#its a slow quiet story about successes and failures and discovery and hope

[silverrowbrush]

The younger me that read and reread Minecraft: The Island dozens of times is so disappointed right now.

[bcbdrums]

Royalty

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

A/N: Originally just a few sentences exchanged with @cannibal-nightmares, but it demanded to be in story form. In an alternate universe where they were kids together. Next to the ocean because my brain says so. And that is all. Enjoy my self-indulgence, perhaps.

---------------

Royalty

The evening had gone gray, both due to the sun's descent and the thick overcast that stretched in a heavy blanket to every corner of the horizon. A chill breeze caught one of the children's attention, and he halted the movement of his fingers in wet sand to glance up and around, startled by how much time had passed.

Distantly to his left, he could hear the tide coming in beyond the small dunes that sheltered him in his playground. Farther, to his right, the beach houses that had brought he and his family to this place for vacation. A small weather-beaten tree at his back coupled with another dune shielded him from the wind, and before him the dampened shore of the small cove that had been a place of daily exploration and discovery.

And building friendships.

His new, younger friend of the week was still meticulously stacking rocks and layering salt-smoothed sticks one on top of the other in the flat, moist area they had dug out of the sand.

Spirit frowned. If they didn't go in soon, their parents would be calling them. And this kid hadn't made any progress.

Not that Spirit had himself.

He resumed scooping the damp sand into his plastic bucket with his hands, pressing down to pack it tight in hopes it would keep its shape this time. When he picked the bucket up at last, it was so heavy he needed to stand to gain leverage.

His shifting alerted his companion, who looked up at him and broke what could have been hours of silence between them as they worked on their respective creations.

"I told you, it won't work that way."

Spirit ignored the quiet admonition, and after a few breaths to ready himself, he rapidly flipped the heavy bucket over and pressed it into the sand. He took even more calming breaths as he knelt back down, hoping, certain that this time would be successful. He had already determined that the slow-lifting method was better than the fast.

He wiggled his stinging fingers under the plastic rim and held his breath. As the bucket came away, grains of sand began falling gently and taking companions with them further down the tower as it was revealed. Spirit slowed the bucket's ascent and grit his teeth. He realized suddenly, that next to him his younger friend had paused in his construction to watch with bated breath as well.

The bucket came away, revealing gently shaped ridges and dimples in the very top formed by the plastic of the bucket's bottom. Spirit took a moment to marvel at the seeming perfection – how thousands if not millions of the rough grains of sand could come together so smoothly with such simple manipulation.

And then it collapsed.

A loud sigh of frustration left Spirit's lips even as he marveled at the beauty in his failed creation's entropy, the perfection still present in jagged edges and seemingly sifted piles of sand that now sloped away from a slightly more solid center.

"You have to find the correct ratio of sand to water," his companion said. "And—"

"What do you think I've been trying to do all day?" Spirit replied in protest, tossing his bucket aside as he stood again and stepped over the tiny pile of failure.

"Where are you going?" the other boy said. Spirit paused, almost turning back as he heard alarm in the young voice.

"I'm tired of this, I wanna play something else," he replied, walking away toward the shore of the cove. He thought he could feel green eyes staring at him as he went, and he self consciously began brushing the sand off of his hands and onto his nearly-dry swim trunks.

The breeze was somehow nonexistent at the cove's edge—something his new friend would probably be able to explain, with his near-constant prattling about every science under the sun all that week except for when he went silent for hours—and Spirit squished his toes into the damp sand next to the other-worldly plants that somehow grew up out of the beach. He paused to look past a cluster of purple flowers into the still waters beyond, hoping to perhaps catch a glimpse of an octopus or sea star before the light left entirely.

Before he could make out any shapes among the rock and sand, a tiny dart of yellow-green light flashed out of focus in front of him, and then was gone. He blinked and held still, glancing left and right and listening for any sign of something out of place. But there was only the tide, receding now as the cycle concluded and would without pause begin anew.

