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Dawn

Summary:
Sequel to "Night." Jake's POV. Blackwater


Notes:


1. Dawn

Rating 0/5   Word Count 1222   Review this Chapter

It smells like anaceptic. I have to sign in to see you, and they've put a blue band around my wrist, to tell me apart from the patients. Yesterday it was yellow. The day before it was green.

This time, when I get to your room – number 314, at the end of the hall, apart from even the others, and slightly larger too, meant for wheelchair access, - you'll be awake. You'll still have the white gauze bandages on your arms, wrapped tight from wrist to elbow. Your leg will still be in its cast, though the bones will have healed by now. The doctors don't know how fast you heal. The IV will still be taped to your elbow – but you'll be awake. This time, when I enter, there'll be more than the beep… beep of the heart monitor, the clockwork rasp of breath being forced into you by the resperator to tell me you're alive. You'll blink at me, trying to curse me with Morse code, and look more furious than anyone has a right to when they've found out they're still alive, and I won't care, 'cause you are alive. I'll be totally girlly and want to cry, but blame my watering eyes on the stupid anaceptic, and you won't believe me, but mock me for it anyway.

You'll see I do care about you, that I never forgot you – not once, - that I missed you every single second I was gone and fought not to, 'cause I was imprinted and not supposed to feel anything for anyone but my imprintee, but I still did 'cause it was just that strong what I feel for you and, if you give me a chance, it just might become love. And you'll believe me. Oh, God, not at first, never that, but in time.

Then you'll explain everything.

You'll tell me why, on that day before Ness was born, you didn't try to stop me why I kissed you (I know on my part you looked just too beautiful not to, and I know I shouldn't've done it, not kiss you, not hurt you, not pin you down on the ground and fuck you, but I did and I couldn't stop once I started, like there was something in me that wanted you to hurt, like I think there was something in you that wanted to be hurt) though you easily could've. You can tell me why you never called Charlie on me, or told anyone at all. I'll understand, even if you tell me it was 'cause you were so ashamed you'd rather it'd never've happened. I just want to know why, 'cause I'd deserved – no, still deserve – whatever you might've thrown at me and more.

Then I'll tell you why I left, with her, though so much of me wanted to stay. (Part of me left for you, so you wouldn't have to see me every day; so you wouldn't have to remember what I'd done to you when you never, ever, deserved anything other than the best, which I couldn't give you, because I'd nothing but the very worst to give.)

You'll tell me why you never told anyone you were pregant. You needn't have told them it was mine, though you could've if you wanted to. They'd no way of knowing the truth. They could've helped you, could've taken your patrols. That way you never would've lost the baby, which I don't think you wanted. If you had, you've taken care of things much earlier and it would've been much easier. You would've left that note telling us where to find it's grave if you wanted us never to know.

Seth was the one who found the note. Ozette Lake,it said. East side of Boot Bay. Beneath the lightening-struck tree on the ridge. He thought that you were there, whatever your reason, and wanted him to meet you there. The poor kid. He went and looked up and down the bay before giving it up as you messing with him or something. By the time he got back, the tide had already shifted and carried your body, battered and torn as it was, onto the beach. He came home to find Sue crying, 'cause some stupid jackass had already called her saying they'd found her daughter on the beach.

I want to say they weren't too late. I want to say that the ambulances came and the doctors could fix you. But I can't.

It smells of anaceptic, yes, and I had to sign in, but you're not going to wake up, not ever again. Your body is cold and pallid and arrayed out on the stainless steel tray and so utterly lifeless that I'd give anything for the unending beeps and clockwork breaths of the patients upstairs. I still want to cry, but it's no more the anaceptics than it is pleasure seeing you again, my friend, my Beta.

The coroner examined you, found you'd been pregnant 'til recently. That's how Seth knew what to look for, under the lightening-struck Sitka on the ridge on Boot Bay. I'm the only one he told about it. The rest think you got yourself knocked up like some slut at a bar somewhere and got rid of it the old-fashioned way. Seth's the only one who knows that wasn't the case. You don't burry babies you don't want. I'm the only one he's told.

I'm the only one who knows the truth. That you were going to keep our son and he came too soon and you couldn't live knowing that. I just want to know why, Leah, why you had to do this. Why you didn't tell me. Why we couldn't have worked through this together. I may be imprinted on someone else but there's love and then there's love and I've never felt anything like what I feel for you for anyone else, and it hurts so damn much to try to make myself stop loving you and love Ness instead, 'cause that's what I was supposed to do, but I couldn't. I couldn't, Leah. Ness is great and all, but she's not you. She's like a sister to me, a neice, a cousin – but you're the only one I cold ever feel real love for. Why couldn't you just have given me a little more time, Leah? Just a little more time to fight against it so I could be sure all Ness would ever be was a sister or neice or cousin, so I could come back to the Rez and to you and we could've made it work, we really could've, because I love you and that would never change and we'd live happily the fucking ever after and be so God-damn perfect that it'd've made every Disney character ever made sick from the sickly, sticky corniness of it all.

And now we can't.

Don't be dead, Leah. Let this all just be one twisted dream. It has to be. You can't be dead. You're too strong to be dead, too perfect at be lying so cold and still on this morgue gurney, waiting for the funeral director to come for you. So wake up for me, love. Wake up. Oh God, Leah. Just please wake up.