31_days | [Nov 28th] [original] Private Grief

Title: Private Grief
Day/Theme: 28. the merry-faced thief
Series: Original : The Tragic Adventures of Iridian and Mirdre
Character/Pairing: Mirdre, Iridian
Rating: PG-13

He had looked happy and handsome, for what Mirdre had seen and what she later remembered. But it had been a ruthless kind of happy, not happy for others. The man facing her meant to take her life. She had realized it in the very same instant he had pulled the trigger, before she could summon any sort of shield, try and protect herself with the innate magic she had. The shot was so loud, so loud to her ears and the pain pierced through her, white-hot, impossible. She had stumbled, fallen, shot again and again.

Soon she had been on the cold cobbles, her hands on her stomach, whole body shaking. Her life and that of her child's bleeding into the gutter. She knew, later, that her baby had died before life had fled her body, before her soul had slipped off out of the confines of her meat. Iridian had not known, and she never found the heart to tell him. He had been so broken up about it all, showing the depth of his love only as she lay there dying, when he really realized what his care-free life had led to. Estranged from a sister who had been everything to him, only holding her close for the first time in years as she lay dying.

If she had had the strength and brain function to cry then Mirdre knew she would have wailed. She had barely registered Iridian's panic, his wailing, his hands holding her, trying to stem the blood. Too much blood. Something more than just her baby dead and torn inside. She had been freezing but when death approached her, she had felt warm, sinking into the black abyss of not knowing anything, not feeling anything, not caring her baby was dead, that she would not live another day.

But she had been dragged back, kicking and screaming, fighting that which should not happen. Fighting the raw power her brother had wielded, that something which should never have been tapped into.

She had fought life itself, her time having been to go and part life for something else.

Yet Iridian had held onto her and stuffed her into the closest living body he had: his own. Blackness had come as Mirdre had fought for purchase. Any kind of something to hold onto. It had held. She woke in the gloom, some time later. She was scared, frightened out of her wits. She had had no idea what was going on. She had cried for her baby, for the loss of that chance. Her mind had crawled, for she had no skin to crawl, no body to ache or feel the pain, no blood to spill anywhere. She had heard something, had felt a fleeting touch, like fingertips brushing against her thoughts. Images. Memories she knew were not hers. A partial sight, showing a body that was not hers yet she had known that if she was looking out of an eye, she had to be in a body.

She had not known whose.

Not at the time.

But she had known that her own body, that she herself had died. She had felt the slipping, had felt the pain. Had known the blood, felt it. The last beat of her anxious heart trying to not let her die. Her panic had mingled with that of another, waves of regret, of remorse washing over her. She had merely curled up on herself, not caring for the world, not caring if she was dead or if she was not, then what was this, this... someone else and her mind inside them. She had wept bitterly for Jiri and the baby, a family they had never had. She had known then, that even if she was alive, she could probably never go back.

The fleeting image of that face, that smiling face, before the trigger was pulled, the pain and her dying thoughts, they etched themselves onto her soul.

She had thought that weeks had gone by. Weeks of flitting in and out, seeing sometimes, but never feeling, the having of one sense not making for the lack of the other. She had had no feeling being anywhere. It had been like having her eyes closed but not quite because she could see glimpses. Time had lost all meaning. She had been trapped in a maze of intangible unfamiliar thoughts, feelings she knew she had not felt. Sometimes she had felt like Iridian was right there, just out of her reach.

And then he had spoken to her, his words washing over her more than anything.

“Mir, is that you? I can't... I don't know what happened...” It had definitely been her brother's voice. Panicked, worn, exhausted. She had latched on, desperate for a connection.

“Iridian. Can that really be you?” She had answered her brother, not knowing what else she should say.

She had felt a warmth, a love, happiness. Not her own feelings, but those of another.

“So good to hear you, I've been thinking that I've gone crazy...”

The relief had been palpable. Instantaneous.

“Where am I?” She remembered as having asked.

Her brother's answer had sent her hurling, feeling like she was dying all over again.

“I... I don't know what or how I did it, but...” She had senses the hesitation, had felt him trying to hide from admitting it. It had felt so eerie, so unlike anything she had ever felt.

“You're inside my mind, your soul attached to mine. I'm so sorry Mirdre...”

That was the last she remembered of that initial contact.

After that, they had come to grips with the situation, bizarre and horribly frightening as it had been. Mirdre had come to terms with not having a body of her own. She had been glad that Iridian had not made her go and see her grave marker. It had taken them some time in adjusting. Mirdre had really had to train herself to not pry Iridian's private thoughts and memories. For some reason Iridian was not able to do that to her. Mirdre was grateful for that. She did not want to burden Iridian with the death of her unborn child, a child her brother had never even known she had been expecting.

They had left the city without meeting Jiri. Mirdre had decided it was better that way. She did not known how much time she would have, and being attached to her brother's soul was not the ideal condition in which to meet the father of her dead baby, the love of her life.

Maybe after... when those behind it all had been taken care of. Mirdre's want for vengeance burned as bright as Iridian's, even in the beginning. She wanted to see that man, that particular man who had come to her with his smile, she wanted to see him bleed, hear him yell in agony. Watch as the life left his eyes. She wanted him to suffer over that smile. She wanted him to suffer for what he had done for her. For her baby. For Jiri. When it was all over, maybe then she could come back and apologize to Jiri for having died, and for the death of their baby.

Ask for forgiveness that she had ever doubted him, in those horrid moments when the gun had been pointed at her then fired, and when she had lain dying. For Jiri had not known about the baby either.