(no subject)

If he closes his eyes, will she disappear? He holds her without letting himself fall asleep for hours, it seems, though he doesn't wear a watch and there's no clock in the room measuring the passage of time. Somewhere in the past month he decided time was completely fucking irrelevant, anyhow; he has no idea where he stands in terms of time or age and any or all of that crap any more. So he decides to make up a new rule about it: time was standing still here till last Christmas, and then it kick-started again, and now... he figures he'll age himself the same way Beth does and the same way Junior does, once he's born. He also knows it doesn't matter and time's still completely irrelevant. The only thing that matters is Beth is back, and now his ribs don't hurt so damn much and he can hardly remember the way the broken bone in his arm felt, or the way it made him want to be sick when he saw his femur looking back at him through the opening in his leg. The memory of the katana's blade fades minute by minute and it doesn't matter: none of it matters.

He survived it, and he's back here now and so is Beth. She's in their bed, and her eyes are closed, and it would almost seem like she'd never been gone except he knows she was.

He's almost afraid to believe it because it feels like one of those too-good-to-be-true things. But maybe by morning he'll start to think it's really happening, or maybe in a day or two. It's just that right now, he's not so sure he isn't dreaming. Her body feels real enough, and if he rests his head against her back he can hear her heart beating.

Or maybe that's his own, or both their hearts beating in synch. Where have you been, what did you do, how did you do it, who's this other person you brought back, tell me you don't want to go back there again all mingle in his thoughts with the more insecure ones like did you think about me and did you tell anyone about this place and could you feel me trying to get back to you? Because I did. I did, Beth. Don't think for a minute that I didn't try every fucking chance I had. That insecure piece of him -- the one no one ever gets to see, except Beth and only rarely -- reminds him that no one's ever tried to get back to him before. That's the part that keeps him awake. That's the part that won't let him believe what his eyes and hands and heart have told him: she's here. She's here, and she came back, and she missed him and she loves him.

And she was worried about him when she came in; that was pretty fucking obvious.

Though he's not proud of it, he hopes like hell she didn't run into Yorick out there. But he'll never tell her that: it feels way too petty.

Shit, Beth, I missed the hell out of you. You were all I could think about.