Title: Blind Theory

Summary: Post NFA B/A written for 15minuteficlets the word was searching

 

 

Once in a dream he’d told her that if he was blind he would see her. She supposed now was the time to see if that held true. She stood in the doorway, looking down at his broken body. She couldn’t bring herself to cross that threshold. As long as she didn’t step any closer this wasn’t real. The heart monitor wasn’t beeping. He wasn’t a crumpled, broken form covered with sheets as pale as his skin. As long as she didn’t get any closer this was a nightmare that she’d wake up from.

 

At least that was her theory.

 

He turned his head toward her. She wondered how he knew she was there. Did he still feel her like he once had? She only had to turn to the ache in the pit of her belly to answer that question. If she felt him…she knew there was no dimension in which he wouldn’t feel her too.

 

“Buffy?”

 

So much for her theory.

 

She was on her knees by his bed in one swift move. “I’m here, Angel. I’m here now.”

 

His hand went out, fingers searching for the touch of her, the slide of her lips against his skin.  She bowed her head, lips brushing his fingers, then she wrapped her own hand around his.

 

“I’m scared, Buffy. I’m so scared.”  His voice sounded tiny, trembling and lost. The heart monitor accompanied his plaintive confession.

 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared. I’m here now and I’m not leaving you,” she assured him with both her voice and a gentle squeeze of her hand.

 

He nodded. “Can you…I need…” he trailed off, afraid to ask for something he had no right to ask for.

 

She wasn’t sure when the tears had begun. Maybe they had never stopped, from the time she’d gotten the call in Rome telling her Angel was human and in the hospital. No, she didn’t remember tears then. She’d spent the entire flight dry eyed, probably in shock from the news. Her bottom lip quivered and the tears that were ever present increased in volume. She stifled the sobs by biting on the inside of her cheek. The tears had started when they told her he was blind. Her Angel would never see the sun he could now walk out in.

 

Her fingers trailed across his temple, into his hair, skirting around the bandages that covered his eyes.  “What do you need, Angel?”

 

“You. I need you.” His soft, raspy whisper seemed to echo in the sanctity of the quiet room.

 

She crawled onto the bed with him, drew him into her arms.  She kissed the crown of his head and held him while his broken body shuddered from silent sobs.  “I’m right here where I’ve always been,” she whispered. “Right here where I’ve always been.”