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shadow takes a long drag from his cigarette.
it’s two in the morning. the stars are covered by the clouds. shadow thanks chaos for it—he doesn’t know if he could see them without crying.
so many little things could set him off. like stars or cold metal or gunshots.
he owns a gun. he uses it—more often than not—on missions. he’s known for it—his expertise in guns and weapons of the sort. maybe it’s different when he’s the one shooting. maybe it’s different when he’s in the middle of a battle, the image of maria’s death far gone from his mind as he focuses in on the raging intensity around him.
he’s always looking ahead. always pushing forward. he’s putting his past behind him but it always finds a way to haunt him all the same. it just kept crawling back to him. and no matter how hard he pushed it off of him, it climbed on top of him and kissed him and he granted it access.
he shivered at the memory. sometimes he wished he never regained the memory of his past—just stayed searching forever until he found a new reason to live.
but that’s no way to live. with no explanation of why you’re terrified of heights or the stars. to search the rest of your life is a curse. afterall, he’s still fighting for his happiness between depressed episodes and hallucinatory fever dreams.
but he was tired. tired of not being able to walk into a doctors office without shaking. tired of debating wether or not to visit a hurt teammate because he was scared he couldn’t handle the smell of alchohol. he was tired of being stitched back together. tired of the scars on his stomach and the open bullet wounds in his head that he’s scared will never heal.
shadow sighs. he had taken rouge home from the hospital yesterday. he was terrified he was going to lose her.
she had taken two bullet wounds to her stomach. it had been a bloody mess by the time shadow ran her back to the G.U.N. camp. he remembers her sticky blood soaking his front as he gripped her hand, silently staring at her. he had been shaking so bad he couldn’t fill out the paperwork the hospital had given him.
rouge was the one thing shadow refused to lose. he had no one else half as important as her in his life. not when she was the one dragging him out of bed and miraculously convincing him to brush his teeth. not when she was the one who had saved him from himself a million times over.
he closes his eyes. his heart ached as he lit another cigarette. he took a drag, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat.
he wonders if he’ll always feel like this. terrified to lose what he loves. he’s scared all the time and it ruins him. and he’d never admit it but he’s terrified of being alone. he’d been alone for 50 years. he’d been half concious, begging for someone to save him.
and maybe that’s where his downfall is. he’s terrified to be alone. he was tired and exhausted and maybe he was still waiting for someone to save him. still begging for someone to drag him away from the operating table—pinned down by his wrists as his heart thumped and his stomach churned.
his stomach was churning. oh—oh—he was gonna—
shadow pauses his thought and takesq a big, deep breath. his hands are shaking. are there stronger cigarettes? maybe he needed weed. or a shot. or both.
he reminds himself quietly that he’s twenty-three years old. he’s sitting on rouge’s balcony in a lawn chair that’s been duct taped together so many times it’s hardly holding together. (it might help if people would stop getting drunk and throwing it off the railing. (he doesn’t know why it keeps happening. maybe he should bolt it to the ground.)) he is kind and he’s patient and he is not going to walk into the kitchen and get a drink. not even his favorite whiskey that’s sitting on the counter.
he needs to find a better way to cope, he thinks. he can’t keep getting drunk and moping the second his life goes haywire.
he sighs. it’s cold. shadow hates the cold. it makes him think about how he was stuck in that frozen tomb for
“tough night, hm?”
shadow whips around. rouge is standing in the doorway, hand on her hip as she looks at him. she’s in a pair of pink plaid pajama pants and an off the shoulder shirt for a band she doesn’t listen to. her makeup is taken off and her hair is wrapped in a silk bonnet. she’s silhouetted by the warm light from the kitchen and despite what she calls her “slob appearance,” she looks stunning in a way shadow can’t explain.
it was her most comfortable self. her most intimate self, maybe, considering how she’s the most affectionate when she’s tired. and when she’s hurt.
“i’m fine, rouge.” shadow sets his gaze back to the balcony railing.
“uh-huh. that’s why you’re out here instead of in bed.” she walks up to him and grunts as she sits horizontally on his lap. her legs dangle over the arm rest and shadow’s hands support her shoulders. he can’t stop himself from reaching his other arm under her shirt, placing his hand on her bandaged stomach.
rouge frowns. it’s her worried look and shadow hates that. she shouldn’t have to worry about him the way she does. she just got shot, for christs sake. she should be resting.
“you shouldn’t be out here.” rouge is warm. her body is warm and shadow presses his face into her silk bonnet. she smells so nice. she smells like she wasn’t just in the hospital and he feels tears well in his eyes.
“neither should you, hun.” rouge places her hand on his shoulder. shes the one hurting. she shouldn’t have to take care of him.
shadow closes his eyes. he feels a tear leak from his eye. he can’t cry in front of her. not now. he’d held together through so much worse. he was fine. his life was fine. he wasn’t even sad. he was just messed up.
“oh honey…” rouge leans up, grunting in pain as she moves so she’s holding his face. he can’t stop the tears as his eyes meet hers. he closes them in shame and he leans hopelessly into her touch. he’s hopeless. he’s in love. he’s heartbroken all the same.
“talk to me, baby. what’s going on?”
shadow couldn’t answer. words weren’t coming to him. they bubbled up inside his chest but the thought of them coming out of his mouth seemed impossible.
rouge sighed. she pressed her head into his shoulder. “i get it. i’d be just as tore up if it was you in that hospital bed.”
she paused, thinking about what she was going to say. shadows heart was hammering in his chest. he was terrified of words right now and the world felt like it was spinning so he held rouge a little tighter around her shoulders. not enough to hurt her—never enough to hurt her.
“look—you’re not invincible. as much as you like to think you are, i know you. and i’m flattered to be the one you visited a hospital for. i’m happy it was you that i almost died for. because you’re the only person in my life i couldn’t stand to lose.” rouge kisses the side of his neck gently.
shadow’s grip tightens as he moves his hand from her stomach to her head, holding her close. words escape him—they always do when he gets upset.
“cat got your tongue?” rouge smiles at him playfully, chuckling as he tries to speak in vain.
“that’s alright. words are cheap anyways.” she moves to stand, grunting as she starts to walk away.
“well c’mon then. what are you waiting for?”
shadow feels his heart spark as he gets up from his seat and interlocks his finger with the girl he love’s. her hands are warm and he moves behind her, pressing his nose into the side of her neck.
she sighs, her hand resting on the side of his face as she presses her face against his.
shadow’s voice is meek even when it finally decides to seep out. if it were anyone else besides a bat, they would have missed the near silent “i love you” that slips from his lips.
“i love you too, shadow.”