October 25
Ryan
I come into consciousness slowly, awareness returning to me in delayed flashes. I'm in bed. There is a pressure on my chest. I open my eyes to find that I'm lying in my own bed for the first time in months. Ana is lying next to me, her head on my shoulder and her arm across my chest.
What happened?
For a moment, I have no idea what events transpired to bring about our present nearness. As I stir, I realize I'm sick. More than just a cold. The flu? My head and body have a dull ache and I feel incredibly weak.
Ana moves in response to me shifting under her. She looks up at me and her hand rests on my forehead. I pull back a little in surprise. Why was she sleeping on me? Did something happen between us that I don't remember?
"Oh, you're really awake this time?" she asks, her eyes hopeful.
I just stare at her, confused. "What happened?"
She rolls over on her stomach and props herself up on her elbows.
"You don't remember? Do you remember getting sick?"
I narrow my eyes as I try to think. "No?"
She gives me a half-smile. "You've been unconscious for several days now." Her expression turns sad. "I wasn't sure you'd ever wake up. You had a really bad fever."
"Why?"
"Hypothermia and a secondary infection, the doctor said. Almost pneumonia."
"Doctor?"
"Oh, right." She looks almost guilty. "I'm really sorry, but I thought you were going to die. You wouldn't wake up, you were delirious and had hallucinations, and your fever was so high. I didn't know what else to do."
In her eyes I can see remnants of desperation and fear. "I went to Fairbanks and brought a doctor. I didn't tell him who you are and I made him promised he wouldn't tell anyone about either of us living here. I don't think he even cares who you are. Please don't be mad."
In any other circumstance, I think I'd be furious with her for bringing someone here. I'm not thrilled about it, but I can hardly bring myself to care about that now. And besides, what else was she supposed to do, watch me die? Most of all, I'm entirely distracted by her: the apologetic look on her face, her face so close to mine, her body pressing against me...
"You said hypothermia?" I grasp at anything else to distract me from how close she is and how much effort it takes to suppress these feelings inside.
"Yeah. Do you remember the storm? Falling in the river? How is your ankle, by the way?"
I fell in the river? No wonder I'm sick. Now I can vaguely remember almost freezing to death, shivering in wet clothes and being so, so scared. Not for me, but for her. If I'd died that night, or in the days following, what would she have done?
I look at her, healthy and safe. She rescued me. She came and found me out there. I can remember it now, fearing I'd be the reason she died in a blizzard less than a mile from safety, telling her to keep going without me. And her whisper in my ear...
I am not leaving you behind, Ryan Burke.
Unfortunately I also remember her insisting I take my shirt off. I glance down and realize I'm wearing a t-shirt with short sleeves. My damaged arm is bare. I move to slide it underneath the covers and realize the glove is missing. She's seen my mutilated hand. I tuck my arm out of sight. Has she seen everything now? All of my scars?
A morbid curiosity grows in me. What did she think? Did she react like Saph?
"Your ankle?" she repeats.
I blink and try to force those thoughts away. "It's a little sore."
"The doctor didn't think it was broken, just a sprain."
Staring into her eyes again, I remember the events that led me to seek solitude by the river that day. I was so stupid. Baring my soul like that and asking those kinds of questions - what did I expect her to say?
I look away from her.
"Do you remember what happened the night before?" Her voice is a little breathless.
"No." I hate lying to her, but I don't want to relive that moment with her now. More than anything I wish I could erase that day from my mind.
I'm not certain she buys my performance, because she wraps her arms around me and buries her face into the pillow next to my head.
"Please, don't ever do anything like that again."
I don't know if she's talking about my near-death or the events of the previous night. Is she asking me not to indicate I have feelings for her? Asking me not to make her admit out loud how repulsive she finds my scarred face?
And why does she insist on being so close to me that I can't think straight? Whispering in my ear and holding me, falling asleep on me and lying next to me? Doesn't she know by now how much she affects me? Can't she guess?
Most of all, I try to resist the amazing feeling of being held by the woman I've fallen in love with. This feels so good and yet hurts so much. I want this from her, but I want more too. I want her to want me back. Not just as a friend. I desperately need her to love me too, to prove to me that not all women are like Saph. That despite my face and my scars, there's something inside me still worth loving. And I hate that I need her to do that.
I channel that pain, frustration, and longing into returning her embrace. I hold her to me, which I'd been afraid to do for so long. I pull her even closer to me. My heart gives a sharp pang when she responds, gripping me tighter. I feel her head turn and she speaks quietly into my ear.