A flickering to his left caused his head to snap that direction, and he held utterly still lest the thing, real or imagined, should frighten from his presence. And then a moment later, another tiny point of light appeared near the gnarled trunk of a tree, moved leisurely through the air, and vanished again, so quick that if he had blinked he'd have missed it. Spirit stared as another appeared further out over the cove, so small its light didn't cast a reflection on the water.

Fireflies.

Spirit smiled. He had seen them before, but given the infrequency of his family's vacations to the beach, they were still a thing at which to marvel.

He suddenly wondered if his new friend had ever seen them.

He waited for several minutes, watching as more and more points of ethereal light appeared as the gray of the twilight under the clouds grew darker. They had no pattern, which was part of their wonder, but as he stood utterly still and waited, he finally saw one alight on one of the purple blossoms right next to him.

He took care as he moved his hands as slowly as possible to surround the bloom, his heart beating faster as he knew at any moment the tiny insect could flee before he was even close to containing it. The sky was growing dark, and the firefly was not illuminated. As his fingers curled nearer he second-guessed himself—was it in fact a firefly he'd seen land? Would it even light up again if he caught it?

The tiny creature unfolded its wings, and Spirit moved. He snatched the bug, flower and all, and carefully tugged with the heels of his hands pressed tightly together until the delicate flower's stem snapped. He dared not peek, lest the firefly escape, and he turned and ran through cool sands back toward the dunes.

He stopped short after cresting a hill, not minding the shells and sticks scraping his soles as he gaped down into the shallow pit they had dug. His plastic bucket, shovel, and failed construction were still there, alongside the sticks and stones his companion had been erecting. But the younger boy was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey..." he said, peering around anxiously in the fading light. And then, relief, as the boy in the white swim trunks and t-shirt re-appeared over the opposite hill, toting his own plastic bucket. "Where'd you go?"

"To get more wet sand," he replied, setting his bucket down next to his unorthodox construction. Then he eyed Spirit's hands clasped near to his chest. "Did you finally catch an octopus?"

Spirit grinned. "Come here!"

The younger boy crossed the sand toward him, eyeing his hands with a slightly narrowed gaze. He only came up to Spirit's chest in height, and he tilted his head upward once stopping in front of him, his brow rising in question as Spirit hesitated.

"Not an octopus... It will probably get away."

Spirit wondered suddenly if the bug had even survived being held close with the flower in his hands, and anxiety swept him again. But still... As his friend leaned in close, his expression curious, Spirit slowly and carefully unfolded his fingers from around his precious prize.

At first he couldn't even see it. And then, within the blossom, a yellow-green light faintly illuminated purple petals.

An awed inhale was the boy's response, and Spirit kept his hands cupped in hopes the insect would continue its show.

"It's a firefly."

"I know," his friend said, staring wide-eyed as the creature alternated flickering away to seeming non-existence, and then back into magical presence. By his friend's expression, Spirit imagined he had never seen a firefly before.

And then, suddenly, the boy had stepped back and was looking around.

"Do you have anything we could keep it in?"

Spirit hadn't considered keeping it for a pet. How did one feed a firefly?

"Ah... My mom might have jars back at the house?"

The boy stopped his search and looked up at him.

"Can you keep it while I go look for one?"

"Sure, ah... You know we don't need to—"

"I'll go see if there are any with lids we can poke holes in."

"That...should work. But we don't need to keep—"

"You sure you've got it?"

Spirit pursed his lips. "I've got it!"

"'Cause if you don't I could hold it while you get the jar."

"If you'd just listen! I'm trying to say there's a lot more next to the cove. We don't need to keep this one, we can catch others."

This information had clearly started an entirely new process running in his younger friend's mind, and Spirit could almost see the gears shifting as the boy stared up at him, excitement building so rapidly in his eyes he thought he might burst.

"Okay!" he finally replied. "I'll get the jars, and then we—"

Their plotting was interrupted then by the sudden sound of a mature feminine voice carried on the breeze. Both children looked toward the distant row of houses, and then back, surveying one another as if for the first time.

