2007-08-21: DF: The Nature of Need



Summary: Loss is never easy.

Dark Future Date: August 21, 2009

The Nature of Need

Phoenix Rising Penthouses

Dammit, baby. You were supposed to take me with you. You are such a fucking asshole. You're a selfish, self-righteous, unthinking prick. You were supposed to *take me with you*. You weren't supposed to just *leave me here*. You're probably up there, looking at porn with Sal, you dirty fuckers, while you leave me to pick up the gawd damned pieces. …You fucking suck.

These are not the typical thoughts of a survivor, but they're hers. They fill the moments. Some moments are easier than others. The important thing is to recognize that the moments still exist. They pass. One and then another. It doesn't do any good to try to stop them, really. That was never her gift.

Instead, Trina is left to count the minutes. To watch the analog clock on the wall only further separate her from the last moment she had Jack here. To mourn. To come to terms with the fact that she will be a widow far longer than she was a wife. That right now, all she wants to do is hate Jack for doing this to her. Instead, there's only the ragged pain that breathes in ragged breaths.

There had been words. Screaming. Fighting. Childish refusal to listen. Trina's ashamed of herself for her behavior now that she has had time to think about it, humiliated by remembering what she had done to poor Elena. Elena was hurting, too. Everyone was, but no one understands. No one knows like she knows how close he was to being something more like the Jack Derex everyone remembered. He was right there, almost ready to snatch hope up in his hands again and wave it like a flag of victory — only to get a serious and terminal case of dead.

As she lays on her bed, no longer possessing a counterpart to make it 'theirs', Trina's fingers reach out to delicately stroke the sheets where he had laid. He had been right there. All stubbly and beautiful, laughing and tender. Now she's got a hairy leg in the medical center with his stinky boot on it. She's not certain if it's his bad leg; she hasn't been in any sort of shape to check. However, if Jack had a choice, he'd probably have left the defective one behind. She could totally see him gettin' dragged Upstairs, flicking the fucking thing off as he went.

He hated that limp. He had since he realized that it wasn't ever going to get better. They'd talked about it a lot in the early days after the Den. It took so much time to make him understand, quelling fears and dispelling self-consciousness. Time that they'll never, ever get back. And she'd never regret it. And maybe that was what was worst of all. Deep down, she knew that if she had it to do all over again, she'd still take this over anything else. She had been what he had needed, just as he had for her. The gaping, searing hole in her heart was evidence that she had done the Right Thing.

Finally curling into a small ball with hands folded and twisted under her chin, Trina breaks down again and cries. Huge, racking sobs that shake her entire body nearly find enough force to shake the bed as well. She cries until her stomach is sick and worn out. It isn't until she physically can't cry anymore that the wailing stops, only to leave the tears to silently leak out for another eternity. When even they are exhausted, she finally fights to take a slow breath.

A breath at a time, she starts to buckle down. There's another conversation that slowly comes to mind. "We are all equally expendable." That's what she had said to Prime. It was time to start living like she meant it.

Jack was dead and she was a widow.

Jack was dead and crying wouldn't bring him back.

Jack was dead and denying it wouldn't help anyone.

Jack was dead.

He told her he needed her to be level-headed. Elena was too volatile. Too prone to emotion and temper… despite what anyone else said. Trina was supposed to be the voice of reason and she had let her husband down. He would be disappointed.

"'m sorry, baby. I just miss you like the dickens," she whispers, hot tears stinging anew as she grabs up a large wad of the sheets with which she was previously so gentle. It's a volume she'd never been able to use with him after the explosion, thanks to the damage to his ears from the blast. Well, now she can. It's a good thing she can because the words would otherwise never make it past the stranglehold emotion has on her throat. "I been a big baby, I know, but I'm done now. Promise. I'll get it worked out. Just tell Sal I said hi, huh?" Since he's up there, he might as well. "I… I love you, darlin'."

And with that, she sits up. She sniffs, once, and then pushes her tears away from her angry, red eyes with a few wipes of her hands. There's then a vigorous shake of those slender hands as she stands, exhaling a deep breath as she does so, and makes her way into the hall to hit up the bathroom to wash her face and start putting on her makeup.

Jack was dead, and it was time to make sure that somebody fucking answered for it.

And she had a really good place to start.

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