She turns away from him. He thinks she doesn't want to let him see her tears. But she turns for her own sake. She can't bear to leave. Just looking at him makes her yearn to stay. Makes her yearn to comfort him. Makes her yearn that she had been a little more selfish that day. She blames herself for the broken man that sits behind her. But what's done is done.
She tells him what she knows is right. She tells him to go back. She knows he hears with his ears, but deafens his heart.
She has to leave, she knows. The longer she stays, the more he'll hurt when her rationality overpowers her bleeding heart. The longer her best friend will have to lie awake in bed waiting for the sound of Fenrir's engine.
She lets herself go, returning back to the Promised Land.
It's so hard. She knows that she is his Promised Land, and she can't take that promise away from him. He's already lost so much. So has she. In his rare smiles, she finds all that could have been.
They say it's easy to be detached when you're up here. They're definitely wrong. Sharp irony pierces her through. It's weird, she thinks, being able to find the strength of will to lay down her life, but unable to muster the will to simply resist him. Down on the planet, she has leagues and leagues of distance to put between her and him. But from up here, she's but a split second away from him, no matter where he is. She sees his suffering clearly, and she just can't look away.
Everyday, he waits for her. Everyday, she goes to him. When they meet, it's like a joining of souls, a conflagration of love unfulfilled. And when they part, they both hurt a little more. It's a cycle that she is unwilling to, unable to stop. Yet she knows that she must, for his sake, and for the sake of the woman and young boy waiting in Seventh Heaven. The young boy whom she sent to him. The woman who was - is her best friend.
She wonders how is it that they have come to this. How is it that they're just so screwed up. Screwed up together. She, the gentle flower girl, and he, the cold mercenary. How she has to be the one to stand against the darkness that threatens him, just like he defended her a lifetime ago. She cries for him, lets tears trace down her cheeks for the loss of the shrewd, yet innocent infantryman he was; for the loss of her bodyguard and protector. She cries at the bitterness of roles reversed.
She'll be the burning brand in his darkest night. Her heart wouldn't allow her to do anything less. But she knows that he can't go on this way. Neither can those who are waiting for him. She loves them too. But maybe, she just loves him more.
Note: It's a lot harder writing from her point of view. I think the last paragraph is a problem. Will relook again when I've got the inspiration.
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