Disclaimer – If you recognize it, I don't own it. Don't sue.
***Notes – This is not a song fic. You don't need to read the lyrics; they are just posted below so you can if you choose to, in order to see where my inspiration came from. Enjoy!
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Permanent
Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?
Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry
And everything, it will surely change
Even if I tell you I won't go away, today
I'm permanent
I know he's living in hell every single day
And so I ask "oh God is there some way for me to take his place?"
And when they say it's all touch and go,
I wish I could make it go away, butt still you say
Will you think that you're all alone when no one's there to hold your hand?
When all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary, rest your head
- David Cook
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Nine months. So much can happen in those 272 days – a baby can be born, a best-selling novel can be written, or wedding can be planned. But in nine months, so much can be taken away, too.
It took Luke twenty-seven days to process what the doctor's told him. The morning he woke up sobbing was the same morning that Noah was gone, having to work an early shift at Java. Having Noah gone made everything hurt even more, until it felt like someone was reaching a hand into his chest, reaching deep and pulling his heart out before crushing it. He knew that he shouldn't cry, but that knowledge didn't stop the tears from cascading down his cheeks.
On the sixty-third day, Luke woke up to find a chunk of black hair on the pillow beside him, and muffled sobbing echoing from the closed bathroom door. Luke didn't bother knocking on the door; he just ran into the bathroom, yanked the door open, and sank to the linoleum floor beside Noah. When their eyes connected, Luke felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.
Noah had been nothing but calm and in control since he was diagnosed; Luke had tried, he had tried so damn hard to get Noah to talk to him about how he was doing, but Noah refused to open up. It was as if Noah had locked that part of himself away, far away where no one could ever touch it. That's why Luke could barely breathe when he looked into Noah's eyes and saw pure, raw fear.
Looking into Noah's ravaged face, Luke forced himself to keep his calm and controlled visage in place, knowing that it was what Noah needed. He couldn't afford to fall apart; he couldn't let Noah know how fucking terrified he was and scare him even more.
Reaching out, Luke pulled Noah into his arms. Noah's body, which had been stiff as a board despite his crying, instantly melted into Luke's arms. His head fell onto Luke's chest, and he draped a leg over Luke's lap. Adjusting their positions, Luke slid across the floor until his back was pressed to the wall and Noah was fully situated on him.
Luke opened his mouth to talk, before shutting it so tight that his teeth clinked. Abruptly, the significance of this moment hit him. Not just Noah, crying on his lap, but Noah finally admitting that he was sick, sick and not in control. Luke knew that Noah was long overdue for this lapse in emotion, and that talking would just draw Noah back into his shell.
Instead of bringing words - Luke's one constant in life - into that cold bathroom, Luke chose to stroke Noah's hair and spread gentle kisses in it. After all, how could Luke tell Noah that everything would be okay, that everything would be alright? They would both see through the lie.
Eventually, Noah removed his face from Luke's chest and allowed their gazes to connect once again. Staring into those eyes, those piercing blue eyes that were almost black in sorrow and fear, Luke bit his tongue until it bled in order to keep the lump in his throat from morphing into a sob.
Reluctantly breaking their gaze, Luke stood up, pulling Noah with him, and gently kissed him on the lips. Luke felt Noah clutch him, trying to imprint the moment into his memory before slowly releasing him. Knowing Noah better then Noah knew himself, Luke left that bathroom alone, allowing Noah to collect himself and recover from his emotional turmoil.
Seven months. Someone could go through hell in those 209 days, or they could live every day like it was their last. All Luke knew was that when those seven months ended, when that now pale hand grew limp in his and a monitor's beeps slowly lessened in frequency, time ceased to exist. Seven months, seven years, seven centuries; it could never be enough. Someone's life could end in seven months, and yet another's could be born.
"Mr. Snyder? The fertilization was a success. In nine months, Mr. Mayer's child will be born. Would you like to speak to the surrogate mother?"
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Reviews are greatly appreciated! I apologize for the angst-overload too.