Spirit realized just how difficult it was getting to see his new friend's face and silver hair in the fading evening light. He took a breath and called back, assured his mother he would be coming in while never taking his eyes from his friend.

"Maybe...we can catch them tomorrow night?"

The boy hung his head.

"...What?"

"We're leaving tomorrow."

Spirit inhaled sharply in surprise. For some reason...he had never considered the possibility of an ending. His heart began to thud heavily as an undefined fear raced through him.

Suddenly, the breeze felt very cold.

He licked his chapped lips and called back to his mother, asking to stay out a bit longer. But the reply of course was no, and an insistence to hurry inside. The boy hadn't lifted his head.

Spirit licked his lips again, pressing his tongue over the salt collected at the corners of his mouth. All at once he had everything in the world to say, but not a single sentence would form in his mind.

"Here..." he said uncertainly, lowering his hands.

The boy startled slightly, but opened his hands to receive the blossom and its glowing treasure. They made the exchange carefully, and once Spirit’s hands were free he gathered up his beach toys.

"What...what time do you leave tomorrow?"

"I don’t know. Morning."

Spirit fought past the sinking feeling in his chest and smiled. "Maybe it won’t be right away. Maybe we can play pirates again."

"Maybe," his companion said glumly.

Spirit felt there was more to say, but his friend was as blank-faced now as when they'd met at week's beginning, peering through his fingers at the intermittent glow of the firefly.

"Oh, hey..." Spirit said, and the boy finally lifted his chin just enough to make eye contact. The red-head blushed as he realized how ridiculous his question was after a week of play. "I...never got your name."

Something else entered the boy's eyes then. Fear? He was definitely hesitant.

"My name's Franken."

Spirit smiled as he pieced the name over each memory of the week, attached it to every quirk and fascination of his new friend's personality.

"You coming?" he asked as he started toward the beach houses.

"I want to look at it a little longer," the boy replied, looking down at his hands.

"Oh... Will you get in trouble?"

Franken smirked. "Probably."

Spirit hesitated, but then thought of the trouble he would be in if he didn't make it inside before dark.

"Okay... Ah. Good night, Franken," he said, not willing yet to say goodbye when there was even the slightest hope for the following day.

Franken didn't reply, but simply stared at the faint glow between his fingers. After a long moment Spirit sighed and finally turned to go back to the house. If his friend were to catch him wiping tears from his eyes, he would blame it on the sting of the salt air.

------------

That night, Spirit's dreams were awash with the fun memories of the week. Meeting another boy all alone on the beach, captive to a vacation neither had chosen, and proceeding to share in each other's imagination for every waking moment they were permitted. They had been sharks and swashbucklers, giant squid and submarines. They had been explorers, discovering hidden lands and treasures up and down the beach. They had traversed volcanic mountains and dove to the deepest depths of the ocean, all from the shores of the little cove where they met each morning and played until sundown.

It was the most fun Spirit could remember ever having in his life.

He woke before dawn the next day and rushed through his cereal and banana, nearly forgetting to change into his swim trunks before hurrying back out to the beach.

The sky was just as gray that morning, but the light behind the clouds was as fresh as the air. The atmosphere spoke of hope and lifted Spirit's soul, giving faster flight to his feet as he ran down the grass-covered slopes and across the open sands toward their playground.

With each step he painted fanciful scenes in his mind in defiance of what he had been told of the day, imagining new adventures he and his companion could have and sending his thoughts far away and around the dread of arriving to find himself alone. He crested the hill by the tree that should reveal silver hair, and...

What he saw brought him to a sudden halt, heart in his throat as there was no sign of his friend. Except...he had most certainly been there.

In the small pit they had dug earlier that week, where he had failed repeatedly despite detailed explanations of ratios of water to sand, there stood inexplicably, at last, a sandcastle.

