Banner Artist: Me
Author: Chad
Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell do not belong to me. No infringement intended.
Rating/Category: Mature AA/AU without aliens
Pairing: The pairings are a little strange, but it's sort of a M/L T/? kinda thing.
Summary: A woman waits for her husband to come home, while another waits for her lover to return.
AN: The first story in a series of three one shots. This is just a little something I’ve been working on and off for a while, trying to get the story to come together. It’s not my usual style, but hopefully it wont be too difficult to follow.
Always Waiting
She has been waiting for one hour, eleven minutes, and eighteen seconds. She knows the time exactly. Her heart has been keeping a similar rhythm to that of the wall clock mounted above her head. She’s excited and anxious to see him. Tonight is their anniversary. He’s taking her dancing. She brought a brand new dress and had her hair styled just for the occasion. She knows he will notice it. He always notices when she does something new. He will love it. She looks up at the clock. One hour, eleven minutes, and fifty-five seconds. He will be there soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She missed him.
Sometimes he would be late. Sometimes she would wonder if he truly even gave a shit about her, or if he just saw her as a booty call. It didn’t matter. He always came. That was most important thing. He always came when she called. He would meet her anywhere. A motel, a restaurant, a bar, a club. He would always meet her. That had to count for something. He wouldn’t come if he didn’t care.
She takes a quick glance at the clock, but makes no real note of the time. He was late. She didn’t need to see the exact hours and minutes of the clock face to know that. Still, he would come. No matter how late, or how rushed, or how annoying it was for him, he would always come.
Oh wait…he was dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She pours herself a glass of champagne while she waits. She knows it is rude to open the bottle without him, but she can’t help it. The champagne will calm her down. For some silly reason her nerves can’t seem to react at the same speed as the rest of her body. She’s as jittery as a jumping bean. She feels as if her whole body is being charged with an electrical current. The champagne will help.
She takes a sip, then looks at the clock. Butterflies, that’s what is making her nervous. Pesky little butterflies, all aflutter in her stomach. She takes another sip from her glass.
The champagne will help.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Where are you?” she asks into the empty room. She was never amused when he was late.
“I’ll be there,” he would say. “I’m just running a little late,” he would say, “I’m on my way,” he would say. Or other excuses like that.
“Bullshit!” She hated his nonchalant answers. He was always acting as if she didn’t matter, like he always had something more important to do. “You’re supposed to be here now,” she complained.
She could just hear him sighing. It was the annoyed sound he made whenever he though she is being too needy or clingy. Damn him, she hated that sound! She had the right to be as clingy and needy as she wanted to be. She’d told him once
“Don’t do that,” she said.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Make that sound. I hate it when you make that sound.”
“Fine,” he had answered. He was always calm and cool.
She bristled. He loved to placate her, as if she were some child in need of pacifying.
“When are you going to be here?” she asks the silent room again.
She could almost hear him answer, “As soon as I can.”
As soon as he could. That had never been good enough. But she’d always waited.
She’d waited…
and waited…
and waited.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She drinks two glasses of champagne. She knows she should not have any more without him, but she cannot stop herself from pouring a third glass. She downs it in one gulp, and looks again at the clock.
Seven o’clock
He is late. She starts to reach for the bottle again, but stops herself. Her hand is gripped solidly around the neck. It’s nothing to worry about. He may be stuck in traffic. He may be stuck at the office. He may have stopped to get her something special. That was it. He was probably planning a surprise for her. He must be getting something special for their anniversary.
Feeling more relaxed, she releases her grip on the glass bottle. Then she hears it…
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She lies in bed with a lit cigarette in one hand and her eyes lit with anger.
He wasn’t coming.
After all that waiting, all that stressing, all that hassle, he wasn’t going to make it. But then, she’d already known that. He was dead.
Why does she even bother? Why does she even care?
