Welcome To The Harem

A Better Place by Vicinity
Summary: Based on the song; my contribution to the AAJY monthly challenge. Yves/Jimmy.

Title: A Better Place
Author: Vicinity
Email: akavicinity@yahoo.com
Category: Story/Angst/Romance
Rating: PG, maybe light PG-13. The usual.
Summary: Based on the song; my contribution to the AAJY monthly challenge.
Spoilers: All About Yves
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.

Scars. The sun illuminates scars. It is supposed to show happiness, gold, a beautiful truth, but here it highlights only the scars. And perhaps it fits, because cliche beautiful truths are not often found here. In their place one will find sorrow, perhaps tragedy, with each story spilled onto the polished tables, and yet there are so few scars.

He arrived near closing time, walking into the dim and painful light as if he did not notice the transition from street to shadow. He did not fit in with the others, the regulars that were always present in the early morning, but maybe it did not matter. He was too young, too young to be here and to look so old.

H e ordered, and he said that his name was James. He laughed as he said this, but it was not happy. It was the sound of something breaking, something tearing, and something forever lost. He laughed, and then he raised the glass to his lips. He was beautiful, then, a caricature of tortured light, young and dark.

Have you ever wanted something so badly that you would do anything for it, he asked softly. Have you ever loved someone so much that you would follow them to the end of the world?

I did, he continued. I loved a woman once, and I think that she loved me. She never said so, though, but she didn't need to. I could tell, and I wonder if she knew that I knew. I think so. She was beautiful, he mused, speaking in past tense. She was everything to me, and she knew it.

I think that maybe she didn't want to be. I wonder if she thought she would hurt me, he said. She left, and I followed her. She would have done the same for me. I never thought that I would find her, but I did. I found her in her room, like she had been waiting for me, and then I told her that I loved her. I told her everything that I had wanted to say and had never said, and I told her everything that I had thought of while I was looking for her.

She said that she loved me, too, and here he smiled gently, reminiscing. She said that she loved me, and that she did not want to be alone then, and she let me touch her. She let me touch her, and she was beautiful and strong and so much what I had wanted. She slept in my arms, after, and she was safe, and it was everything that I wanted. That was my last thought, before I fell asleep. That this was my dream coming true, and that maybe things would be better from then on.

She was gone when I opened my eyes again. It was still dark, but she was gone. Everything of hers was gone, and I thought that I had to be dreaming. And then I found her note: ?It's time that I move on,' he quoted. And then I knew that it was real, because she had never done that, even in my nightmares.

And it was real then, he continued. I think that I understood. I think that she loved me, and I think that it scared her. She wants me to leave her alone, and I think that this time I will. She used to tell me to grow up, he added, and I think that I finally have.

He set his empty glass down, and it caught the beginnings of sunlight, throwing blinding rays across his face. He sighed, and then he closed his eyes and the sun was a silhouette around his golden hair, and he looked like he was at peace, until he opened his eyes and let his life flow through them. Damn Fletcher, he said, more to himself than anyone else.

I told him, then, that he should not be alone, and he nodded. He let himself come home with me, and for a little while I was alive. The next morning, he was gone, and he did not leave a note. He didn't need one. It's funny, how many ways you can find closure. For me, it was when he called me Eve and then cried.

Author's Notes: Inspired by Harry Chapin's "Better Place To Be," and so written in memory. This month, it was.