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Bluebirds

Bluebirds
by Hayley May


Rating: PG
Summary: Sequel to "Fragile". Year one of their lives as fugitives, the team are still watching the rain fall.
Disclaimer: I don't own them
Comments/Comment card: yes to both

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"Will it ever stop?"

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed without making a sound.

Will it ever stop?

He hoped it would. God, he hoped it would. He didn't want to live like this. He didn't want this heavy feeling. He didn't want the memories. He didn't want the dreams. He didn't want any of it. He just wanted... peace.

He was young, too young for this. He was scared. Of what they had done. Of what they were doing. Of what they were going to do. He had plans. Plans for what he would do with his life after... after the fighting... after
the madness... after normality returned.

He would go back to college, get that education he had given up on. He would get a job, a proper job, maybe with a nice smart suit, a sports car perhaps. A nice place, somewhere he would be able to call his own. Decorate it the way he had always imagined. Go out and buy furniture. The place didn't need to be big, or flash, or posh, it just had to be his. He would date, maybe even find a nice woman he could settle down with, marry, be able to call his wife. Someone to come home to, someone to share things with, someone to love. They would have children, two, three, maybe more. He'd always wanted a large family. They would have their house by then, a nice one in the suburbs, on a quiet street where the children could go out and play on their bikes, a nice white picket fence, station wagon in the drive. They would do things as a family; go to the movies, to the park, visit family and friends, anything, as long as they could do it together. He would be happy. He would be free; from the dreams, from the memories, from the heavy burden he was carrying.

Instead it just rained.

Will it ever stop?

They were wanted men. Wanted for a crime they hadn't even committed. The only one who wasn't wanted was mad, was locked up in his own prison. It was the price they had to pay. Could they ever pay for what they had done? How much was a human life worth? How many lives had they destroyed? How many people had they killed? How many mothers would never see their sons again, their brothers, their fathers, their husbands? How many children would grow up not knowing their fathers? How many children would go through the same thing he had and all because of him? Could they ever pay their debt? Was this God's way of punishing them?

He closed his eyes. Tried to block it out. Tried to block it all out.

Will it ever stop?

He wanted something to drown out the rain. Anything. Anything to stop this pain.

He put the record player on. There was already a record there just waiting to be played. He didn't know what it was. He didn't care. He just wanted something, anything to stop the rain, to stop the pain. He put it on, sinking onto the couch, closing his eyes.

The woman's voice was haunting, soft and soulful. Her beautiful voice tenderly deadened the sound of the pounding rain, gently filling the otherwise silent room. The others heard it as well, stopping their motions, stopping their thoughts, stopping their memories and just started listening.

Tears came. He was sure he didn't want them, but they were so refreshing, so right somehow. He let them come. Let them slowly trickle out from under his closed lids while he listened, just listened and absorbed the music. He cried. He cried for the boy he had been, for the man he had become, for the figure now sat on that couch, broken, rejected, helpless. He let the tears flow with the music, the salty liquid washing away the pain, the music cleansing his soul.

Breathing deeply, he allowed himself to be immersed in the music, to sink into the silky tones, to let the words wash over him. And he listened, really listened.

Someday I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops,
Away above the chimney tops.
That's where you'll find me.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue.
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.
If happy little bluebirds fly above the rainbow,
Why then - oh, why can't I?

And as the voice trailed off, as the gentle guitar strumming finished, the clouds outside broke ever so slightly. The rain continued to fall, throbbing on the roof, but for that moment, for that oh so brief moment, a weak but definite ray of sunlight slipped through the darkness, casting its way down towards them and a bird flew, spreading its little wings, soaring through the shadowed sky.

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THE END

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"Somewhere Over The Rainbow" -- from the film/musical "The Wizard of Oz"


Bluebirds by Hayley May

 

 


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