She lights the cigarette with a match and watches the fired end. Why was she never the one to make him wait? She knows he wouldn’t have liked that. Why did she never make him wonder if she really had any intention of coming to him? Why didn’t she make him think he was fooling himself for ever believing that she wanted to be with him forever? Why didn’t he know that she wanted to be with him forever? Why was forever always such a short period of time?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’s finally here!
He said he was tied up in traffic. He apologizes a million times. He kisses her on the cheek, and apologizes again. He asks her if she is ready to go. She smiles at him and says she is. All is forgiven. She starts to stand, but feels a little lightheaded. Perhaps she has had too much champagne.
He sees her stumble and asks if she is all right. She has had too much champagne, she tells him. He laughs and teases her. She laughs back. They share a kiss. It is soft and sweet. It is sobering.
She wants to dance.
He hooks her arm through his, and leads her to the door.
“I’ll drive,” he teases her again.
She laughs.
They leave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
What she needs is a drink. What she needs is something hard. What she needs is something that will make her forget him.
“He wasn’t even worth it,” she tells herself, but she knows he was.
“I’m not going to let him do this to me anymore,” she says, but she knows she is.
She needs a drink.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The night is pretty. She watches the lights as they speed past her window in a beautiful array of colors. So pretty.
She looks at him. He is focused on driving. She admires him. He is so handsome. He looks up at her for a second, catching her eyes. They share a look before he forces his eyes back to the road.
She can’t wait to dance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She really needs a drink.
She is driving. Are there any good bars in the area? She wonders. It doesn’t matter. She’s not that picky. Any place will do. She sees a bar on the corner.
She says the name. “Paul’s Pub.”
Any place will do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
They dance.
She’s never felt so alive. Dancing is wonderful. The atmosphere is romantic. It’s just like a fairytale. A song she loves starts to play. He glances at her. He knows it’s her favorite. They just danced the last two songs, so he is tired. She begs him with her eyes. She knows he won’t say no.
He doesn’t.
They dance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Paul’s has an electronic bull.
She is really drunk, but she doesn’t care. How can she? She’s having too much fun.
Paul is a nice man. He’s in his late forties, early fifties. He’s not European. He thinks Paul’s Pub is a better name than Paul’s Bar. She agrees. Paul’s pub has a much better sound to it than Paul’s bar. She thinks he should even consider Pauli’s Pub, or Paulo’s Pub. Or Pete, Pete is nice too. Pete’s Pub. That has a nice ring to it as well.
Pete…Paul understands how to treat a girl right. She knows he would never play with someone’s emotions. Not like…no, she wouldn’t think of him. He was dead. Tonight is about her. And Pete…Paulo…Paul. And the bull.
She looks at the bull.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The song is slow.
Her heart is pounding. They are standing so close. She can feel his heartbeat against her chest. So close. They sway, back and forth, both of them exhausted, but neither is willing to sit out the romantic dance. He whispers things in her ear. She giggles happily. He kisses her cheek. She strokes his jaw. Everything is wonderful. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect anniversary.
“Are you having a good time?” he asks.
She nods her head against his chest. His arms feel so good wrapped around her as they are. She feels as if nothing can touch her but him. The very world does not exist outside of the two of them dancing together here.
She stands on her toes and whispers in his ear, “I’m having the time of my life.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Paul!” she proclaims, managing to slur the one syllable name. “I wanna ride the bull.” She and Paul are now the only two people left in the bar.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Miss.” Paul wipes the bar down with a white cloth.
“Sure it is, Paul.” She slaps her hand loudly against the bar top, and gets to her feet, leaning heavily against the bar as she does so. “I’m a paying costumer. If I wanna ride the bull, you gotta let me ride the bull.”
Paul smiles that friendly bartender smile. “You’re pretty drunk, Miss. It would be a shame if anything unfortunate were to happen to you. Besides that,” Paul points to the clock on the wall behind him. “We’re closed.”
