War of the Worlds, 500 words

[marciaelena.livejournal.com]

Title: Absence
Author: Marcia Elena
Keywords: Ray/Robbie, War of the Worlds (Steven Spielberg's)
Spoilers: Maybe.
Rating: R
Warning: Incest-y. Because I'm the one writing it and that's how I see it.
Summary: Father and son and a moment shared.
500 words ficlet, written for challenge #61 at slashthedrabble, themed 'Cards', January 26th, 2006.
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me and I couldn't make any money out of this even if I wanted to.
Author's notes: This just popped into my mind very early this morning while I was lying awake in bed listening to the storm outside, along with the drabble I posted earlier. Don't ask me where it came from because I have no clue.



Steam veils the stars as Ray breathes, hands pushed deep in his pockets for warmth while he watches the night deepen around him. Cold air touches his face, darkness spread out before him as he stands in the empty backyard, light and voices spilling out from the house behind him and inviting him back in. Yet he stands still, feet planted firmly on the ground and gaze raised to the heavens, just breathing, in and out, in and out. Glad that he can.

He doesn't hear Robbie approach, but he smiles at him when he comes to stand at his side, raising his face to the sky too. They stay like that for a while, father and son, looking up, gazing in, saying nothing and yet sharing everything.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" Robbie murmurs. "Crazy and horrible and unbelievable. I saw it and I almost can't believe it. Never really thought aliens or ghosts were real."

"Ghosts?" Ray smiles, dimples showing in his cheeks. "I don't think I believe in that one yet."

"Yeah, not yet," Robbie says. There seem to be stars in his eyes as he looks at his father. "I had to come back, Dad. I had to let them know you and Rachel were okay, that you were bringing her here, or they would've gone looking for us. I didn't want them to die too."

"You did good," Ray tells him. He keeps his hands in his pockets even though he wants to reach out, touch his son, squeeze his shoulder. There's so much he wants to say but he's never been good at this, and he doesn't know where to start.

"I didn't, really," Robbie says. "Should've listened to you." He looks up at the sky again, and when he sighs Ray waits for his son's breath to swirl in the air before him.

It doesn't.

"Remember that baseball card you gave me for my birthday a few years ago?" Robbie asks him before he can say anything. "I carried that thing with me everywhere. I used to tell myself it was because it was too valuable to just leave it lying around in my room, and I'd wanted it for so long. That was the best gift I ever got," he tells his father, still not looking at him. "But the truth is, I kept it with me because it reminded me of you. Of how things were once, or how they could've been. I always missed you so much. Even when you were right there."

"I always missed you," Ray tells him. His heart is aching and he's not sure why. "It can be different now, Robbie. I promise it'll be different."

Robbie looks at him and smiles again, sadly. "I had to come back," he says again. "I had to tell you I love you too."

And Ray reaches for him this time, but he's too slow -- where Robbie was there's only darkness now. Only Ray's breath, and no one else's.