Maybe      Maybe

 by LaAmelia

  

 

 Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, you *know* that. Why must you
opintlessly hound me for disclaimers. It's not stealing, it's *borrowing*.
I promise to return the boys in perfect condition. Not a scratch or a
trace of chocolate sauce anywhere on them, honest. (my most innocent
smile)

 Author's Notes: It's a vaguely pointless ramble about my two favourite
characters in the whole wide world. I'm tired and caffeine deprived, this
is what you must come to expect at such moments. I apologise in advance.

 Story Notes: I'm a person, I'm not a mindless piece of machinery, I have
a soul. The blessed Feedback is good for my soul. You keep talkin', I keep
supplyin'. 
My love is an unlimited resource - if you want your own little piece of my
undying affection you know what to do.

 

 

 Okay So I'm laying here thinking maybe this is the shit-scariest place to
be in the world. My heart's going eighty five thousand beats a minute and
I'm tense through every muscle I've got. Normally right about now the
tension's melted into oblivion but this right here .... It's Fraser. Holy
mother of God what have I done?
 Okay, calm, calm, calm my mantra just raises me into another state of
higher panic so I stop repeating it and let my thoughts wander. It's a
little dark in the room but from the streetlight outside I can see Fraser.
He's curled on his side right here next to me, sleeping peacefully like I
should be doing. I'm sure as hell spent enough ... But I can't seem to
make the panic ebb. You ever do something that was sooooo incredibly
wrong. In every single way that you could imagine. Only you were still
doing it. So the fucked up hedonist part of your brain decides that it
feels good so you should keep doing it. And since you're still doing
it.... Then it must be the right thing to do. Otherwise you'd stop, right?
But you haven't stopped so this must be a good thing. Even though you know
it's so incredibly bad. Thing is, all the while I was letting myself fall
in love with the big dumb Canuck, I knew I was gonna regret it. But at the
same time I didn't stop myself. Didn't spend any less time with him.
Didn't transfer my ass the hell away from him. So I guess I'm a hedonist
and a masochist. This just gets better doesn't it? 

 So I'm watching him sleep, sappy but oddly quieting in its own sort of
way. Like if he's not panicking then why should I be? And I watch him
smile in that happy way, blissfully unaware of the fact I'm heading
towards cardiac arrest, and don't I just feel like the most bastardly
bastard this side of anywhere. I've made him all happy and smiling and
content and, yes, that makes me feel terrible. Why? Because I'm starting
to get all these horrible great monster-shaped doubts and I know if he
knew that it'd wipe that happiness right of his pretty Mountie soul and
burn it. That right there is the single most frightening thought I've ever
had. God, what if I make him unhappy? Did that one time before - punched
him - pulled it a bit so it wouldn't really hurt but it hurt in all the
wrong ways. Got tears in his eyes and I nearly broke all laws of physics
just so I could kick myself in the head. Didn't though. And we worked
through it, we really did. I'd known it wouldn't leave a physical scar but
I thought maybe he'd have one inside. But he didn't and I nearly died of
relief when I knew that. It had scared me a lot to hurt him so, and the
feelin' I got right now isn't a lot different. Only now it's eighty times
scarier because I know that if I fuck this up it will leave scars. Big
ugly ones that never fade. So I better not fuck this up, huh? 