She gasps in feigned horror. “Are you sending me home, Paul? You’re sending me home aren’t you, Paul?” To that empty home, that empty place. No! She wouldn’t go back there. “That’s messed up, Paul. You’re messed up, Paul.”
“Sorry Miss. It’s closing time.”
Paul leads her to the door.
“You should walk it off, Miss.” He looks up at the star filled sky. “After all, it’s a beautiful night.” He smiles again, and goes back inside the bar. She hears the click of a lock behind him.
She frowns, then looks up at the sky.
Beautiful night?
She scoffs and starts to walk towards her car.
Paul is an idiot.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her feet have started to hurt. She could have danced all night if not for it. But it is a good hurt. One she is happy to feel. He laughs when she tells him so.
“The night is not done,” He says. He takes her hand in his, and leads her back to their car.
She follows, hardly able to contain her excitement over what he has in store for her next.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She is driving like a mad woman.
Why do all the bars in this stupid town have to close so early? She’s not had her fill. What she needs is more alcohol. Or maybe some sex. Sex would be nice. She hadn’t had sex in a long time. Not since him.
Anything to take her mind off of him.
Anything to take her mind off the pain.
Anything to make her feel him again.
To make her feel him.
Damn it!
Damn him!
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Where are we going?” she asks him.
“It’s a surprise,” he answers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
But sex.
That’s what she needs now. Some real hardcore sex. A good fuck. Whatever. He would have gone crazy. He would have been so jealous. He would have gone off the wall. He would have shouted, screamed, kicked, cried…
She laughs drunkenly.
He wouldn’t have cared at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She’s looking at him again. She can’t help the silly grin she’s wearing. She’s just never been so happy. The night has been perfect. He has been perfect. And it’s not over. He has promised that their magical night is not over. What else could be better? He is like a dream.
She turns away from him to look out of the window. Once more the stars are zooming past her. They are so beautiful.
It is such a beautiful night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She wonders what he would be doing right now if he were alive. Would he be with his wife? Would he even think about her? Did he even care what he did to her? Did he care what he made her feel? How about what he did to his wife? She knew he didn’t care.
He was always so cold.
A vindictive woman would have paid a little visit to that pretty little wife. That would have gotten him going. Oh, she would never have reveled anything to the woman. She would have never jeopardized her relationship with him that way. But maybe they could have become friends, close friends. Maybe she could have made him sweat a little bit. Maybe then he would have cared.
It would have been nice to have that kind of power over him. Would she tell? Would she keep it a secret? Yeah, it would have been nice to make him sweat.
She turns on the radio. A love song is playing. She switches the station. Another love song. She switches it again. Another. She growls at the radio. It must be mocking her. Again, she changes the station. Finally. Something fast. Something loud. Something rough.
Just what she was looking for.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
They come to a light. He turns to her and takes her hand. He kisses it. His eyes never leave hers as his lips skim her hand. Those eyes, oh how they smile at her. In them she can see he is as happy as she.
The light turns green.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The song is pounding in her ears. Loud, the beat brings her to drive even faster. Her head starts to move to it. Backwards and forward. Up and down. Side to side. She reaches for the volume dial. Louder, the song can stand to be even louder.
The light turns red.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He starts to drive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She doesn’t stop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
There is the terrible sound of screeching tiers, peeling rubber, and the sounds of metal meeting metal in a deadly collide. Tons of steal come together in a horrible crash. Binding. The two vehicles lock in a deadly kiss, spiraling together in a dance of which neither driver has control.
Spinning…spinning, all they can do is spin. Then…finally they are stopped by the ever-forceful interference of brick.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She wakes in a daze. Her head aches. Her entire boy aches. The metallic taste of blood laces her mouth. She attempts to place her hand to her forehead, but she finds she cannot move it. Then she feels it, the heavy weight that is strewn across her lap. She looks down.