Spirit gawked from atop the hill at the large construct with its tall, straight walls and bucket-shaped towers at the four corners. Windows had been carved into the turrets, sticks pressed into the center of the front wall to form a portcullis, and atop each wall were perfectly symmetrical merlons. There was a small moat dug around the entire structure, but notably in the very center was a castle keep with a wilting, purple flower at its top.

He shivered in the cool of the morning and hugged himself tight, looking left and right as he rubbed his arms, but there was no sign of the architect anywhere. He stumbled down the hill, sand slipping into his shoes as he hurried to kneel alongside the fantastic creation.

His jaw dropped as now up close, he could see the base of the outer wall was lined in sea-glass and shells, all that they had collected throughout the week and hidden away near their tree. The base of the keep was lined in delicate strands of seaweed, and tucked within the fluttering petals of the purple flower he'd picked the night before was a tiny, folded piece of paper.

He reached forward and pinched it between his fingers, its folds damp from the sea air. He turned it over and his breath caught when he saw what had been written in wobbly scrawl:

'King Spirit'

With fingers shaking, he unfolded the small piece of notebook paper and read the message that had been left.

"I know I probably won't see you again, but we come here on vacation every August. Thank you for being nice to me, and not making fun of my name."

The heat of tears sharply contrasted the chill of the breeze on Spirit's cheeks, and he held the paper up and away from him so he wouldn't get it more moist than it was already.

Nice to him?

As he blinked rapidly to banish the tears and slowly read over the note again, a vision of purple at his periphery caught his eye and he gasped.

Atop the opposite hill in the direction of the cove stood Franken, eyes wide and his arms loaded with purple flowers.

They each stared for a long moment, Franken's gaze finally dipping to the paper in Spirit's hands. His pale cheeks gained a faint, rosy hue.

"You've never been out this early before."

Spirit swallowed down the lump in his throat and stretched his trembling lips into a smile to will away a sob.

"Did...did you get in trouble?"

"I went back for a couple hours and then snuck out. I don't think they've missed me..."

Spirit considered all that building the sandcastle through the night must have cost his friend, what it could still cost him. And just how difficult it must have all been in the dark. He stared at his friend in wonder, and the younger boy's expression grew nervous.

"I...reinforced the walls with rocks and sticks, so they wouldn't collapse. I don't think this sand is fine enough to...hold on its own..."

Spirit looked down at the note, and then up to the flowers in Franken's arms. The silver-haired boy's anxious expression fell to sadness.

"The firefly got away."

Spirit sniffled as his throat tightened again.

"I think you should be king," he spoke slowly, his voice just above a whisper.

Franken looked up, questioning.

"You're the smart one. And...you've already got a royal robe," Spirit continued, nodding to the flowers.

Franken looked down in surprise, but then slowly, shyly, the corners of his mouth turned up.

"And I'll be your esquire. And...I'll protect the castle. Until your triumphant return."

When Franken looked up again his smile had faded. In its place...awe. Spirit carefully folded the note and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his grin broadening.

"If they haven't missed you yet, then...you must have a little more time?"

Sand was kicked up into the breeze as Franken took a step forward, and then another. Spirit hurriedly rose to his feet as Franken ran the rest of the short distance down the hill, and a moment later purple blossoms were crushed between them, petals falling into the sandcastle's moat and scattering over their feet.

Spirit blinked in surprise, but it was hardly a second before he was returning the fierce embrace. He lowered his face, his hair offering minor shielding from the breeze as moisture stung his eyes anew.

"And then, when you get back... We can fight the dragons together," Spirit said quietly as tears slipped down his cheeks.

Franken held on tighter, and purple petals drifted across the sand in the morning breeze.

[nonsensicalobsessions]

Shattered

Tom was doing his level best not to be overcome with his irritability, but honestly, Cara was just being unreasonable now.

Granted, he was the one who had been irascible on their last video call, but he was tired. Cara was refusing to open up (as usual) and passing off her unwillingness to talk about whatever was bothering her as feeling unwell (far be it from him to be less than sympathetic about that time of the month but he had to drag even that much out of her, which was absurd).