 I notice for the first time that my skin's all warm, warmer than I think
its ever been. Hadn't realized till he got close just how skin-cold I
really was. Skin-cold, and heart-sore. For maybe a couple hours that
feeling went away and as I stop panicking for a second and pay attention I
realize it hasn't come back. I'm not sore any more. Maybe that's what's
scaring me - not that it feels wrong but it feels right. It's unfamiliar
... but I'm not going to turn my back on this good feeling just because
I'm not used to it. That would be D.U.M - dumb. Ben's hand is resting on
the pillow, his fingers splayed out. Open. How bizarre that suddenly he's
the open one and I'm the one curled up so tight I'm almost turning in on
myself. I rub at his knuckles and his fingers flex around mine, sleepily
drawing my fingers to his mouth so he can kiss them. His soft
grey-coloured eyes flicker open for one heart-stopping moment and then he
slides back into the abyss. Thank God. Some child-like, frightened bit of
me knows I'm not ready to speak yet. To live again yet. This little bit of
time where I don't have to live, or do anything but exist, it gives me
time to make some sense of the mess in my head. A .... ($10 word coming
up) ... cacophony of voices telling me a million different useless things
such as `run' and `kiss him' and `sleep' and `drink some coffee' , when I
know full well I can do none of these things. Okay perhaps I can do the
kiss part, and I do. I lay a little, chaste kiss on his gently curved
mouth and when his face tilts unconsciously up to mine I smile too. It
seems oddly significant that in the midst of all my confusion, this is the
one thing that feels perfectly sane to me. He always was my gravity. I
think I'm his lack thereof. It's good - we balance, in every way I can
think of. I think back to when I first started falling in love with him,
annoying though he was. I thought at the time maybe it didn't really
matter that it was him. I was just lonely and I would have fallen for
anyone who got close enough. I worked out a little while later that I was
just in denial. He wasn't just anybody to me - he was the most
fascinating, contrary, obstinate, infuriating, sexy, intelligent, gentle,
dangerous, beautiful beautiful man. No-one else would ever discover his
unique way of getting under my skin, and no-one else would ever be able to
compare to him. So I kissed him. Didn't kiss his lips, maybe I was afraid
of getting bitten or something. He always did have this kind of wild side
that worried me a bit when it appeared from under layers of Mountie. So,
instead, I kissed his neck. The soft space below his ear. I kissed a line
along his jaw, kinda wondering how come his skin was so soft and smooth.
And he went all sort of still. And I stopped and I pulled back a bit, and
he said, in that pretty, soft voice of his, "What are you doing, Ray." And
I almost laughed out loud. But I didn't. I stayed all serious and I looked
into his face and I told him the first thing that entered my dumb blonde
head. Wait for it .... "I'm fallin' in love with you Ben." Then, just as
I'm congratulating myself on the sheer volume of my stupidity, he blinks a
couple times and then he kissed me back. Only, he's not afraid - why
should he be? - so he does it properly, his tongue makin' little swipes
across my lower lip `til I make the difficult choice between dying of
shock and opening up to let him in. I open up, and that's where the memory
starts to get real unclear. Only now it's coming back in snapshots and
blurry slideshows, and holy God I hope none of those memories ever go away
again. 

 I shake myself and realise with a grin that I'm not all that scared
anymore. Okay so maybe still a little freaked. My body's still kind of
tense but instead of bad tension it feels like living. Like .... What's
the word I need? It's .... It's like anticipation. Yeh, that's it.
Blissfully on edge. I turn over on my other side and shuffle back into his
welcoming arms so he's sort of spooned behind me and my God I don't think
anything's ever felt so relaxed and warm and safe and all those `home'
sort of things. Funny how appropriate the word home sounds in my head when
I associate it with Fraser. Ben. Got to start calling him Ben. Anyway, I'm
lying here all comfortable and secure-like, and I'm thinking that, if and
when tomorrow decides to show its face, I might just be able to cope with
the implications of what I just did. What Ben and me just did. He's a
`forever' sort of person and that suits me just fine. I am too. So maybe
tomorrow it'll be awkward, maybe it won't. It's our days off so we'd
planned to be together anyway. In a `friends' type way. Maybe we're a lot
more than that now. Maybe we'll talk, maybe we won't know what to say.
Maybe we won't need to talk, maybe we won't get the chance. Maybe we'll
end up with a repeat performance, maybe we won't. Maybe we'll make it -
no, that one's not a maybe. We'll make it. I'm pretty damn stubborn and
the Mountie's got me beat on that score. I'm too stubborn to let this go,
and I know for sure he will be too. Since when did he learn to let
anything go? I pray he won't start with this. As if he reads my thoughts,
which sometimes I think he does, he pulls me closer, nestling his face
against my neck so whenever he breathes out a faint cloud of warmth hits
my skin and sends shivers through every part of me that's not already gone
to sleep. While I'm praying, I figure I may as well give a bit of a
thankyou. After all, it's not everyone who gets this kind of beautiful
person pushed into their life right when they don't expect it. Even fewer
get to tell the person they love them and have the feeling returned so
unwaveringly. He never said it but I knew it was true. He wouldn't be here
if he wasn't a good bit in love with me. I know him that well - he
wouldn't risk our friendship that way. I push back a little into him and
he tightens his arms around me. His legs are crossed over mine and I think
we're about as close as we can get without sharing the same airspace.
Good. When we wake up I want to be holding him, reassuring him in case
he's afraid like I've been. In case he doubts how much I don't regret last
night. I want to be there telling him with my body that I want to stay
like this forever, with him, beside him, in him, around him, loving him,
understanding him, knowing him, protecting him, adoring him, forgiving
him, and all those other things I never got from anyone else, that I've
gotten from him, in so short a time that I'm half convinced I've dreamed
it all. It's a few hours, a few weeks maybe before I sleep. The last thing
I remember before I submit to the darkness is to tell him I love. Which I
do, although I doubt it's coherent and I doubt he's listening anyway.
Doesn't matter. I've said it, I've meant it, and whatever comes in the
morning we'll face it together. 

End Maybe by LaAmelia: beatitribbitbiteme@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.