Author: Unknown_Star (supergirl.1⊕web.de)
Category: M/L, actually Liz POV
Summary: We can keep up a façade all day long. But at night, the thoughts are coming, you don’t dare to think at day.
Disclaimer: If I would own them, there would be more than 3 lousy seasons.
Author’s Note: Well, I wrote this story in German. I did my very best to translate it. But since my the last two years English education were taught by the most boring teacher who had ever set a foot on this world I think I didn’t do such a great job. So I guarantee for nothing.
Just tell me how you like the story and how proper my English is. That would be really nice.
And I should tell you that I was in some sort of a sad mood when I wrote the story. This isn’t a happy fic. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.
Who’s interested in the German original can read it here: http://mitglied.lycos.de/fanfictionworld/dreamer/gedankengaenge.html
4 am. Awake. Awake like always. Why can’t I sleep? I know the reason. But I don’t want to admit it. The reason is lying right next to me, breathing in and out and with every breath he takes he exhales a little bit more of his precious life.
“Mrs. Evans, your husband has still a month. Maybe two, if he’s lucky.” The doctor’s words are still echoing in my head. They came experienced over his lips. Some pity swung through them, but his eyes were cold. They spoke different: Another hopeless case, like he had so often experienced in his career. He didn’t care.
I look wistfully at the love of my life. The moonlight brightens his face. It’s still as beautiful as then. But I neither have seen nor heard his beautiful laughter in a long time.
Tears are rising in my eyes, benumbing my face. Now is the only time I allow me to let them fall. I sob quietly. He shall not see it. Shall not see how I cry over him like he’s already gone. I try to give him strength. It’s a joke. If I have no strength, how am I supposed to give it to him? But I try to be strong. Not to be the of-faith-shaken woman that they all see in me. Their pitiful looks are burning on my skin when I’m walking across the street. “That’s Liz Evans. You know, her husband is dangerously ill. How terrible and that right now in her condition.” When I pass them they stop talking and feign their played pity. No one of them knows my sorrow, my pain.
The tears are running farther, moistening the child’s roof. His child that grows below my heart. He’ll never see it, scooping it up in his arms and showing it around like a proud father.
It’s being tricked. Tricked out of a loving father as well as its mother. Because, can I still love when he’s gone? Can I still feel something when I see something of him everywhere, still sensing him everywhere, but can’t touch him?
That’s selfish. Not only of me. How can god be so selfish and take him from me?
* “I thought you didn’t believe in god?” “I believe in you.” *
The tears are again running down my cheeks. No matter what I think my thoughts will be forever by him. Always fixed at how he’s awakening in the morning and falling asleep at night. How he’s going to his work and calling at noon, impatient like a little boy, to tell me that he loves me. How he’s bringing me a white rose by every now and then. How shall I ever continue my life?
I look again at the once so powerful body, which seems now more breakable than ever. But something has changed. My flow of tears stops. The sounds. They’re gone. The sound of breathing left him. Cautious, like not to wake him, I bend over him. Catch one last kiss from his lips. They’re still warm.
I should cry now, be sad, perhaps a little bit hysterical, too. But in some strange way, I’m happy. Happy that he made it. And I know that he’ll always be there for me, waiting for me.
Because in my heart, he will never cease to live. There, he will ever exist. Like in his child.
I’ll always love you, Maxwell Evans!
Don’t ever forget this on your way.
posted on 31-Aug-2002 5:12:00 AM
Thanks for the nice feedback. I was a little bit nervous when I posted this here. But now, I'm relieved.