[Nexus 100] 006. - 010.

[shimmerandsing]

006. Hours
Word count:105
Rating: G

Alison's husband does not wear a watch. The time of day means nothing, as far as he is concerned, except where the encroaching nightfall interrupts whatever activity has caught his attention. This trait is both endearing and annoying to her. They almost never arrive anywhere on time. Longshot doesn't allow himself to be constrained by the sound of the clock ticking.

She suspects that it has something to do with the Studio. For so long, he lived his life in hour long blocks of time, knowing that each one might be his last. For that reason alone, it is easy enough to forgive late arrivals.


007. Days
Word count: 100
Rating: G

Bare feet make no sound on the tile as Alison dances to the sound of the music playing on the radio. Music makes the chores move faster and as badly as she hates washing dishes, the job requires music and dancing. The woman on the radio is singing about taking joy in the days you are living. Unconsciously, Alison begins singing along.

For four minutes and fifty three seconds, her tiny apartment echoes with an ode to joy that has nothing at all to do with Beethoven. These are the days. She intends to enjoy them for all they're worth.


008. Weeks
There are just thirty six weeks in nine months. Thirty six weeks to feel life growing inside. Thirty six short weeks until love takes physical shape into a child that she would love for every day of the rest of her life.

It is just eighteen short weeks later that everything goes so very wrong. The first trimester, she'd always been told, was the most dangerous for a developing fetus. Small and delicate, a fragile jumble of cells clinging to life and struggling to find a shape to the child that it would grow into.

She feels safe and at ease in that eighteenth week. The second trimester is supposed to be more stable; less chance for disaster. But, then again, her life has always been about the long odds. She is so tired and aching already from the constant motion of war that she doesn't notice the twinging pains until a small, crimson stain catches her eye.

By then, it is too late.

Some women, she'd read, would continue working right up until the moment they went into labor. Some women, she was forced to admit as she said goodbye to the son she would never hold in her arms, did not find their employment as a fighter leading a rebellion.

It would take a great deal longer than the next eighteen weeks for her to forgive herself.


009. Months
It had only been four months since she'd found him again. It seemed like a lifetime of emptiness passed by as she searched, but then one day -- almost by accident -- there he was.

In to those few, short months, they'd crammed another lifetime's worth of joy. Pains, too, but fewer and far between. For the most part, she lived each day for the next. Anticipating the moment when she would wake up next to him to enjoy another day.

Whoever had coined the phrase Time flies when you're having fun, must have had her husband in mind. The months seemed to melt away. Experienced, though; not wasted. She lived with him, rather than letting life slip by without him.


010. Years
The apartment is too quiet. She can't bear to be inside today and instead bundles up to brave the chill in the air and walk down to a tiny restaurant on the corner.

Occasionally, she is annoyed that she doesn't speak the local language. Today it is a blessing. No feeling of obligation to make small talk with strangers; just a series of half communicated phrases and complicated gestures to try and convey what she wants.

In a small booth in the corner, over a bowl of rice noodles and a tiny cup of Sake, Alison Blaire quietly marks the passing of another year of life.