Tom loved Cara. He did, and she knew it, and he knew she knew it. They had been together for over a year now. Everyone had predicted the relationship was doomed from the beginning, from Luke to Ben to even his own mother. Not because Cara was playing him for a fool, using him for her own advantage, hoping to further her own career. Cara was a successful woman in her own right, a freelance author whose short stories had won numerous awards and was published in a variety of publications around the world and in several languages. She now had two separate anthologies that enjoyed critical acclaim.

The problem, as they saw it, was that Cara was so quiet. They attributed it to almost painful shyness. They all said she would never be able to cope with the demands of Tom’s career, and she would ultimately crack under the pressure, and drag him down. When Ben spoke with Tom about it, he was gentle, but firm.

“Look, mate. Even if she was never to step foot with you on a red carpet, she would still have to be able to cope with the constant pressure of the media hounding your every move...and that would be unfair to you both. You deserve to be supported, Tom. I simply don’t see this relationship ending well. You need more than she can give. There is nothing wrong with that. It is unfair to ask her for more than she can give.”

Tom had just shaken his head. They didn’t know Cara like he did. They didn’t see the way she made him laugh until he was holding his sides, tears coming from his eyes and his face and abdominal muscles aching with joyful torment. They definitely didn’t see the passionate woman  who could set him aflame with a single look, a touch. No one had ever affected him the way Cara did. She was beautiful and brilliant and sexy and maddening and yes sometimes there was friction between the two of them...

...like now...

Cara’s quietness wasn’t a figment of others’ imaginations. Tom knew it was due to her unhappy childhood (no, he amended, her abusive childhood, calling it anything less was a failure to acknowledge her bravery, her survival) which made her very slow to trust. He quickly learned she still feared angry voices, and sudden movements made her flinch. She couldn’t help it. It was part of her deeply ingrained survival mechanisms. Initially he was deeply saddened. Then he was frustrated, surely she must know by now he meant her no harm? Finally, he recognized they were simply reflexive, and did not take them personally, but tried to adapt his behaviors to keep his beloved more at peace.

It was her emotional barriers that gave him the most difficulty. There were so many things Cara struggled to share with him. Her love was not one of them, nor was her passion, but her fears, her insecurities, her pains, she kept under tight lock and key. Tom’s emotions were as free flowing as a river in flood. Cara could handle all that Tom flung at her, his joys, sorrows, even his angers, as rare as they were...but her inability to reciprocate was a constant sore spot. 

Hence Tom’s current mood.

Yes. He was short with her. He was tired and wanted nothing more than return home to London and be done with this interminable press tour. His current film hadn’t even been released yet and he was already tired of promoting it, which was a bad sign. It wasn’t the work, he was simply exhausted, he had been pushing himself for years on end, and he was feeling like he was finally reaching the end of his tether. He needed a few weeks (months) to regain his usual joie de vivre. 

He was missing Cara, badly.

When he contacted her, she was subdued. She listened to him vent about the usual mishaps and frustrations about being on tour, and responded lovingly, but Tom could sense she wasn’t fully engaged, and called her on it. She flushed, and apologized, simply saying that she wasn’t feeling her best. Tom had to badger her (so he felt) before she would admit she had cramps. At this admission, he had exploded.

“Cara, why do I have to pull every single thing out of you? Jesus, woman! If you’re on your period, all you have to do is say so...! Oh, God, and now you’re embarrassed? You think I don’t know what a period is, for Christ’s sake?”

“Tom, why are you yelling at me? All I said was...”

“It’s what you didn’t say, it’s what you never say!”

Predictably, she was silent for a few moments, before she sighed, “Tom, you are obviously upset, so I am trying to listen to you. Telling you I am feeling unwell, when there is nothing you can do about it, will not help you. I am doing my best, but you are still upset with me. I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”

Tom’s lips thinned in frustration. “Never mind...I’ll see you in a few days.”