"I was so scared, Ryan. I thought I was going to lose you. Please don't ever leave me."
Her voice quavers a little, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. I move one hand, my right, up into her hair to hold her head gently. I turn my head a little to speak into her ear.
"I won't, Ana. I'll spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll let me."
She presses a kiss into my temple. I grit my teeth and keep my eyes shut.
October 30
For days, I've been suffering in silence. Ever since I woke, Ana has been in constant attendance, even when the doctor returned for a brief visit and barked at her for getting in his way. Her relief at my continued healing coupled with her terror of losing me is a palpable thing. Our relationship has fundamentally changed ever since that night shared too much. We used to be easy friends, with frequent jokes and levity. But now, everything is so much more serious, from the look in Ana's eyes when she studies me to the way she touches me. We've never had so much physical contact before, never with so much intention behind it. It's been an exquisite form of torture. I've been afraid to say anything and risk losing this, but touching her and loving her without saying anything is killing me.
I can't go on like this for another moment longer.
I get up from the kitchen table and intercept her as she is coming to clear her spot at the table.
"Ana, I have to tell you something."
She looks up at me and doesn't seem surprised, apprehensive, or intrigued. If anything, she looks like she expected this. My anxiety kicks up a few notches.
Now that I've decided to do this, I don't know what to say. "I - over these past months, with you here, I - I don't," I close my eyes for a moment and take a breath, trying to compose my thoughts. "At first, I just tolerated your presence, and then we became friends. And that was fine, is fine, it's just-" I break off again, terrified of her rejection. Why did I think this was necessary again? "You became... something more, to me, and I - I don't know how to say this."
Her face is still unreadable and I'm beginning to seriously regret this. She looks down between us and I look up to the ceiling, as far away from her gaze as possible. How was this a good idea?
I startle when she gently takes my right hand by the wrist and holds it between us. She looks up at me carefully before pulling the glove off delicately. I don't protest. I've already laid myself bare. There's hardly any point in hiding my feelings now. I look down at the mangled appendage and don't bother masking my expression. That hand is so much more than just a display of my external damage. It's a visual reminder of my shortcomings: my failure to protect my squad, my utter rejection at the hands of Saph, my inability to heal on the inside.
She caresses my hand gently, feeling the raised scars and brushing over the stumps that remain where my pinky and ring fingers used to be. I remember Joe's words about my disfigurement turning her on. I can't suppress the shudder. I look at her face, but she just looks sad, nothing more. She looks up at me and slowly brings my hand up to her face to cup her cheek. She holds it there for a moment and steps closer. My eyes slide away from hers.
The sight of my hand there on her face - so twisted and crippled and ugly, juxtaposed with her warmth and grace and beauty - it's such a contrast. My ugliness doesn't belong there, marring her loveliness. I want to pull my hand away and hide it. I look back into her eyes, feeling sick inside.
"You don't have to say anything," she says. She gently moves my hand down, my numb index finger tracing down her neck before she presses my hand against the middle of her sternum.
"I already know."
"You know?" My own voice is breathless.
She looks down for a second before reaching out and placing her palm over the left side of my chest. Her eyes meet mine again.
"I know."
I clench my jaw and look away, feeling like an idiot. So she knows already that I'm hopelessly in love with her, and she's doing what? Teasing me about it?
I don't look back at her when I feel her moving my hand again. I can't bear to see her taunting me with it again.
The feeling of her lips against my palm grabs my attention immediately. She's kissing my destroyed hand. Why would she do that?
"Yes, Ryan, I can. I can look past scars."
Her answer to that question I asked not so long ago is earth-shattering. I stare down at her, afraid and hopeful for what's coming next. She reaches up to my face and brushes back the long hair, exposing the burns on my face.
"I can see past your scars. Can you?"
There are tears in my eyes, making her face a little blurry. But I can see she's not lying. She's telling the truth. My scars really don't matter to her. She knows how I feel about her. I'm not going to let my scars hold me back from what I want anymore.
"I love you," I say in a hoarse voice before dropping my head and pressing my lips to hers.
She is still as I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, kissing her all the while. I'm on the verge of thinking I misunderstood when she responds, deepening the kiss and snaking her hands around me, one against my shoulder blade and one threading fingers through my hair. I kiss her more insistently, reveling in her affection and yet craving it all the more.
She suddenly pushes away from me, breaking the kiss and tearing out a little piece of my soul. Her expression is one of fear.
Oh God. What have I done?
"Did you hear that?" she asks.
The same words Lance said just before my life went to hell.
Casper growls.
Then with a splintering crash, my life goes to hell for a second time.