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Title: “My Immortal”

My Immortal

by: Leeona


Rating: PG13

Copyright: © 2003 Leeona

Type: Song Fiction

Pairing: None

Status: Complete

Summary: Face has to deal with the death of a loved one.

Warnings/Content: H/C, character death, angst, depression, self-harming. I think that's about all.

Disclaimer: The team aren't mine etc., etc., and the song is "My Immortal" by Evanescence.

Thanks & Acknowledgments: To my beta reader - Thank you Casper.

Featured Song: © 2003 "My Immortal" by Evanescence. Lyrics taken from the album "Fallen" are the property of Evanescence and their respective songwriters.

Comment?: Yes, please.







Face sat alone in the small hotel room. He stared into nothing, tears rolling down his cheeks.


He was certain no one knew where he'd gone, but the grief had been too much for him to stay with the rest of the team. He felt an all too familiar, sickening knot twisting in his stomach.


He hadn't eaten in days.


Couldn't eat.


Couldn't move.


The overwhelming feeling of loneliness, of being alone, was too much to bear.


He heard people moving about in the corridor, but he didn't care what was going on outside. He was trapped in his own personal hell.


Wiping away the tears, he stood. The people in the room next to him were shouting; he could hear them through the walls.


He didn't need that.


He needed quiet.


Time to readjust to life alone.


He moved with slow, measured steps across the darkened room. Curtains he hadn't opened in days shrouded the windows. A glass of warm tap water sat on the bedside unit of a bed he hadn't slept in.


He didn't deserve a bed.


He'd been sleeping on the floor, cold and alone.


Reaching the small radio, Face turned it on, hoping to screen out the noise from the room next door. Surprised to find that it was already tuned into a radio station, he listened in silence to the soft melody floating through the room.


The haunting vocals chilled him to the bone.



"I'm so tired of being here

Suppressed by all my childish fears"



A light breeze shifted the curtains. From where, he didn't know, for the windows were shut and locked as well.


He shivered as he sat once again on the cold, hard floor, leaning back against the wall.



"And if you have to leave

I wish that you would just leave

'Cause your presence still lingers here

And it won't leave me alone"



A fresh set of tears rolled down his cheeks.


He felt so alone, haunted by memories, by feelings.


Pulling his legs up to his chest, he pushed himself back up and shuffled across the room, away from the radio, away from the lyrics that hit far too close to home.


Reaching the far wall, Face pressed himself against it, feeling the cold paintwork against his bare flesh. His shirt lay discarded on the chair beside the window, and he shivered again, the chill going deep; right into his bones.



"These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase"



Leaning his head back, he let the music flow over him, allowing the silent tears free passage down his face, slipping from his jaw onto his chest as they flowed - rivers of grief, overflowing his soul.



"When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears

And I've held your hand through all of these years

But you still have… all of me"



He should have been there, as he had been so many times before. Until Stockwell had taken that all away from him, stolen away his family and friends, allowed them to believe he was dead - lost to them forever. The whole situation had allowed them to grieve, to mourn… to feel the intensity of his loss, when they should never have been caused such pain. Especially for him, the one who had always meant the most to Face, and the last person he would have ever dreamed of hurting that way.


The guilt overflowed his soul, flooding through him, drowning him, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, impossible to feel.


He'd lived with death, with illness. He'd comforted before, been the shoulder to cry on so many times, but not when it had mattered the most, not when he'd been needed the most.


Face could feel his heart breaking, shattering to pieces with the crushing sense of loss and aloneness, with guilt and fear.


The soft draft stirring the thin, worn out curtains whispered across his flesh, haunting him, like a restless spirit touching his soul.



"You used to captivate me by your resonating light

But now I'm bound by the life you left behind

Your face, it haunts my once pleasant dreams

Your voice, it's chased away all the sanity in me"



The words were just too close to home.


They struck at his heart, and he had to bite down hard on his lip to prevent the gut wrenching sobs threatening to escape.


Looking along his arms, he could still see - even in the dimness of the room - the scabbed over wounds he had inflicted on himself, and the bloodied knife resting on his discarded shirt.


He felt ashamed.


Ashamed that he could slice these cutting wounds into himself. All he wanted was to feel… something, anything… and yet, all he felt was numb - the strong emotional pain blocked all his senses.


The guilt stirred up so much inside of him, smothering his other senses, overwhelming, terrifying, numbing. Only the blade made him feel, told him he could still feel, reassured him that he was still alive. That he'd survived. That he'd made it though. That he was… breathing, feeling, hurting… hurting… bleeding… alive to feel the pain, to feel more than this crushing sense of guilt and numb loneliness.


Once more Face slumped, pulling his legs up closer to his chest, wrapping his arms in tight around them. His nails dug deep into the knuckles on the opposite hands, reminding him that this was all too real, that none of it was a dream, or… a nightmare.



"These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase"



He tried so hard to hold in the scream crying out to be released, but he couldn't. It wrenched itself free, and the echoing sound of it shattered the silence of the room.


The shouting from the room next door stopped, and he heard people in the corridor, along with voices soothing and calming those who had rushed out to see what was happening. Voices he knew that he should recognise but meant nothing to him right then.



"When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears

And I've held your hand through all of these years

But you still have… all of me"



The door creaked open and he heard, rather than saw, three people enter, closing the door behind them.


They spread out around the room, leaving the radio on, leaving the windows and curtains shut, but fetching a blanket and some tissues. They gently wrapped the blanket around him, drying his face and chest with the tissues.


He couldn't hear their words. Not through the smothering music which continued to play in the background.



"I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone

But though you're still with me

I've been alone all along"



Someone was close to him, touching his arms and chest with gentle fingers, tending his injuries, the wounds he'd inflicted upon himself.


At first, he tried to move away, but they would not be diverted or removed, so Face resigned himself to whatever they wanted.


His mind was in turmoil. Confusion spread through him.


Who was tending him, and why?


Why did they bother?


He wasn't worth it, not after all the aggravation he'd caused.


He had never been there when he was needed. Stockwell had seen to that. He'd thought he would be. He'd thought he could break away, but now it was too late. He was dead, and Face was alone.


All alone again.




So very afraid.


The hands stopped, and he felt arms wrap around him, holding him close, but he felt detached.


Why was this stranger holding him, comforting him? He didn't deserve it. Face tried to dig the fingernails further into his knuckles, needing to feel the pain, but a gentle hand eased them apart.


He didn't understand, and though his eyes were open, he couldn't tell who they were. He knew he should recognise them, but he didn't. He knew he should hear them, but all he could hear was the haunting, female vocals, from the small radio next to the bed.


The arms encircled him, and he felt afraid. Then there was something he recognized - the faint scents of cologne and soft leather, mixed in with a hint of engine oil and heady cigar smoke.


The fog in his mind cleared a little, and he looked up into tender brown eyes hovering close to his own.


"Hey, Muchacho, it's okay, we'll look after you. Shhh now… Father Magill wouldn't want to see you all messed up like this, would he, hey?"


The soft, homely Texan voice continued on talking, and he relaxed into it, letting the warmth of it wash through him.


He still felt the deep grief. Still felt the confusion, and the pain, but somehow the loneliness and guilt was dissipating, replaced by a feeling of warmth and of belonging.


As the vocalist continued, the words no longer chilled him.


He was not alone after all, not with his friends - his family - surrounding him, drawing him home.


For they still had… all of him.



"When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears

And I've held your hand through all of these years

But you still have… all of me."





November 25, 2003

My Immortal by Leeona



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