[RESPONSE] Fanfiction: before I go

before I go
Rating: G
Pairing: none
Warnings: none
Thank you, delgaserasca, for the beta.



A bright midday sun; the roses are blooming and their fragrance slips into the air. He rocks on the balls of his feet, back and forth, twice before stilling himself, and fixes the way his bag hangs from his shoulder. He looks at her, head tilted back just slightly, squints his eyes against the sharp rays of the sun. She stands in front of him on the front steps, on the second one; she's taller than him for the first time in almost twenty years.

She smiles and her eyes are kind. "Do you have enough warm clothes with you?"

He laughs; he knows she's joking, but answers anyway. "Yes, mum. If I'd packed more, they wouldn't let me on the plane any more."

She nods slowly. Her hand rises as if on its own accord and pats away a non-existent speck of dust from his shoulder.

"Now, how come I feel you always come by to say goodbye, hmm?" Her voice is teasingly scolding, but there's a tilt in her smile; a curve at the corner of her mouth that looks like an exclamation mark or the grey place between a shadow and light.

"Mum..." he sighs, but he knows she's right. He hates doing this to her, and she's right.

"It's alright. I do understand. You do very important work, I know." And if she wants to say something more, something more accusatory, more bitter, more pleading, one could never tell from the way her smile widens and her back straightens. She looks both young and old at the same time. "Just call me when you get there, so I know you made the trip safe."

"I will." And then, with scrunched up eyebrows, "Are you sure you're fine? You look a tad pale. I could call Dr. Gibbons from the airport."

"Love, it wasn't a heart attack, it was a bad case of indigestion, and you know that just as well as I do. Now off you go. The plane won't wait for you."

"Actually, it probably will."

"Why, I never thought I'd raise up a snotty little thing like you! Talking back to your mum like that," she huffs with a smile and reaches to adjust the collar of his jacket; she's doing that grooming thing again, the way she always does when she's not quite sure where to put her hands, when all she really wants to do is cry. He feels bad because he's seen that look too many times but this time it's different, and the feeling twists his stomach.

"Must you have your hair like that? Oh, I'll never understand the youth of today." Before he can stop her, her hands are patting at the top of his head, trying to smooth down the offending hair.

"Mum," he says; chuckles and pushes her hands away, gently. "Mum, I'm thirty-six. That's hardly 'youth of today'."

And then she's crying. She is an emotional woman, never one to hide her feelings, but still, he's only seen her cry maybe half a dozen times in his entire life. He's not used to it, and it's horrifying. Her face twists into a parody of a smile and then even that crumples into a twisted mouth and tear-burnt eyes. She bites her lip, fights back the worst of it until it's barely a ripple in her frail frame.

"Mum..." he sighs, softly. He wraps his arms around her and hugs her; she feels slighter than he remembered, and if his hold is too tight, she doesn't complain. It's a breath longer than it need be. Then she pulls away, and he realises his eyes are stinging, too.

"Oh, go now before the flood gates really open." Her smile is weak. "I'll be fine."

He looks at her, at the way her fingers twist at the sleeve of his cardigan and the smile lingers bravely on her face, and purses his lips into a thin line. He can't seem to shake the frown from his face. He can hear a lorry speeding up down the road; a low rumble faintly sounding in the air, and it feels strange, hearing the world move around this place when he himself feels paused between two breaths.

"I'll call Dr. Gibbons, have him check on you in a couple of days. Just for my peace of mind, aye?" He rushes to say the last sentence before she can protest; he can tell she would have wanted to, though, but bites her tongue at the shabby excuse. "Take care of yourself, you hear?"

She pats his cheek in response, fingers stroking once, twice. She reaches over and places a soft kiss right next to where her fingers lay. "Have a nice flight, dear," she says; it sounds better than a goodbye, but what they don't say is clear anyway.

The driver smiles at him without really smiling, takes his bag, and before he knows, he's sitting on the back seat. The faint smell of something stale steals its way into his consciousness. The hum of the engine is a dull murmur in his ears, a sedative and a point of focus, and for a moment he thinks that it's the only thing holding him together.

He turns his head, and she's still there, blurry in his vision. He keeps his eyes on her as long as he can as the taxi pulls off the curb and starts to slowly make its way down the street. She waves after him. Standing there on the second step, arms hugging herself tightly, she suddenly looks very small.


the end