Black Bird: Homecoming

[mistersmith_tm]

(Continued from here).

He was floating in pain and darkness haunted by brief, fleeting images of illumination. Delirium. Bliss lying on the floor of the temple, soaked in sweat, his feathers molting. And darkness. Kurdy, arms folded across his broad chest, glaring at him in defiance and disgust. Calling him a madman; just another basketcase who believed he heard voices. And darkness. Joan in the arms of the Devil, jeering at him. Darkness. Sister Hannah slamming the doors to the school in his face. He was nothing but trouble. Where we walked death followed. Shades of grey. Rose, pulling away from his embrace. Afraid and angry. You're not my Daddy! I want my real Daddy! Swirling shades of red and black. Aille raging at him, a heavy clock in her hand poised to throw at his head as she screamed her anger. How she never wanted to see him again. How she didn't love him. Had never loved him. He wasn't worthy of her. Had never been worthy . . . Darkness and pain, deep and cold and soul biting. His heart broken in a million pieces. His mind scattered and . . .

Babies crying. The soft brush of tiny wings against the palm of his hand. Twilight through red pain. A gentle voice and cool, soothing touch on his brow. Twilight, high above. Murky, as if seen from a great depth. A small hand slipping into his, squeezing gently. Wake up, Daddy. I know you're in there. Glimmering motes of light, thinning twilight. Voices. Many voices. Sometimes together but sometimes alone, coaxing. Pleading. Encouraging. And her voice, speaking to his heart and his soul. To the very deepest part of him. In frustration. In love. Guiding him closer to . . .

A glimmer of light, as thin as a razor's edge. The Voice. In his mind, always in his mind, but distant. Sympathetic. Almost apologetic. And proud.

Pain, sharp and red and angry and alive filled his body like a fragile vessel, making him moan. The thin white line became a growing dawn on the surface of the darkness as . . .

Mister Smith's eyes fluttered and weakly opened to the living world.

Comments

[mistersmith-tm.livejournal.com]

He wished he could look at the babies, the way he was looking at Aille and Rose right now. Wished he could touch them and hold them, just like he wished he could hold the two dear ones here by his side. But he knew it probably wasn't wise. Not just yet. It hurt so very much to move his head or to take a breath . . . he doubted he could sit up or lift his arms long enough to hold any one of them. And that hurt even more.

If only the Voice had given him more warning, he might have convinced Theo to get out of harms way and none of this would have happened. But what was done was done. He sighed. "I'm sorry . . ."

He'd never be able to say it enough.

[aille.livejournal.com]

"I know darling." She soothed his hair out of his face, "I'll bring the twins into see you later, when it's time for their feeding, right now though, I just want you to close your eyes and go back to sleep. You need to heal up."

[daddys-rose.livejournal.com]

"Mommy's right. You need to sleep. And when you wake up again, we'll be right here. Maybe you can even have some chicken soup! Sister Hannah says chicken soup is one of the best medicines in the whole world, next to lots of love."

[mistersmith-tm.livejournal.com]

Oh God, how he loved them so! He wanted to kiss them and hug them desparately!

"Sister Hannah's . . . a wise . . . woman," he whispered. "I think . . . chicken soup sounds . . . great. But . . . love . . . even . . . better."

[aille.livejournal.com]

"Shhh baby, your throat is still healing, don't over do it." Leaning down and kissing his cheek gently, "You'll always have both from us. Love & soup." Giving him a half grin.

[daddys-rose.livejournal.com]

"And chocolate chip cookies," volunteered Rose. "Now go to sleep, Daddy. You need to get better and sleep is really important."

[mistersmith-tm.livejournal.com]

He gave a little laugh, trying not to wince as it sent a shiver of pain through his body. "Yes . . . Nurse Rose . . ." he said obediently. "And . . . Doctor Aille . . ." he added, with a weak smile for his beloved wife.

With Aille's gentle touch on his forehead and the warm weight of Rose's hand in his palm, he closed his eyes . . . and was almost instantly asleep.