Work Text:
Staring at the Sun
by moral_dyslexic
It's Fraser who finally addresses it, this unseen thing that hovers between us like another person invading our territory, an oppressive force that cannot go untended much longer but which I refuse to acknowledge. How can I say anything when I can't even admit it to myself?
"I can't make your decision for you, Ray," is all he says, with a sad smile. One I've only seen on him a select few times, and I can recall with perfect clarity my hatred in each case for the person who was the cause of it.
He looks straight at me though and I know that what he really means is that he won't make the decision for me. We both know that he could, that he could say what we both want him to say and that I would be more than willing to go along with it, to let him make the choice for me. Yet we both know that if I do, if I let him ask me to stay, there's no way I can say no, and we both know where that will lead. I am careful not to look right at him when I speak, those mournful blue eyes will unlace every carefully constructed thought in my head with ridiculous ease.
"I know you can't," I say softly, my voice almost inaudible in my own ears. I know that he knows how carefully I avoid saying why I can't let him make it. For once it has to be me that sets the barriers and the sensation is foreign and disconcerting. "I know," I repeat, more to myself than to him.
He doesn't say anything and I risk looking at him while his gaze isn't focused on me. He must be aware that I'm looking at him, almost staring at him, eyes hungrily devouring the familiar planes of his face in a desperate attempt to commit them to my memory. Yet when my eyes start to burn, I force my gaze away and out of the window, half-expecting the image of his face to linger on in my vision afterwards, like when you stare right at the sun. I'm disappointed when it doesn't.
Outside the window, it looks the same as it did the day before and the day before that. Snow stretches out in what seems an unending expanse, so bright that its almost painful to look directly at it under the glare of a sun which seems to give off no warmth, only harsh light that reflects back a hundred times over like a shattered prism. Fraser clears his throat, a soft sound, so small against the overwhelming vastness of the silence that surrounds us always. A silence so thick and complete that it settles around me, settles into my ears so that it seems that sound can't possibly even exist any longer. Silence that taunts me until I have to make some sort of noise, a yell, a shout, a cry, a plea, anything to prove to it that I am stronger. I can break it. It feels as though all the silence of the tundra has settled between us in this small room in this cabin in the middle of nowhere. I look over at Fraser and I know that he wants me to speak.
I open my mouth but any words that I can find are lost in the silence. Nothing comes out and I close my mouth again. My eyes meet his finally and what I see there makes my pulse stop for a moment and a dull pain start in the center of my body, reverberating through my frame like water rippling from a carelessly thrown stone.
"Please don't make me say it." I don't even know the words are anything more than a thought that runs endlessly through my brain like a mantra until I see his slow nod, just a bare, singular inclination of his head. He catches his lip between his teeth and I know that he's not even aware of the movement.
"I understand, Ray," is what he finally says, and the words are dull and flat.
Part of me can't help but wonder if he says those words simply to reassure me and maybe he doesn't understand. But this is Fraser and of course he understands, because he always does. I realize with a start that I almost want him to be angry, angry with me, angry with himself, angry at anything, I just want the outburst, I want anything but this careful silence where nothing that needs to be said can escape the thick, demanding stillness.
I wonder then, for a moment, why he could do this when I could not.
"Don't," he says, and his voice is almost like a physical caress.
I look up at him and the look in his eyes lets me know that he understands exactly what's in my head. I can only nod. Now isn't the time for doubts and self-recriminations, there is no room for anything more than this thing between us.
"We both knew it had to come to this," he says with a tiny smile that makes me have to look away for a moment. His hand reaches out and brushes so gently against my leg, a slow sweep of fingers along my calf, over my jeans that lingers on even after the touch has stilled against the material.
"That doesn't make it any easier."
"No," he says, thoughtful, his brow furrowing lightly, "But it's not the end of everything, Ray."
I like the way he says my name then, lingering as though he's tasting the word, like his mouth finds pleasure in those three little letters that form themselves upon his tongue.
There is a pause, where I don't speak and he only looks at me, his words lingering in the air.
"Is it?"
For the first time his voice isn't sure, his eyes aren't sure and my mouth snaps open and the fear is gone from me. I know him better than to think this could ever be just be a quick severing of all those intermingled, tangled ties between us. I shake my head, emphatically enough that it makes it hurt for a moment until I stop.
"No," I say firmly, to emphasize the message. I smile then, a hesitant, barely there smile, but still a smile. "No," I say once more and this time my eyes can't look away from his. He mouths the word at me but no sound reaches my ears.
Neither of us move for several moments, each unwilling to dispel the perfect tranquility of the moment. It is he who moves first, he who accepts first that it is inevitable that this spell that colors the air around us must be brushed aside in favor of more words.
"When will you leave?" His voice is slightly hoarse as though he's been too near the fire and the smoke has roughened the sound.
I think for a moment, not wanting to say these words. "Soon, I think." I don't want to look at him now, don't want to see the quick flicker of emotion behind his eyes before it is quickly veiled again, but I make myself because I owe his this. "I think it's better that we don't leave it too long."
He nods, and I can't tell if he's even aware of the motion or if it simply something his body does automatically.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words slipping past my tongue with the only ease there has been in this conversation. It's funny how much I needed to say those to him, how much I needed to hear them echoing in my ears.
His brow furrows and he simply asks, "For what?"
I look at him and hope that he knows what I mean for my voice is lost once more.
He must because he shakes his head faintly. "Sorry's don't belong here," he says and the words sound like they come from a distance, passing over time and space until they can reach my ears.
I don't even know I'm moving until I find myself in his arms, held so tightly against his body that it pushes all the air from my lungs but I don't care. I want to apologize again but he pulls me closer yet as though he knows and won't allow me to say it. I squeeze my eyes shut so that all I can feel is the wonderful harshness in our embrace, the desperate beat of our hearts, the soothing warmth of his breath on his face, the heat of his body that penetrates so slowly through the layers of clothing between us. My eyes burn when I finally feel that there is nothing between us that says it's the end, nothing that distances us now. I rest my head in the hollow of his throat, a movement that requires both of us to loosen our grasps. I smile then against his skin.
END