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evolutionaryoriginally posted: 2011-09-18
Title: Waiting
Warnings: Just angst. According to some, unrequited love.
Word Count: 827
Characters: Alan and Nigel.
Notes: Foraison. This was a spur of the moment type of concept.
Summary: There exists a limit to waiting, and you're not the one missed.
Alan had come for him in the dead of night, past waking hours for the sane and practical. In the bright light of the emergency room, they had extrapolated, assessed, and left him to process. The offer for brief visitation was taken, and he moved past rooms, crossing tiled hallways to a locked chamber. There, to be left alone with the reason for his presence, he sat beside the other's bed and watched him breathe.
He could count the number of inhales. Could compare them to the times Nigel's chest fell and stilled as the former looked on with clouded eyes. Minute details. Revelations. Simple actions Alan would pick apart when it came to another not his kin. This break read as familiar, its methods derived from something more. The source intimate. It wasn't so easily worded, and he had no room to speak.
It was Nigel who broke first, intoned flawlessly despite what they had established as his condition. "Am I awake?" he asked, confusion evident. Why this would be, Alan hadn't a clue.
"Yes."
There was a beat. Comprehension eventually clicked into place, and the younger man tilted a head as a gesture of recognition. Released a breath in surrender. He fell again into silence, eyes like glass and smoke. Minutes passed between them, edging toward hours.
When Nigel spoke again, it was unexpected--a delayed reaction to questions long since pressed. "I was waiting." He trailed on the final syllable.
There was uncertainty there, and Alan wished to take it. Press it. Dwell on the possibilities until they bubbled forth as broth and brine. Lucidity was losing, but he wouldn't falter for this one's sake. "For?" Alan asked instead.
Nigel did not respond for a long time. Time ticked between them, the absence remembered like someone missed. Finally: "They told you what happened."
It seemed obvious enough for the answer to be withheld. Alan blinked.
"Are you angry?"
A mystery was a question, and the man widened his eyes in increments. Yet the response stood out like a light in the dark, still worth a moment's hesitation to deliver. "No," he whispered. "I'm not angry." Somewhat surprised and hardly unfettered but not angry.
This satisfied an unknown need. Nigel turned away. "I was waiting for them," came the murmur. "Must have gotten lonely. They were gone for awhile."
Pleased was not his countenance, for multiple reasons. But anger was not allowed to be seen nor the obvious made apparent. Alan had said as much: he could only question now and skirt around delicacies. "How long?"
"Long enough."
"Nigel--"
His brother cut into the name, forcing attention away in hushed tones. "Alan," he began, "do you know this place?"
It was a ridiculous question, and they both knew it. Alan's voice hinted at defeat when he discovered he was minding a child. "The hospital," the man replied, deadpan.
"That wasn't my question, Alan."
"...No, then. I don't." He hadn't even known the direction until the receptionist on the phone specified.
Nigel closed his eyes briefly, lashes fluttering. "I woke up in this room. Five years ago."
At fifteen, if Alan could count, but here, it was the fact of waking that struck the man more than the number. Step in a certain direction, and he would recall Nigel had been several years behind in development. For reasons outside of his control. Why, oh, why did that sound familiar? "You were in a coma," he gave. He had known for a while now.
"It is a tad much to word it like that," said Nigel, bordering amusement. "But should it surprise you to find me here? With knowing what you know?"
Should it? An answer he had, but Alan no longer held certainty in its value. "No. I suppose not."
"Hm."
The other breathed a measure or two before quieting, and Alan wondered if he had fallen asleep. Fallen into black and sand. He was surprised, therefore, when the young man stirred underneath the hospital sheets. Nigel turned to look up with a fixed stare, the same glass over green eyes.
"Do you believe they will come back?"
It was a ridiculous question. Yet, Alan had nothing to refute.
"Do you believe someone will return for me?"
A mystery was a question, but he couldn't hope to fathom the reasons. Kept at the length of his arm lay a child, and despite physical evidence, Alan refused to deny a lack in years somewhere. He would press for stability and still, could not hope to move beyond where he stood. His voice touched soft. "I don't think I can answer that, Nigel."
The face mirrored back did not respond. Only smiled kindly after comprehension sank in as it tilted back into the pillow. "Yeah," he spoke. "I know." Phases passed in seconds, and the man was asleep.
And it was he who had returned, Alan thought. The one who had come for Nigel in the dead of night.
