SarahRosie (celes720) wrote in sharedmadness,

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Beyond Saving, part 25

You asked for it.

Just remember that. And be happy.

Is it possible to die from wanting?

Closing my eyes, I run my tongue over my lips where hers lingered against mine only moments ago. I can almost taste her, the way we used to taste together. I savor her touch, her words, the feeling of her fingers and breath ghosting over my face. I want so much to grab on to her and hold on for dear life.

God, I want this, her, us more than anything.

Do I dare?

Can I trust myself?

“How?” Whispering, I open my eyes to find hers scant inches from my own.

“How what?”

“How can you trust me with your heart?”

She smiles faintly, raising her hand to cup the side of my face. “Who else would I trust it to? It belongs to you. It always has.”

Well, fuck.

Half of me wants to rage at her, to ask her why in the hell she’d trust me with something as important as her damned heart. I’d never fucking trust me. The other rather tactless half of me blissed out in this conversation about five minutes ago and is waiting patiently to pick out china patterns and a tuxedo for the wedding.

“Hudson, I-” I don’t have the words. “This has been... Damn it.

And now I’ve completely lost her, because she’s looking at me like my nose has grown at least five inches in length. I really wish I could just take a rain check on the heartfelt confession or stop this fucking ride because I want to get off or something equally trite. I just want to skip this whole part and get to the part afterwards where we make up and then have earth-shattering sex for the next fifty or so years.

Is that possible?

The time thing, not the sex.


I jump a little as she raises her other hand up to my face, bringing me back to reality. “What?”

Laughing, her expression lightens some as she rolls her eyes at me. “You think too much, you always have. Quit overanalyzing everything and just spit it out. There’s nothing you can say that will make me run, remember?”

Zero hour.

Shit or get off the proverbial pot, right?

“New Year’s.”

The confusion is back. “What about it?”

“The... hiding has been hard for me. I almost lost it then, on New Year’s, almost went to you when I knew I should stay away.” I can still turn back, can still keep the rest inside of me. But I can’t lose her. “I was angry for a long time after my father confronted me about you, where you came from. I was afraid, too. Afraid of what he would do to you, but more afraid of what I would do to you. So I hid everything from you, from myself, but it always seemed to bubble back to the surface. And it royally pissed me off because I should be able to control myself better than that by now.”


It was hard to start, but now it’s just running out of me like blood from an open wound. I can’t seem to close my stupid mouth. “I don’t trust me very much, Hudson.”

She leans close to me then, pulling my face down and kissing my forehead, the top of my head, before tucking my face against her neck.

It feels like redemption.

And it makes my knees weak.

“I trust you.”

Exhaling against her neck, I bite off a pathetic whine that accompanies my breath. “Why?”

“Because I know you.” She strokes my back, her hands making me shiver despite the warm air. “You had at least ten thousand chances to kill me, Lex. You had a bunker stocked with Kryptonite, of all things, yet you did nothing.”

“I couldn’t.” I pull back a little, raising my prosthetic hand to her face, sliding the fake fingers across her mouth and over her chin, trailing it down her neck. It’s so like the real one, yet so different. But I like to think the sacrifice was necessary. “I love you too much.”

Gaping, her mouth opens and closes like a dying fish. “I...”

“You’re in my blood, Angel. Killing you, seeing you die, would be ten thousand times worse than losing this hand.”

“You killed your father for me.” She looks away, her eyes shining with tears. “Why?”

Shrugging, I give her words back. “I would kill for you, die for you. I’d do it again.”

“God damn you, Lex Luthor.” Hudson shrugs away from me, crossing her arms over her chest and letting out an exasperated sigh. “Then why have you been fighting me so hard?”

She’s playing at anger, I can see her lips struggling against a smile.

God, I want to see that every day for the rest of my life.

“Because I’m an idiot?”

“Wait, can you give me five minutes and repeat that?”

Now she’s lost me.

“I need to go get my tape recorder, the spandex is way too tight to keep it anywhere without an unsightly bulge.”

I scowl at her. “You’re a laugh riot.”

“Don’t be a fuddy duddy, Lex.”

“I hope your reporter’s salary can afford to buy me a new pair of pants since you used these as a snot rag.”




“Farm girl.”

She gives me a bright, deceptively vapid smile. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her against my chest, tucking her head under my chin. I missed this more than I realized, the feel of her, her scent, her warmth. But I know enough to understand this won’t be easy: I’m a selfish ass and she’s got a martyr complex the size of my garage.

Maybe the best we can do is each resolve to hear the other out.



“Superwoman could stick around, you know. The world seems to need her.”

“That’s pretty big of you, Lex.”

“I have one condition.”

“Should I even ask?”

“You have to wear the boots for me sometime. And only the boots.”

“You are such a pervert.”

Some things never change.

I'd better be getting some feedback for this, boy-o.
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