until 
moments ago she lay. 

She can see his eyes through the open door from where she stands, darting 
from side to side in sleep. They make her feel as though he is looking for 
her, knowing that she is about to leave him again. 

He makes her feel trapped. 

The room is lighter now, she has stayed too long. 

Not knowing why, she pauses at the doorway and glances back. He moves, 
shifting in sleep to throw one arm across the empty space beside him. 
Briefly, she wonders; is he looking for her or is it as though she was 
never there? Would he be able to fill that space if she left? 
She has shared everything with this man. Years of her life taken by his 
quest which against her will has become her own. Drawn in by his passion, 
and kept in by her own. Yet before now, it was not complete. There were 
parts of her that he had never known of, never understood. Last night she 
laid herself open to him, vulnerable and trusting. 

It didn't come easily. 

She has held his hands in hers, felt his body next to hers. In the 
oppressive silence she hears a heartbeat, a single sound thudding in the 
growing light. Unable to say whether it is her own or that of the figure 
now alone in the bed. 

She turns to leave. 

It may be a blur, but the watercolour picture she sees is a beautiful one. 
Silently, she makes him a promise, and walks away.