Title: Waiting
Warnings: Just angst. According to some, unrequited love.
Word Count: 827
Characters: Alan and Nigel.
Notes: For
aison. This was a spur of the moment type of concept.Summary: There exists a limit to waiting, and you're not the one missed.
Alan had come for him in the dead of night, past waking hours for the sane and practical. In the bright light of the emergency room, they had extrapolated, assessed, and left him to process. The offer for brief visitation was taken, and he moved past rooms, crossing tiled hallways to a locked chamber. There, to be left alone with the reason for his presence, he sat beside the other's bed and watched him breathe.
He could count the number of inhales. Could compare them to the times Nigel's chest fell and stilled as the former looked on with clouded eyes. Minute details. Revelations. Simple actions Alan would pick apart when it came to another not his kin. This break read as familiar, its methods derived from something more. The source intimate. It wasn't so easily worded, and he had no room to speak.
It was Nigel who broke first, intoned flawlessly despite what they had established as his condition. "Am I awake?" he asked, confusion evident. Why this would be, Alan hadn't a clue.
"Yes."
There was a beat. Comprehension eventually clicked into place, and the younger man tilted a head as a gesture of recognition. Released a breath in surrender. He fell again into silence, eyes like glass and smoke. Minutes passed between them, edging toward hours.
When Nigel spoke again, it was unexpected--a delayed reaction to questions long since pressed. "I was waiting." He trailed on the final syllable.
There was uncertainty there, and Alan wished to take it. Press it. Dwell on the possibilities until they bubbled forth as broth and brine. Lucidity was losing, but he wouldn't falter for this one's sake. "For?" Alan asked instead.
Nigel did not respond for a long time. Time ticked between them, the absence remembered like someone missed. Finally: "They told you what happened."
It seemed obvious enough for the answer to be withheld. Alan blinked.
"Are you angry?"
A mystery was a question, and the man widened his eyes in increments. Yet the response stood out like a light in the dark, still worth a moment's hesitation to deliver. "No," he whispered. "I'm not angry." Somewhat surprised and hardly unfettered but not angry.
This satisfied an unknown need. Nigel turned away. "I was waiting for them," came the murmur. "Must have gotten lonely. They were gone for awhile."
Pleased was not his countenance, for multiple reasons. But anger was not allowed to be seen nor the obvious made apparent. Alan had said as much: he could only question now and skirt around delicacies. "How long?"
"Long enough."
"Nigel--"
His brother cut into the name, forcing attention away in hushed tones. "Alan," he began, "do you know this place?"
It was a ridiculous question, and they both knew it. Alan's voice hinted at defeat when he discovered he was minding a child. "The hospital," the man replied, deadpan.
"That wasn't my question, Alan."
"...No, then. I don't." He hadn't even known the direction until the receptionist on the phone specified.
Nigel closed his eyes briefly, lashes fluttering. "I woke up in this room. Five years ago."
At fifteen, if Alan could count, but here, it was the fact of waking that struck the man more than the number. Step in a certain direction, and he would recall Nigel had been several years behind in development. For reasons outside of his control. Why, oh, why did that sound familiar? "You were in a coma," he gave. He had known for a while now.
"It is a tad much to word it like that," said Nigel, bordering amusement. "But should it surprise you to find me here? With knowing what you know?"
Should it? An answer he had, but Alan no longer held certainty in its value. "No. I suppose not."
"Hm."
The other breathed a measure or two before quieting, and Alan wondered if he had fallen asleep. Fallen into black and sand. He was surprised, therefore, when the young man stirred underneath the hospital sheets. Nigel turned to look up with a fixed stare, the same glass over green eyes.
"Do you believe they will come back?"
It was a ridiculous question. Yet, Alan had nothing to refute.
"Do you believe someone will return for me?"
A mystery was a question, but he couldn't hope to fathom the reasons. Kept at the length of his arm lay a child, and despite physical evidence, Alan refused to deny a lack in years somewhere. He would press for stability and still, could not hope to move beyond where he stood. His voice touched soft. "I don't think I can answer that, Nigel."
The face mirrored back did not respond. Only smiled kindly after comprehension sank in as it tilted back into the pillow. "Yeah," he spoke. "I know." Phases passed in seconds, and the man was asleep.
And it was he who had returned, Alan thought. The one who had come for Nigel in the dead of night.
