dr. walter langkowski. (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} bigfeet) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} beyond_evo,@ 2009-11-06 08:32:00 |
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I'd share with you, could I only speak. [RW]
Walter sat beside her bed and thought about how she would have hated to know how helpless she seemed right now. She would have expected to be in his care, though. Despite everything.
He couldn't help but wonder how things would be when she woke up; when the initial panic and distractions wore off and they actually had to face each other and look at themselves and talk.
These were exactly the sort of thoughts he shouldn't be having. This was his break. JP was off somewhere, that healer kid had the med labs under control for now, things were actually a little quiet and Walter was sipping his lukewarm coffee and wishing it were hot and watching over his teammate and it was supposed to be a rest, reprieve.
And it wasn't just about the coma. He knew she would wake up, she would conquer whatever nightmares she was facing and come back to him, she'd make some smart-ass remark that he would know how to answer as he got her up and going, and it would be fine, either way.
And it wasn't just about their relationship. He still wasn't sure he could pinpoint how that had come unraveled; if it was the distance or his own doubts or something she desired or that fight last New Year's Eve. But he knew what he wanted, at least. And if she didn't want it too, well, then he wished her happiness and he would survive and move on somehow. People grew apart and he had the divorce papers to prove it. Some part of him was sure she would always be in his life in some way, and if he could maintain civility with his ex-wife, then nothing was impossible.
It was everything else. He could play doctor, that wasn't a problem. But he just didn't feel like himself, and even if he hadn't crash-landed and been forced to put on his best face for a bunch of scared students, well, on his best days, he struggled with not knowing how to solve a problem. This wasn't new either, he had been wrestling with it for weeks, unable to help JP. Not that he had any choice but to come here (did he?), but he'd just abandoned projects midway through, and his team, and his son. He ditched a life that he thought he'd liked, and felt like he had under his control. It had been an opportunity to escape from the niggling sense of frustration-plus-displacement he'd been battling for weeks or maybe longer. But that was why people took vacations to Aruba, not why they put their life in order and on pause and followed their friend to mutant academy. And now he was here, surrounded with strangers and expectations, and he'd buried himself in work and reputation and the pretense of an unbroken relationship, but somehow it seemed like he'd run smack back into the same feeling of not-quite-right. As he helplessly watched over his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) all Walter wanted to do was talk to her about it, but this wasn't that kind of coma, he knew she couldn't hear. He'd tell her that he thought he was adapting well here, all things considered, though he'd prefer she was here to show him around, because surely she gave the wittiest tour, that he was worried about the fact that he'd taken his own room, if that would offend her, that he was pretty sure a few of those foreign boys already didn't like him, and he couldn't tell yet if he was allowed to be amused by that. He wanted to ask her about those things and hear her laugh them off, which would inexplicably make everything better, but mostly he wanted to know why he was really here and what happens next, and he was pretty sure she couldn't answer that anyway. She was just the woman he loved, she had her own life and plans. She might still laugh, though.
Walter sipped his coffee; it was now cold. He stood, and stretched, and thought about refilling it and trying to locate his best friend to take over Aurora's bedside vigil. But then he found himself folding his tall frame slowly back into the uncomfortable chair and letting his gaze trail back to her too-tranquil face (she was never this quiet; she wasn't supposed to stay this still) and he thought he might stay another ten minutes or so, at least. He could find or steal the time, because this was where he needed to be.
[narrative]
Walter sat beside her bed and thought about how she would have hated to know how helpless she seemed right now. She would have expected to be in his care, though. Despite everything.
He couldn't help but wonder how things would be when she woke up; when the initial panic and distractions wore off and they actually had to face each other and look at themselves and talk.
These were exactly the sort of thoughts he shouldn't be having. This was his break. JP was off somewhere, that healer kid had the med labs under control for now, things were actually a little quiet and Walter was sipping his lukewarm coffee and wishing it were hot and watching over his teammate and it was supposed to be a rest, reprieve.
And it wasn't just about the coma. He knew she would wake up, she would conquer whatever nightmares she was facing and come back to him, she'd make some smart-ass remark that he would know how to answer as he got her up and going, and it would be fine, either way.
And it wasn't just about their relationship. He still wasn't sure he could pinpoint how that had come unraveled; if it was the distance or his own doubts or something she desired or that fight last New Year's Eve. But he knew what he wanted, at least. And if she didn't want it too, well, then he wished her happiness and he would survive and move on somehow. People grew apart and he had the divorce papers to prove it. Some part of him was sure she would always be in his life in some way, and if he could maintain civility with his ex-wife, then nothing was impossible.
It was everything else. He could play doctor, that wasn't a problem. But he just didn't feel like himself, and even if he hadn't crash-landed and been forced to put on his best face for a bunch of scared students, well, on his best days, he struggled with not knowing how to solve a problem. This wasn't new either, he had been wrestling with it for weeks, unable to help JP. Not that he had any choice but to come here (did he?), but he'd just abandoned projects midway through, and his team, and his son. He ditched a life that he thought he'd liked, and felt like he had under his control. It had been an opportunity to escape from the niggling sense of frustration-plus-displacement he'd been battling for weeks or maybe longer. But that was why people took vacations to Aruba, not why they put their life in order and on pause and followed their friend to mutant academy. And now he was here, surrounded with strangers and expectations, and he'd buried himself in work and reputation and the pretense of an unbroken relationship, but somehow it seemed like he'd run smack back into the same feeling of not-quite-right. As he helplessly watched over his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) all Walter wanted to do was talk to her about it, but this wasn't that kind of coma, he knew she couldn't hear. He'd tell her that he thought he was adapting well here, all things considered, though he'd prefer she was here to show him around, because surely she gave the wittiest tour, that he was worried about the fact that he'd taken his own room, if that would offend her, that he was pretty sure a few of those foreign boys already didn't like him, and he couldn't tell yet if he was allowed to be amused by that. He wanted to ask her about those things and hear her laugh them off, which would inexplicably make everything better, but mostly he wanted to know why he was really here and what happens next, and he was pretty sure she couldn't answer that anyway. She was just the woman he loved, she had her own life and plans. She might still laugh, though.
Walter sipped his coffee; it was now cold. He stood, and stretched, and thought about refilling it and trying to locate his best friend to take over Aurora's bedside vigil. But then he found himself folding his tall frame slowly back into the uncomfortable chair and letting his gaze trail back to her too-tranquil face (she was never this quiet; she wasn't supposed to stay this still) and he thought he might stay another ten minutes or so, at least. He could find or steal the time, because this was where he needed to be.
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