Tegan fragments
May. 21st, 2008 04:27 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annwfyn.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadows"Why is it that something that should be so simple gets so complicated around us? Why does that happen to everything now?"
Fergal had sounded tired, and had had that slightly lost tone to his voice that only Tegan had ever really heard. For some reason she could feel tears rising already.
"It never used to be like this," she had said. "I don't know what happened. Where it all got so snarled up."
It hadn't been. When they had first met every single moment with Fergal had been like a fairytale.
There had been a long pause. Tegan couldn't even hear Fergal breathing across the phone line. She hadn't said anything. What was there to say?
"Come home," Fergal said. And Tegan had to admit that he still, at least, had the capacity to surprise her.
***************************
It was 5 am, and Tegan couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed, silently, watching Michael Stands Ready breathing. His breath came raggedly these days, and the great scar on his chest seemed to be troubling him.
She didn't touch him, for fear of waking him, but didn't move away from his side, either. Michael always made her feel better, just by being there, and right now she didn't want to spend too much time away from him.
He was the first man she had ever felt this safe with. He was her best friend. He was the man she trusted more than anyone else.
***************************
The Kew Commune was bright and bustling. Every single day seemed to bring in more work, more commissions, more requests for interviews. Tegan turned down every single interview request. She didn't think she had anything to say which hadn't already been said in her murals, or in her paintings, or even in the couple of installations she had done in the occasional gallery which caught her attention.
She also knew that interviews were dangerous, when you had a geas, like hers. Who knew when an interviewer could trigger it, without even thinking. It was better to avoid contact with anyone unless you were very sure you knew what you were doing.
The Sunday Times Magazine did a double page spread on Tegan's Camden murals. Michael cut it out for her, and pinned it up on the fridge, with a broad smile. The strange Akashic consor who had promised her a tattoo sent a congratulations note, which made Tegan frown in confusion. Why on earth did he care what she had painted or what she had done?
And none of it seemed very real, all of a sudden. It all felt like a bubble, due to burst any day.
***************************
On a cold and windy day, Tegan checked her mobile and realized she had a missed call from Fergal. She stared at her phone for a long time, trying to work out what she felt.
She had gotten used to fighting with Fergal. Any kind of contact from him meant a new screaming match, in which both sides tried to claw at each other with every word. But lately...
"You know, how you always used to be really good at totally surprising me? Jesus Christ, Fergal, don't you have a girlfriend in Ulster?"
"So? You had a boyfriend in London. Come home. Neither of us understand why we've been hating each other; let's just stop. Let's be a family again."
Memories floated through Tegan's brain. She remembered the day Caitlin was born, and the look in Fergal eyes when he saw them both together for the first time. She remembered one of the last good days, in Ulster, when Caitlin was six months old and Fergal took them both to the beach for the day. She remembered that day, years ago, when a massive man with sharp teeth had stopped on a street in Edinburgh because he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She remembered the fights, the broken arm, the taste of blood in her mouth. She remembered his voice, cold and contemptuous when he had found out about her and Michael. She remembered Michael, bleeding on the challenge circle as Fergal walked away.
She remembered the Moot where she had first met Michael, remembered the warmth of his arm around her. She remembered how incredibly glad she had felt when he had turned up in Leeds to find her, remembered that glorious morning in Blackpool, waking up next to him, and realizing for the first time how much she loved him.
She remembered Caitlin. She remembered how tall she had grown last time she saw her. She remembered how her eyes were the same amazing violet as Tegan's own, and she remembered that Caitlin still slept with the patchwork rabbit Tegan had made for her when Caitlin was still a baby. How much longer would she do that? How much more time did Tegan have to be a mother.
A cold wind ran through Tegan, and glancing up, she realized the sky was thick and black with clouds. A storm was coming. She didn't bother to move for cover. She never did, really.
Instead Tegan stood there, on the pavement, staring at her mobile phone...
Fergal had sounded tired, and had had that slightly lost tone to his voice that only Tegan had ever really heard. For some reason she could feel tears rising already.
"It never used to be like this," she had said. "I don't know what happened. Where it all got so snarled up."
It hadn't been. When they had first met every single moment with Fergal had been like a fairytale.
There had been a long pause. Tegan couldn't even hear Fergal breathing across the phone line. She hadn't said anything. What was there to say?
"Come home," Fergal said. And Tegan had to admit that he still, at least, had the capacity to surprise her.
It was 5 am, and Tegan couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed, silently, watching Michael Stands Ready breathing. His breath came raggedly these days, and the great scar on his chest seemed to be troubling him.
She didn't touch him, for fear of waking him, but didn't move away from his side, either. Michael always made her feel better, just by being there, and right now she didn't want to spend too much time away from him.
He was the first man she had ever felt this safe with. He was her best friend. He was the man she trusted more than anyone else.
The Kew Commune was bright and bustling. Every single day seemed to bring in more work, more commissions, more requests for interviews. Tegan turned down every single interview request. She didn't think she had anything to say which hadn't already been said in her murals, or in her paintings, or even in the couple of installations she had done in the occasional gallery which caught her attention.
She also knew that interviews were dangerous, when you had a geas, like hers. Who knew when an interviewer could trigger it, without even thinking. It was better to avoid contact with anyone unless you were very sure you knew what you were doing.
The Sunday Times Magazine did a double page spread on Tegan's Camden murals. Michael cut it out for her, and pinned it up on the fridge, with a broad smile. The strange Akashic consor who had promised her a tattoo sent a congratulations note, which made Tegan frown in confusion. Why on earth did he care what she had painted or what she had done?
And none of it seemed very real, all of a sudden. It all felt like a bubble, due to burst any day.
On a cold and windy day, Tegan checked her mobile and realized she had a missed call from Fergal. She stared at her phone for a long time, trying to work out what she felt.
She had gotten used to fighting with Fergal. Any kind of contact from him meant a new screaming match, in which both sides tried to claw at each other with every word. But lately...
"You know, how you always used to be really good at totally surprising me? Jesus Christ, Fergal, don't you have a girlfriend in Ulster?"
"So? You had a boyfriend in London. Come home. Neither of us understand why we've been hating each other; let's just stop. Let's be a family again."
Memories floated through Tegan's brain. She remembered the day Caitlin was born, and the look in Fergal eyes when he saw them both together for the first time. She remembered one of the last good days, in Ulster, when Caitlin was six months old and Fergal took them both to the beach for the day. She remembered that day, years ago, when a massive man with sharp teeth had stopped on a street in Edinburgh because he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She remembered the fights, the broken arm, the taste of blood in her mouth. She remembered his voice, cold and contemptuous when he had found out about her and Michael. She remembered Michael, bleeding on the challenge circle as Fergal walked away.
She remembered the Moot where she had first met Michael, remembered the warmth of his arm around her. She remembered how incredibly glad she had felt when he had turned up in Leeds to find her, remembered that glorious morning in Blackpool, waking up next to him, and realizing for the first time how much she loved him.
She remembered Caitlin. She remembered how tall she had grown last time she saw her. She remembered how her eyes were the same amazing violet as Tegan's own, and she remembered that Caitlin still slept with the patchwork rabbit Tegan had made for her when Caitlin was still a baby. How much longer would she do that? How much more time did Tegan have to be a mother.
A cold wind ran through Tegan, and glancing up, she realized the sky was thick and black with clouds. A storm was coming. She didn't bother to move for cover. She never did, really.
Instead Tegan stood there, on the pavement, staring at her mobile phone...
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