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Jul. 22nd, 2006 05:13 pmSleeping without painkillers is starting to be a royal pain in the... side; there's no comfortable position. No matter how many times he tells his ribs to just fucking heal already, they don't pay much attention to him. In the back of his mind he can hear Doc's voice, clear as a bell: six to eight weeks, Spike. The more you push it, the longer they'll take.
Yeah, right. Thanks for the info, Doc.
He's always done things his way. Always, and in the middle of the night when sleep won't come, he starts second-guessing every decision he's ever made because lying wide awake when the clock reads two and three and four kind of makes that inevitable. Maybe if he had said no to the Dragons when he was fifteen standing by the side of the road looking down at his dead dog. Maybe if he hadn't run away in the first place. Maybe if he'd told Mao he didn't want to partner with Vicious, that he wasn't interested in joining up, not really. Maybe if he'd just left instead of insisting Julia go with him. Maybe if he'd never brought Beth to Mars or Venus or Europa or Ganymede or any of those places. Maybe if they'd just stayed in the room for dinner that night, she'd still be here.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. Who the fuck knows? Not him. But he can't help the way his mind works.
Some nights the chair makes a better bed; some nights it doesn't matter what he does. Some nights he tries to find a comfortable way to rest; others, he just looks up at the glow-in-the-dark stars she painted on his ceiling. It was one of the first nice things anyone had ever done for him and he knows it He just... really misses her. He misses her so much. And he misses the promise of Junior, as fucked up as that sounds: his whole damn life he never wanted kids and then Beth was pregnant and he found out a few things about himself that could have actually been important and now... well, it's kind of all wasted effort. He'll never know what it's like, and he'll never know if he'd have actually made a better father than his own dad.
He fucking hates four in the morning without Beth.
Yeah, right. Thanks for the info, Doc.
He's always done things his way. Always, and in the middle of the night when sleep won't come, he starts second-guessing every decision he's ever made because lying wide awake when the clock reads two and three and four kind of makes that inevitable. Maybe if he had said no to the Dragons when he was fifteen standing by the side of the road looking down at his dead dog. Maybe if he hadn't run away in the first place. Maybe if he'd told Mao he didn't want to partner with Vicious, that he wasn't interested in joining up, not really. Maybe if he'd just left instead of insisting Julia go with him. Maybe if he'd never brought Beth to Mars or Venus or Europa or Ganymede or any of those places. Maybe if they'd just stayed in the room for dinner that night, she'd still be here.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. Who the fuck knows? Not him. But he can't help the way his mind works.
Some nights the chair makes a better bed; some nights it doesn't matter what he does. Some nights he tries to find a comfortable way to rest; others, he just looks up at the glow-in-the-dark stars she painted on his ceiling. It was one of the first nice things anyone had ever done for him and he knows it He just... really misses her. He misses her so much. And he misses the promise of Junior, as fucked up as that sounds: his whole damn life he never wanted kids and then Beth was pregnant and he found out a few things about himself that could have actually been important and now... well, it's kind of all wasted effort. He'll never know what it's like, and he'll never know if he'd have actually made a better father than his own dad.
He fucking hates four in the morning without Beth.