His eyes are closed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She starts to come too. The process is slow. Her eyes open and close. Heavy, her lids feel like weights upon her eyes. She can barely keep them open. She doesn’t want to open them. Sleep. All she wants to do is sleep. But she can’t. There is pain, so much pain. It’s successful in keeping her from reaching the sleep she so desperately craves.
But something has happened. She’s aware of that. Something really bad has happened.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She pries her hand from beneath him, and finds that it is covered in blood. She lifts it to her face, staring at it in revolted fascination, as if she cannot believe the bloody appendage belongs to her.
Her hand is shaking. Her entire body is shaking. Her mind is shaking. But she can’t afford to lose it. He needs her. She looks down at his unconscious body again, and places her hand against his pale cheek, not caring about the smear of blood she leaves behind. She gives him a hard shake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Where is she? She feels so groggy and disoriented, but she knows it is important that she not let herself go to sleep. It is getting easier to keep her eyes open and she is starting to recognize her surroundings.
Her car. She’s sitting in her car. She can now see that. She feels something pressed against her chest. She moves it. Her airbag. Why has her airbag deployed? Things start to come to her slowly.
The song on the radio
…The loud music…
…The light changing red…
…The crash.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She calls out his name. Her voice is horse. She clears it and tries again. He doesn’t respond. This is bad. She knows this is bad.
She digs between their two bodies and starts to search for her seatbelt. She feels around until her hand touches the clamp. She releases it and pries the strap from between herself and her husband.
Help. That is all she can think of. She needs to get help.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her windshield is cracked, painting a spider web portrait across the front. Some tiny specks of glass sit on the dashboard. Even so, she can see the other car in front of her clearly, sandwiched between her own and the brick wall of the building behind it. She can clearly see the head of a woman inside of the car.
Terror fills her. What has she done?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her door is pressed firmly against the wall, completely misshapen, completely destroyed. She is lucky, but she can’t think of that right now. She needs help, help for her husband. She can feel the wetness of blood seeping onto her legs, and she knows it is coming from him. She is stuck. The other car is planted firmly into the driver’s side door. It too is completely destroyed.
She rests her head against the headrest and groans in frustration.
“Help!” she screams, combing her fingers through her husband’s hair.
Someone please help.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She has to help the woman.
That is her one thought as she unfastens her seatbelt and pushes her crumbled door open. She half falls out of the car, but immediately gets to her feet. An accident can be a sobering experience.
Now that she’s escaped her car she has no clue what to do. She looks back to the car smashed between her own and the wall. The front of her car has completely blocked the driver side doors. There is no way out.
This can’t be happening. This can not be happening.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She is starting to panic. Her breathing is becoming labored. Frantic! That is how she feels. Somehow she has to get out of the car. She fears for his life. She fears he will die. She fears for both of them.
She continues to run her fingers through his hair. “Please help me,” she whispers to him, but he remains alarmingly unresponsive.
“HELP!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She stands in the middle of the empty street, looking around franticly as if somehow a miracle will come to her aid. The street remains alarmingly quiet, as if to say: ‘you’re on your own, girl.’
A sob chokes her. She didn’t want this to happen. She wanted a drink. All she wanted was a drink…and maybe to get laid. And him, oh how she wanted him. But never this. She never could have wanted this.
“HELP!”
The sound of the woman’s scream draws her from her own self-pity. And she knows, no matter what, she has got to help the woman.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Screaming does nothing and she doesn’t waist much breath doing it.
“Hang on, baby,” she whispers to her unconscious husband. Slowly, she lowers her hand to the side of the seat, letting it recline all the way back. The seat falls back immediately, jarring the two of them. She winces as his limp body slaps into her leg, but she does not let herself focus on how hurt he might be. She has to get the two of them out of the car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her phone!
She remembers the cell phone sitting in her purse inside of her car, and rushes back for it. It doesn’t take her long to find her purse. She sifts through it madly until she finds her phone, and immediately turns it on.