He ended the call without the usual exchange of “I love you.” He felt guilty about this later, but he was so exasperated, after all.

Then, of all things, Cara pulled this unexpected tantrum. After the video call, she stopped responding to him. No texts, no emails. It was most unlike her, but considering how difficult it was to get her to be open when she was upset, Tom was not overly surprised. It was their first real fight, and it was when he was away in the bargain.

So unreasonable, though.

It tainted his happiness at his return home, knowing he was coming back to a row. He and Cara still lived separately, which niggled at the back of his head. Something kept him from asking her to move in with him, and he didn’t know what it was. Was it her reticence to open up to him? Was it her pride in having her own place, an overt symbol of her own success both personally and professionally? Was it something less attractive, like the fact her house was only two blocks away, allowing him to maintain his status quo just as he liked it, without having to adapt or change? 

As he stalked towards her home, the last option began to feel more and more likely, even though he was still annoyed, and he tamped down his shame. Thoughts of the many times Cara stayed the night at his home when he was feeling ill, out of sorts, or otherwise in need vastly outweighed the times he slept in her bed for the night, even though it was just as comfortable...and yet he wondered why she might be slow to ask for assistance...

He resolved to do better even as he reminded himself the current grievance was his, and just, as he walked up to her gate, and unlatched it.

The first sign that things might not be as they appeared on the surface was the full mailbox, and papers still sitting on the front step. Her car was sitting on the drive. Once more, Tom dialed her number, and once more, it went straight to voicemail. He gritted his teeth as he tried texting her, with no reply.

“God damn it, Cara, this is so petty,” he hissed, even as he looked at the mail. True, sometimes she did get so caught up in her work that she forgot the world outside, but this would be a first...well, so be it. She drove him to it.

He used the key he knew she had hidden under a planter and let himself inside.

“Cara? Cara, it’s Tom...I know you’re here...it’s beneath you to keep ignoring me, you know...”

The house was utterly still, and silent. The very air felt stationary. Tom looked into the kitchen, and saw an empty glass tipped over on its side.

That was not normal.

“Cara? Cara, where are you? Are you all right?”

He looked around and then quickly went up the stairs, taking two at a time.

He headed straight for her bedroom, and the first thing he spotted her her phone, lying shattered on the floor by the side of her bed. 

The second was Cara herself, lying in a fetal position in the center of it, covered in a mountain of duvets and blankets.

“Cara?”

He rushed to her, and saw her slowly open her eyes.

“Oh thank God, darling, you frightened me...” 

Her voice was very, very soft. “Tom? Is it really you?”

Her response frightened him anew and he sat besides her to stroke her face, and almost recoiled. “Cara, you’re freezing...” He reached for her hand, which was, impossibly, even colder. Her face was almost grey, her lips had a bluish cast, and her eyes seemed hazy, as though she was fighting to focus on him. He fumbled for his mobile and immediately dialed 999. “I need an ambulance, right away...”

As soon as he gave her address, she sighed, “I was so hoping to see you again...”

He paused, sliding the phone away from his mouth. “Of course you were going to see me again, sweetheart, it was a little tiff, that’s all it was, and I was being a right tit...Yes, please God hurry, she’s frightfully pale, very disoriented, her skin is like ice...”

“Tom...” her voice was barely audible now. “Tom...I can’t...can’t breathe, Tom...”

He dropped the phone completely, one hand gripping hers tightly, the other cupping her face to force her to focus on his eyes. “Cara. Cara, look at me. Focus on me, love. That’s it...now, breathe with me...look at me, keep your eyes open, Cara, Cara, look at me...in...and out...that’s right...in...and out...Cara, open your eyes! In...and out...do you hear the sirens, love? Help is coming...in...and out...Cara, look at me...”

There was the crashing of the emergency responders, Tom quickly moved to the other side of the bed, grabbing his phone as the paramedics pulled the duvets and blankets away...and then he cried out at the unhappy discovery at what was underneath.

