Too Little, Too Late; McCoy/Jocelyn
Nov. 18th, 2009 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hypatia_82Written for this promt over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
stxi_sinfest
Title: Too Little, Too Late; McCoy/Jocelyn
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hypatia_82
Word count: ~700
Rating: G/PG?
Feedback: Encouraged and appreciated.
Warnings: None apart from a bit of angst.
Disclaimer: This is fiction. I made it all up... I don't own anything.
Notes: First promt fill, and first posted fic. Unbeta'ed, so any mistakes are mine.
Summary: Some things you forget, and some stay with you forever.
Then the ball dropped: why everything fell by the way.
As your teardrops were fallin' I forgot to say
That I have always loved you
Yeah, I have always loved you
Yeah, yeah I, I have always loved you;
The first time he forgets is the first time they make love. Her soft moans and warm, beautiful body beneath him drive the words from his mind. It’s everything he thought it would be and more, and he’s too busy trying to burn every sound, every caress, every detail of the moment into his memory so he’ll remember it forever. No mere words could ever encompass or do justice to everything he’s feeling right then, and so he forgets to tell her he loves her.
The second time he forgets is a year later when she turns up at his place, drenched from the heavy rain outside, a mixture of tears and raindrops falling down her cheeks as she tills him she’s pregnant. The turmoil of emotions that follow the initial shock make him forget, even as he smiles broadly (and perhaps a bit uncertainly) and drops to his knees to kiss and caress her stomach. He’s too overwhelmed with awe at the life growing inside her, the life they’ve created. And so he forgets again…
He does remember to tell her on their wedding day. It’s hard to forget when it’s part of their vows. The day passes by, mostly in a blur of well-wishers, speeches, presents and dodging stern looks from her father. He probably should have remembered to tell her again when they left the party, but by that time, he’s too exhausted and perhaps a little too inebriated to remember much more than his own name.
He forgets again the first time he holds his only minutes old daughter. For an infinitely long and perfect moment, his entire universe centers around the perfect being cooing sleepily in his arms. All the love he’s ever felt in his life is nothing compared to the love he feels for his daughter. He didn’t know it was possible to love anything that much, and he feels his heart will burst from the strength of the emotion. For a second he feels that calling anything but his feelings for his child love will somehow cheapen what he feels at that moment. He doesn’t mean to forget, he just does.
He doesn’t really forget on their first anniversary. It’s more like he doesn’t have time to remember. He staggers home late after working a grueling double-shift at the hospital. The candles on their neatly set table have burnt down before they were extinguished, and the champagne sits unopened in the cooler. He finds her in her bed, Joanna nestled in her arms, dried tears on her cheeks. He slips in next to them, holding his little family close, and manages to mutter an “I’m so sorry” before sleep takes him.
He’s forgotten so many times during the years he’s lost count.
He will always remember the moment with painful clarity, although at the time his mind was less than lucid. He remembers her tears, as she tells him she’s leaving. That Joanna is at her parent’s house where she’ll be too for the next couple of days. Can still hear the slightly desperate tinge she tried to hide in her voice when she told him she expected him to be gone by the time they got back. He remembers the feeling when she handed him the papers, her neat signature already in place. Remembers thinking he finally understood the phrase about having one’s heart broken. It feels like his has been ripped out. Remembers the anger and resentment he felt towards her for giving up, for not telling him sooner. Remembers he forgot to say ‘I love you’ instead of ‘goodbye’. When she closes the door behind her and leaves him on his own in the large house, he brokenly whispers “I love you. I have always loved you. Always loved you” as a solitary tear escapes. Yet somehow he knows it’s too little, too late and knows she can’t hear him anymore.
stxi_sinfestTitle: Too Little, Too Late; McCoy/Jocelyn
Author:
hypatia_82Word count: ~700
Rating: G/PG?
Feedback: Encouraged and appreciated.
Warnings: None apart from a bit of angst.
Disclaimer: This is fiction. I made it all up... I don't own anything.
Notes: First promt fill, and first posted fic. Unbeta'ed, so any mistakes are mine.
Summary: Some things you forget, and some stay with you forever.
Then the ball dropped: why everything fell by the way.
As your teardrops were fallin' I forgot to say
That I have always loved you
Yeah, I have always loved you
Yeah, yeah I, I have always loved you;
The first time he forgets is the first time they make love. Her soft moans and warm, beautiful body beneath him drive the words from his mind. It’s everything he thought it would be and more, and he’s too busy trying to burn every sound, every caress, every detail of the moment into his memory so he’ll remember it forever. No mere words could ever encompass or do justice to everything he’s feeling right then, and so he forgets to tell her he loves her.
The second time he forgets is a year later when she turns up at his place, drenched from the heavy rain outside, a mixture of tears and raindrops falling down her cheeks as she tills him she’s pregnant. The turmoil of emotions that follow the initial shock make him forget, even as he smiles broadly (and perhaps a bit uncertainly) and drops to his knees to kiss and caress her stomach. He’s too overwhelmed with awe at the life growing inside her, the life they’ve created. And so he forgets again…
He does remember to tell her on their wedding day. It’s hard to forget when it’s part of their vows. The day passes by, mostly in a blur of well-wishers, speeches, presents and dodging stern looks from her father. He probably should have remembered to tell her again when they left the party, but by that time, he’s too exhausted and perhaps a little too inebriated to remember much more than his own name.
He forgets again the first time he holds his only minutes old daughter. For an infinitely long and perfect moment, his entire universe centers around the perfect being cooing sleepily in his arms. All the love he’s ever felt in his life is nothing compared to the love he feels for his daughter. He didn’t know it was possible to love anything that much, and he feels his heart will burst from the strength of the emotion. For a second he feels that calling anything but his feelings for his child love will somehow cheapen what he feels at that moment. He doesn’t mean to forget, he just does.
He doesn’t really forget on their first anniversary. It’s more like he doesn’t have time to remember. He staggers home late after working a grueling double-shift at the hospital. The candles on their neatly set table have burnt down before they were extinguished, and the champagne sits unopened in the cooler. He finds her in her bed, Joanna nestled in her arms, dried tears on her cheeks. He slips in next to them, holding his little family close, and manages to mutter an “I’m so sorry” before sleep takes him.
He’s forgotten so many times during the years he’s lost count.
He will always remember the moment with painful clarity, although at the time his mind was less than lucid. He remembers her tears, as she tells him she’s leaving. That Joanna is at her parent’s house where she’ll be too for the next couple of days. Can still hear the slightly desperate tinge she tried to hide in her voice when she told him she expected him to be gone by the time they got back. He remembers the feeling when she handed him the papers, her neat signature already in place. Remembers thinking he finally understood the phrase about having one’s heart broken. It feels like his has been ripped out. Remembers the anger and resentment he felt towards her for giving up, for not telling him sooner. Remembers he forgot to say ‘I love you’ instead of ‘goodbye’. When she closes the door behind her and leaves him on his own in the large house, he brokenly whispers “I love you. I have always loved you. Always loved you” as a solitary tear escapes. Yet somehow he knows it’s too little, too late and knows she can’t hear him anymore.