No signal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Slowly, she starts to lift his head from her lap. She reaches over to recline his seat into the same position as hers. She lays his body back against the seat, and is silently thankful when she hears him groan in protest to her action.
Finally, a sign that she has not lost him!
She tries not to wince at the sight of blood covering his body. But she cannot smother her horrified cry when she sees the large shard of glass protruding from his side.
“Oh baby,” she whispers desperately, hysterically, worriedly. She feels the sting of tears in her eyes and the world begins to blur. But she shakes her head. She can’t lose it. He needs her too much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She throws the useless cell phone in her car, and begins a frenzied search of her car for something, anything that will help. Then she sees it. The tire iron sitting on the floor of her back seat.
That’s it!
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She has come this far. She cannot fail him
“Hey!”
She looks up, startled at the sound of a voice. She turns around. A woman is standing behind the car with something gripped tightly in her hand.
Oh thank God!
“Please help!” she cries out to the woman. She is so relieved to not be alone anymore.
The woman nods her head. She’s looking a little worse for wear herself, but any help is better than none at all.
“Back away from the window!” the woman orders, tapping the large object in her hand against the glass of the rear window. Understanding dawns. She plans to break it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The iron feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as she swings at the rear window of the car. The window cracks easily after her first swing, again after her second, and shatters at her third.
Relief floods her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Relief floods her.
Everything will be all right now.
Everything will be all right.
She starts to push herself from the front seat to the back. A hand reaches out towards her. She can see the woman more clearly now.
“Please, him first,” she begs, then positions herself behind her husband. She’s almost afraid to move him, but she has no choice, not if she wants him to live.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Please, him first,” the woman begs.
Another passenger, of course, the driver, a male. She hadn’t even been able to see him. Judging from the other woman’s voice, he must have been in pretty bad shape.
She watches as the woman positions herself behind the other passenger. With a strength that is contrary to her small stature, the woman begins to drag him over the seat and then over her own body.
She reaches for the male’s shoulders and begins to pull him the rest of the way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’ll be all right.
He has to be all right. She watches as her rescuer pulls her husband out of the back window. She stumbles under his weight, but is eventually able to lower him to the ground. She breathes a relieved sigh.
Now it’s her turn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He is heavy, but she lowers him to the ground. She tries not to focus on the large amount of blood that is covering most of his body. If she does she knows she’ll be sick. She drags his body away from the car and lays him down gently on the ground. Then she returns for the woman.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She has already managed to climb halfway out of the window when the woman returns to her. The woman again reaches a hand out to her in aid. She takes it and allows the woman to help her climb the rest of the way out of the car.
Finally, the two of them are safe.
She looks over at her unconscious husband, lying on the ground. They may be safe from the wreck, but he is far from out of the woods.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She did it! She helped the couple escape from the crash! Thank God.
She watches silently as the woman runs over to the side of the male and places his head in her lap. She looks up at her with worried eyes.
“He needs an ambulance,” she states franticly.
She glances back at her car, thinking of the useless cell phone inside. Not knowing what to do, she stands there motionless, lost in the moment. Watching as the injured woman strokes back the blood soaked strands of the male’s hair.
“Please, go get help,” The woman begs.
But she can’t. She can’t move. She can’t think. All she can manage to do is stare at the face of the man dieing on the sidewalk in front of her.
The oh so familiar face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She’s not sure what is wrong with the woman, shock or perhaps something else, but she does not appear able to hear her any longer. She just stares with a blank look on her face.
She does not have the time for this. Her husband does not have the time.
“Please, hurry!” she shouts to the woman. She cannot leave her husband, but she needs to get help as soon as possible.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She stares at him.
So familiar. Almost the spitting image, but not him. It can’t be him. He’s gone now. He’s been gone for so long.
Dead.
He’s been dead for so long. And she’s been waiting. She’s waited all this time, knowing he was gone and he was never coming back, but hoping, always hoping.
And this man…he was so familiar.
THE END…
