Edgar D Eicheln (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ofthelions) wrote2014-09-23 05:25 pm
ofthelions) wrote2014-09-23 05:25 pm
Entry tags:
[hoc canon] stars fading but I linger on, dear [for Rachel; Elliot]
It isn't that it hasn't been difficult. It has been.
It's been incredibly painful, much of the time. It's been entirely difficult to know that they're standing on the other side of a veil, that there will never be exactly the sort of warmth and comfort anymore that a living father or friend could have provided. It's been an ache to be so close and still watch so many people who deserved so much suffer.
Helping Argine pass had been some of the worst of it. The genuine toll it had taken on Eileen and Rachel--the deep heartbreak, no matter that it was the first in a long chain of deaths which they'd actually been able to see coming--had wrenched through Edgar with the same intensity as his own death.
It isn't that, somehow, the loss has been 'worth it.' It's just that, finally, things are starting to come back into a better sort of balance.
There's nothing in the world quite like knowing Andrew and Argine are together the way they ought to be. There's nothing in the world quite like watching the way Elisha keeps his arm around Eileen's shoulders or the painfully paternal wonder in the king's eyes when he watches the girl who is now officially his daughter. There's nothing in the world quite like hearing his little girl laugh again with genuine glee actually lighting up the sound.
There's nothing like seeing Elliot being a father to his children. There's nothing like seeing Rachel actually rest her head on someone else's shoulder again.
He knows he isn't allowed all that much time. He knows that he's giving up the chance to kiss Eileen's forehead on her birthday or murmur soft advice in Elisha's ear when she steps down from being Ace. But he knows, just as much, that it's important tonight to take what time he has to sit carefully down on the edge of this particular bed and smooth back the hair of this particular sleeper as he settles into the realm of dreams properly.
It's been incredibly painful, much of the time. It's been entirely difficult to know that they're standing on the other side of a veil, that there will never be exactly the sort of warmth and comfort anymore that a living father or friend could have provided. It's been an ache to be so close and still watch so many people who deserved so much suffer.
Helping Argine pass had been some of the worst of it. The genuine toll it had taken on Eileen and Rachel--the deep heartbreak, no matter that it was the first in a long chain of deaths which they'd actually been able to see coming--had wrenched through Edgar with the same intensity as his own death.
It isn't that, somehow, the loss has been 'worth it.' It's just that, finally, things are starting to come back into a better sort of balance.
There's nothing in the world quite like knowing Andrew and Argine are together the way they ought to be. There's nothing in the world quite like watching the way Elisha keeps his arm around Eileen's shoulders or the painfully paternal wonder in the king's eyes when he watches the girl who is now officially his daughter. There's nothing in the world quite like hearing his little girl laugh again with genuine glee actually lighting up the sound.
There's nothing like seeing Elliot being a father to his children. There's nothing like seeing Rachel actually rest her head on someone else's shoulder again.
He knows he isn't allowed all that much time. He knows that he's giving up the chance to kiss Eileen's forehead on her birthday or murmur soft advice in Elisha's ear when she steps down from being Ace. But he knows, just as much, that it's important tonight to take what time he has to sit carefully down on the edge of this particular bed and smooth back the hair of this particular sleeper as he settles into the realm of dreams properly.
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A tiny piece of him, of course, is hopeful they have a son. A tiny piece of him, after all, can't help but worry about his own daughter.
Who would, in his estimation, be getting a new sibling in this.
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And isn't it nice to say so firmly. Isn't it nice to believe he'll be there, at least in spirit if not in dreams, to see when their joy finally enters the world.
"And you'll come visit again."
When the baby's born, yes, but surely before and after that, as well.
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"As often as I can, I promise."
But it's interesting to ponder, knowing she'll actually need him less.
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But.
"It's just-- I still miss you."
It's never going to change, really, even if the press of his lips to her skin has her smiling now instead of tearing up.
"And I always thought you'd be-- part of this."
In a different way, when they were younger, yes. But the heart of the matter hadn't changed even as they'd aged.
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He knows, someday, the missing between himself and Rachel will stop. He also knows with great certainty that it's still going to be a long time yet.
"I will be, Rach. You know that. And-- besides, yeah? Your little one's gonna have you and Elliot and Eileen t' tell 'm about us."
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He's always there, she knows. It's just always nicer, to have him be here like this.
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He'd been with her every step since the crash, completely in spite of not being on the same side of the Beyond. He'd been with her every step since the fight, completely in heart despite the rift between them.
Some thing simply don't ever change.
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From the moment she drew her first breath to beyond the time when she would draw her last. It's been in different ways, over time, but he's always been present somehow.
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"Always will be."
Even death couldn't stop him.
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"Love you, Ed."
It doesn't hurt to say, anymore.
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Even if the squeeze of his hand around hers is getting fainter. Even if he knows the twinkle of his eyes is going to have to turn back to the twinkle of stars at the window.
"More'n I've got the words for."
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Even as he begins to fade from her sight. It's not like he's going far, after all.
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And he's much, much more confident, these days, that she can feel it.