With all I am

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor the storyline.

He guns the engine and opens the throttle, leaving her behind. He can't, won't stop running. Moving is the only place where he can find a semblance of peace. Staying is too hard. Staying means looking at her. Staying means hurting her. He doesn't want to look into her eyes and see her infinite patience and love. Infinite patience and love that he doesn't deserve, that wields the knife of guilt which tears his already broken heart into microscopic shreds. Love that he can neither accept nor reciprocate. Not now. He isn't ready. So he runs.

It's easy to forget, when the winds are rushing by his ear, when he's got the throaty rumble of his motorcycle underneath him. It's easy to forget the things that he's done. Easy to forget the things that he hasn't done. Easy to forget the people he's let down. Either way, what has been done and what hasn't been done are things that he will not forgive himself for. So as he runs, Guilt and Sorrow raise their shroud from him, if only for a while.

Running isn't the only place where he can find solace. She can't stay for long. Neither can he, for she never lets him. She tells him that he shouldn't keep coming back, that it's unhealthy. But for all she says, he knows that she can't stay away either. She needs him, he thinks, just as he needs her. So they sit together in fields of gold, whiling away time in hours of golden sunshine.

She doesn't need to say anything, or do anything, he thinks. She just has to be, for her presence is a balm for his shattered soul. He's been ravaged by war, and the scars aren't quite healing. Everyday he returns here to wait for her. With her comes blessed bliss and pure, unadulterated happiness. She's happy too, when she's with him. When she looks up at him, her eyes radiate joy, her entire body exuding her happiness. He exalts in the life she exhales and drowns in a sea of contentment.

What he can't quite understand is why she always leaves. Even though it hurts her, she still turns away, and tells him to go home. He reaches for her, pleading, telling her that she is all he needs.

"I'm like a drug to you", she tells him. "You're addicted to me. And it's killing you. And it's killing her." She turns away, a shadow falling across her face.

But he doesn't see what's wrong with being addicted to iridescent and innocent light. He doesn't let himself see what's wrong. Even when he knows, deep down, there is truth in her words.

"Go back. It isn't right for you to be here with me. Your home is with them. They need you. She needs you." She keeps her back turned.

"You need her." He doesn't need to see her face to know that she's crying.

So she leaves, fading into the breeze. He remains where he is, breathing in her flowery scent. He'll be back tomorrow, just as he knows that she will.

Note: I know its really horrible. But I was finding work a bit dry, so I've come up with this nonsense.