Regrets	 Regrets A few words, before I begin my first post here. 

I'm not supposed to be here. Uh-uh. I'm already happily sunk in two other
fandoms. I don't need another one. Nope, no way. 

Then three friends who will NOT remain anonymous decided that my life
wasn't complete until I watched this show. 

They sent me a tape with several episodes and told me I only had to watch
the first two. If I could prove to them that I didn't like the show after
those two episdoes, they would never try to tempt me again. 

So I watched "Hawk and a Handsaw" and said, "Cute. LIKE the Mountie. LIKE
the Mountie in a leather jacket. Like the scene where he talks about how
his father was recovering from his mother's death. But, you know, no big
deal." 

The next episode on the tape was "Victoria's Secret." What do you think? 

So this story is dedicated to Dianne, Cath and Chris, who decided that my
life wasn't insane enough already. Do you think Baltimore can hold all
four of us? 

Hmmm, let's see... disclaimers: Don't own any of these character or their
situations, aren't making any money off of them. This is a Victoria story,
BTW, for those of you who would rather see her torn to shreds. Enjoy!
Comments to lizbet@primenet.com ------------------------------	Regrets I
almost jumped. Really, I did. There was that moment when he was in my
arms, when I thought that the booming cry I heard was nothing but the
clattering of the train. Then his eyes caught mine, the look in them so
familiar. 

He looked the same in that icy hell where we both knew we would die. It
was the calm acceptance of inevitability. That's when I knew the sound had
been a gun, that the damp warmth spreading across my hand was his life's
blood, and then he was falling, out of my arms, out of my life. 

I almost jumped. I heard him crash to the ground, an awful sound of
vulnerable bone and flesh striking pavement. I kept seeing his eyes,
staring into mine, farewell in his gaze. He knew, in that moment. It had
all happened so fast. One moment I'd been holding a gun on him, the next I
was leaving him behind. The next he was running toward me, hand
outstretched. And I'd been reaching for him too. I had forgiven him.
Forgiven him for betraying me, for stealing ten years of my life. He had
forgiven me for betraying him, for stealing his honor and his pride. 

How many times has that image echoed throughout history, two hands
reaching, but not quite touching? As a child, I fell in love with a legend
about two lovers who were separated by birth and circumstance. Her father
gave her lover a year and a day to earn her hand by earning his fortune.
If he failed to return in time, she would be wed to another. Her lover
returned, triumphant -- only to find that he had neglected to count the
day of his departure in the stipulated time. She was wed to another. They
both died of grief and were buried in one tomb, effigies of their hands
not quite meeting symbolizing their hopeless love. 

I almost jumped. Damn you, I did. But what would have waited for me if I
had? His whole life was based on truth and honor. With me, only with me,
he could have put those aside. In our own world, it didn't matter what he
was, what I was. If he had come with me, we could have been together. But
I couldn't stay in his world. I would have been hated there. He would have
hated me there. Everyone would have joined forces against me, to convince
him that I didn't love him. 

I did. I do. That's the hell of it all. I love him. I loved him on that
cold mountainside when we thought we were going to die. I hated him when
he ignored my pleading and sent me to jail for my sins. I hated him until
the moment he told me that he had been wrong, that he should have let me
go. That's when my heart simply broke. 

I almost jumped. There was so little time to decide. I wanted to jump, I
wanted to stay with him. But they clustered about and over him like
vultures. Ray probably would have turned the gun on me. I'd be arrested
before I reached his side. Even if I had jumped off the train, we wouldn't
have been allowed to be together. I lost him the moment the gun roared and
he fell from my arms. 

So little time. So damn little time. It isn't fair. Ten years ago, now.
How could you know someone so well when you barely knew them? We had spent
a week together, no more, spread over ten years. How could you love so
much? The rage of pain and desire in me tore my soul to pieces as the
train took me out of sight in moments. I didn't dare contact him again,
for fear they would find me. I had to disappear completely, change my
name, leave my past behind. I could never see him again. I could never
know if he lived or died on that train platform that night. Never. 

I almost jumped. 

But I didn't. 
--------------------------------------- 
Lizbet ~*~ lizbet@primenet.com ~ Lizbetann@aol.com 
Arnyd yw Ewyll hyd yw, "Passion is the will to be" ~~*~~ 
http://members.aol.com/Lizbetann/mypage.html