Saying Goodbye

She leaned over and gently brushed his cheek with her fingertips. "My miracle," she whispered. Her eyes filled with tears and she fought to hold them back. "Not here. Not now," she berated herself. There were others around and losing control, wasn't something she was willing to do.

One by one, they stopped and gazed at her child, gave her a hug or a kind word, before leaving her alone with him. When the last of the guests had gone, the doors locked and the lights turned off, she sat in the only chair in the room and allowed herself to cry. She'd been told to expect this. "You've been through an ordeal," her doctor said. "You mustn't hold it all inside. It's not good for you," her brother said. "No one expects you to be strong all the time," her best friend said.

She knew they were right, every one of them. She'd said those same words to others time and again, but it was only now, hearing them said to her, that she realized how hollow those words really were. They didn't understand that this was goodbye; that after tonight, her life would never be the same. Maybe no one else expected her to be strong all the time, but she expected it of herself, especially now. This was no time to let her guard down, not while they were still out there. Bringing him home had been a risk, but she'd wanted to show them that she was no longer afraid. She was issuing a silent challenge. "Come and get us. I dare you."

Grabbing a tissue from the box on the table beside her, she dried her eyes. Time was precious and not to be wasted with tears. They'd taken the dare and had shown up at her door a few hours earlier, ready to take her child away from her. It was only through the kindness... "Kindness," she scoffed. It was only because of the man with the dreadful nicotine addiction, that she had him with her now. He'd waved the men off, telling them to return in the morning, allowing her one last night with her son. They would be back at sunrise to take her child away for the last time.

She moved the chair closer, so she could touch him. For the rest of the night, she held his hand, stroked his cheek, told him stories about his father, about the struggles they'd endured. By daybreak, her voice was almost gone, but she'd said all she needed to say. She heard the car pull up and waited for the sound of closing doors. Reaching out, she gingerly traced the outline of the bullet hole in her son's forehead, now almost concealed by the skilled artistry of a local mortician.

"Time's up, Anna," the smoking man said.

She nodded and bent over to place one last kiss on her child's cheek. "Goodbye, Alexei. I love you."

* ::steps up the podium and clears throat:: Hi, I'm Frohike and I'm a Krycekoholic. I'll admit it, I'm fixated on Alex's death, sue me. While popular fanfic canon has Alex as an orphan, but I couldn't stand to think of him dying with no one to love him and mourn his passing. Excuse me? ::snickers:: No way! You didn't really think I was writing about Scully and Will, did you? *g*