take my hand [we'll hide til it's over]

Jefferson Soul · 04-11-2010, 09:21 PM

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He could smell her in the air, under the weight of the reek of rain. When had he seen her last? That "prank," they'd called it, had turned out to be less amusing then they'd all originally assumed it to be. AniWaya had given him much to think about, the peacefulness of their ways and their beliefs, but their culture was nothing close to the Phoenix Valley ways he loved and knew so well. Geneva might like this, he'd thought more than once in his absence from home. She liked serenity, she liked peace. The gray goddess had gotten along well with Dawali, after all, and hadn't she been friends with Ember? Perhaps she and the black-furred subleader of the tribe should have switched instead.

No, perhaps no switches should have happened at all. Geneva had been all right with the idea of him leaving, or she had been to his face. He was independent; he handled it well, and he missed the pack as much as he was supposed to. Jefferson had slept in AniWaya for just a few days, but he'd noticed differences immediately. Before he'd met Geneva, how had he been able to fall asleep without hearing her soft breaths in her sleep beside him? How had he gotten through the days without strangling someone or something, unable to speak his mind so freely to the olive-eyed woman as he did now? Out of all the things he'd learned there in Dawali's place, he'd learned that suddenly he depended on her just to exist, just to breathe beside him, just to smile at him in his darkest of hours.

But where was she? The two had barely exchanged more than a few sentences since his return, and that had been days ago. It was not as if she was avoiding him, no; the two suddenly existed on two different planes, and not even the constant rain could trap them in the ranch house at the same time. Jefferson had waited there. He'd waited for hours, wondering when she'd come back. The rain wasn't going to stop, she knew that. She had to come home eventually. When had he ever paced the floor like he did then, pausing only to stare out the streaked windows? He jumped at the slightest noise and rushed to look, only to find the wind had picked up and slapped around loose tiles of the roof. Where was she? The next day was the same, as was the following. She'd come home sometime in the night, and was gone again in the morning, and never before had Jefferson ever felt so terribly alone.

It was too much. The cyclops did not even wait for the rain to slow down; drenched fur matted and hanging from head to toe, he went out in the rain and storm in and with nothing more than the clothes on his back, and he walked. He walked and he walked, he asked those he passed by if they'd seen her, and they had not. Was she upset with him for leaving? Was she upset that he suddenly wanted nothing else but to sit with her a while like they were used to, having conversations nothing related to the pack or people? She was, after all, the only one he could do that with. Everyone else expected too much out of him, but Geneva didn't expect anything at all -- and for that he gave her everything. It was lonely and cold in the rain.

Jefferson could smell her, sense her, beneath the heaviness of rain in the air. So far north, the Quarry next. Was she missing Addison, perhaps? The two had saved the poor girl there even before they'd truly known each other, but Addison had grown up since then and moved on. Geneva had been just as worried as he; Addison had adopted her as a mother of sorts like she had Jefferson her father, and the cyclops would not have argued that Geneva had been anything less. The downpour only augmented, like tears, and over the sound of the rain there was nothing, and suddenly there was everything at once. The smell of blood, dampened and washing away with the rain. Gray amongst the gray. Geneva?

He fell at her side, sightless eye wide like its forest twin. Her eye, that lovely olive, stared up at him and viewed nothing. No words. Talons ripped at his shoulder suddenly, numbly drawing blood as he ripped the sling from his shoulder and threw it aside, and his scarred fingers touched at her face. A hole here, something misplaced there. He cradled her head in his hands then, felt her short and staggered breaths on his arm, wished away the blood that leaked there and mixed with rain.

Jefferson scooped her up next, her bent and broken body, and bent his head close. It ached, it ached so, his stomach hurt so, and clamped jaws stifled the shattered emotions. He'd never known if he could cry, he'd never known if he ever had before. He hardly knew he was now; the rain fell too quickly on them, washing away her breath, choking away what little breaths she could still make. He coughed, he struggled for breath through the choking of his lungs, the closing of his throat. He gasped for air, and he whined away whatever was inhaled. It ached so, it ached; why here, why now? He held her close, her whispered into her ears and left a desperate, quick kiss there. He held on like she would waste away without him. He held on like he would waste away without her.

She breathed, though, and a choking noise came next. No, there was time. There was time for her now; he needed to make time for her now. Jefferson, dual eyes set on her, cradled her in his arms and rose to his feet. There was no pain the scars of his face or chest, no sting felt in the arm the bear had claimed. Teeth clamped shut, he raised her bruised and battered body close to the safety of his chest. "Everything will be okay," he whispered, "everything will be all right."

And he took her away.

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