This is a significant departure from what I typically write. It is very nominally fan fiction. It is very very nominally fiction at all. It’s obviously still autobiographical (I wouldn’t insult your understanding to deny it anyway), as such there is a content warning here for adult sibling loss, mourning, self doubt, and despair
The problem was that Leonard didn’t know exactly what he wanted, and Leonard generally was not a man who didn’t know what he wanted. He’d built his entire life around doing what needed doing, getting what he wanted it needed, got. Often enough to his detriment, true enough. But it was an irrevocable part of who he was…wasn’t it?
Always so rock solid about himself if nothing else in this world. It had always been his anchor, the concrete under his feet. Even when he self examined, self questioned…he tried to be as honest with himself as possible. He knew what and who he was, and what exactly he and the universe shared space, comprised, co-existed. He couldn’t always get it, he wasn’t a Godde after all, just one moderately…or maybe majorly inflexible man.
But there was nothing to be done, not really, so he was adrift, seriously adrift for the first time since adulthood taught him the necessity of who he needed to be, who he had to be…to survive.
It did *not* sit well or nice. He was unaccustomed to this feeling of…something he couldn’t quite put a name to. It was breadcrumbs under his skin, it was open itching wounds and raw destructive self doubt…self loathing…self recrimination. He was sure he could think up another couple descriptors, another couple metaphors…maybe even a depressing quip or two…a pun even.
But he hadn’t the heart, hadn’t the energy…his whole body bunched strong and sinewed, ready to save her, his little sister, his family…his only blood family that mattered. But there somehow was nothing to be done, it was far to late. Even if he could turn back time, it wouldn’t help…maybe even make things worse.
So he was powerless to save her. It bothered him much less when it was only himself he hadn’t been able to save.
And anyway, he couldn’t turn back time so what was the point of even wishing. Hoping.
He had tried though, he had tried, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he done everything in his power? He had to believe that he had, the alternative was a hurricane so powerfully, terribly, hopeless he couldn’t even bear to look for fear of losing everything.
And where was the line exactly, between being willing to do anything and being unable to everything? What good is being willing to die for someone, being willing to kill for someone when you are watching that very person slide away, shaking your hands off, willfully uninterested in hearing you, into the fog-without you-time by choice?
It did absolutely no good.
So Leonard didn’t know what he wanted, and didn’t know how to get the unknown.
If only there was a plan, or a plot, or magical fix it.
If only he could live that lie forever. Maybe she could be alive somehow, on a job, or mad and avoiding him…on some other earth.
Despite himself he desperately wished that lie were true. somehow. Some when.
But for now all he could do is not know, and not be, and hope someday, if not his sister, his own life could come back to him. Breathe existence into his own limbs again.
Leonard might not know what he wanted, he might not be able to find path out of this loss right now, but he guessed it might be ok to hope.
Just a little bit.