He sat right by her head in the ambulance, saying nothing, but kept his eyes locked on hers the entire way, stroking her hair. She was going to be fine, she had an oxygen mask on, the paramedics had already hung up a unit of blood, and clearly they knew what they were about. Cara never once closed her eyes, but looked at him the entire way.

“What? What do you mean, it’s too late, that’s absurd, you identified the problem, you’re replacing the blood lost, so why aren’t you prepping her for surgery to correct the issue?”

“Mr. Hiddleston, you aren’t listening to me. She has lost too much blood. She would never survive the surgery.”

“Then can’t you continue the transfusions until...”

“Her organs are already shutting down. I’m very sorry.”

“That’s not good enough! She was conscious when I got there, she was conscious all the way to the hospital...!”

“And quite frankly I don’t understand how she was. Mr. Hiddleston, you have to prepare yourself. She only has a short amount of time left. I suggest to pull yourself together so you can say your goodbyes to her.”

“No. No. This is not...” Tom stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is...is she in any pain?”

“We are keeping her as comfortable as we possibly can.”

“Does...does she know?” Tom’s voice was choked as the reality of the situation began to sink in...Cara hadn’t been ignoring him, she had been too ill to respond. He was castigating her all the while she was lying in  her bed, under as many blankets as she could gather, undoubtedly thinking she was going to improve on her own until she realized she was getting beyond that, she reached for her phone and in her weakness, dropped it. Tom never once thought to send someone to check on her.

“Yes. Her first concern was for you. She seemed to have recognized the severity of her situation awhile ago. Is there anyone else we should contact?”

Tom didn’t answer, just left the so-called “Quiet Room” and headed straight for Cara.

She was propped at a slight angle, with an oxygen cannula and quiet heart rate monitor in the room. Her eyes were closed, but opened slightly when Tom entered.

“Cara.”

“Tom.”

He noticed she was shivering. He looked scornfully at the thin sheet and blanket she was covered with, of course she was shivering, lying on that wretched hospital mattress. He toed off his shoes, and lowered a side railing so he could slide onto it and gather her into his arms on the bed. She sighed in relief as the warmth of his embrace and body quickly eased the shuddering.

“There, now,” he murmured. She was still under the poor excuse of a blanket as he wrapped it snugly around her, but she was in her favorite position, with her head cradled in the crook of his shoulder and his arm around her, one of his legs wrapped about her body. “Better?”

She nodded. Tom noticed her chest was moving in shallow, rapid flutters, and she was almost gasping. He caressed her cheek. “Easy, Cara. I have you.”

He then kissed her temple and whispered, “I love you, so very much.”

Cara struggled to take a breath deep enough to say, “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

“Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for...”

She shook her head feebly. “I had...a gift...to give you...”

“You already did. You always did...Cara, didn’t you know? Every day with you was a gift...no one’s ever made me happy like you do.” He stroked her hair and fiercely willed himself not to cry, to keep his voice tender and warm and steady.

A smile crossed her face even as her eyes began to droop. “Made...you...happy?”

“Darling, do you need to ask? After all the laughter, conversations, and the joy I found in your arms? Yes, sweetheart. You made me very happy.”

Her eyes opened suddenly and she spoke as clearly as she did the first day she met him. “I don’t want to leave you, Tom. I love you, with all my heart.”

“I don’t want you to go, Cara. I will always love you. Always.”

He could tell she used the last bit of energy, last bit of life, to speak to him so. He felt her sink into his arms, nestling her head into the nape of his neck as she had done so many times before, and relax. He rocked her gently, and spoke softly to her, “I love you, Cara. I’ve got you, darling. I love you so. Be at peace, sweetheart. You are loved. I have you, Cara, I have you.” His cadence never faltered even as the tears ran down his face, the dam broken.

He didn’t need to hear the heart monitor become silent to know when her heart stopped and his shattered. He knew when he was the only person left in the room.