We're nearing the end of this endeavor. This one has been a long way in the making, and I am proud of it to say the least, hope you all like the ending when it comes, or this chapter for that matter. I know you've been denied the Beej/Lydia interaction that you all live off of (I do too) but at least there's a bit of a squishy moment at the end.
She hit the ground with such a great force that if she'd had any air in her lungs at all it would have been driven out in an instant. As it was, it stunned her and all she could do was lay there and gasp ineffectually while the weight of the monster crushed down on her with all it's might. Her world was nothing but pain and heat. Hot breath, hot air, and the sound of scales rasping against each other.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, she had thought that Betelgeuse was scary, the worst of the worst and the most horrible thing that could ever be wished upon a person. A monster among monsters.
And with a startling clarity she could look upon her current situation and see that she was wrong. Wrong about Betelgeuse. Not just that he wasn't the most terrible evil in any realm, but wrong about everything she'd ever thought about him. Here was true evil and true cruelty and she could see he was neither.
Her vision doubled first, and then it blurred. Then there were black spots jumping into focus here and there. Everything hurt worse than she'd ever hurt ever before, and then there was nothing. No feeling in anything, no pain, no ache, not a single thing. That scared her more than the pain had. She'd heard from books and movies that just before you died, things stopped hurting and there was nothing more than a sensation of floating. She felt like she was floating and she couldn't feel anything in the way of pain.
She wondered just how terrible that was, she had ruined so many things lately, and she had been in such pain, wouldn't death be welcomed?
She couldn't have said for how long she laid there in the burning hot sand, not feeling anything and with the black spots dancing in and out of her vision. Even if she could have kept track of how long the torment went on for, she couldn't have said what happened. She could feel herself drifting in and out of consciousness, like the tide drifting in and out.
It played out through her memory a bit like a skipping DVD, a scene here and there, but sometimes just an image before it skipped ahead again in the story.
She saw the snake reared back, ready to strike. She saw it turned. She heard a popping sound and smelled stale air and dirt and that strange and pungent scent that accompanied the glue Adam liked to use on his models. She had wanted to cross over, she had wanted to be a part of that family rather than her own, and if she was dead she wouldn't have to stay married to Betelgeuse, even if he wasn't so terrible as all that.
Suddenly the weight was gone of her chest and she wondered just what it was she had missed. The weight was gone and the hot breath was gone and the rasping scales and all the terrible things that signaled her tormentor, they were all gone and the rest was silence. Silence and sun and sand.
She could still smell that strange combination, the one that tickled the very edge of her memory. More than just labeling the smells, she knew it from somewhere but she couldn't place where it was from.
She was certain she wasn't dead—though she may be dying—but she wasn't certain why she wasn't dead. "This is gonna hurt ya a lot more than it hurts me." The voice was strangely soft. Something in her memory, the same part that told her she knew the smell of glue and dirt and stale, told her she knew the voice, knew it and it wasn't meant to be that soft. Worried. Caring. The voice was gruff, hard and deep and it was supposed to say cruel or rude things.
But it was kind now so she didn't care what her faulty memory said, she could hardly remember her own name and what had happened mere hours ago—or had it been days?--so who was she to say if this stranger was really supposed to be compassionate or not?
She tried to tell them. Tried to let them know somehow that they didn't need to worry about her because she couldn't feel much of anything. All she could feel was a sensation much like floating in water. But when she opened her mouth all that came out was a strangled scream and wailing sobs, but that too faded into silence as she finally floated into unconsciousness.
He had to remind himself that his heart couldn't stop. He was dead and his heart had lain silent in his breast for a long time now and it couldn't stop. Nor did he actually need to breathe. However when he saw Lydia standing there with those two bumpkin ghosts she had married him to save, his heart felt like it stuttered to a stop, and his non-existent breath felt like it caught in his throat. Hadn't she listened to him? He'd told her she couldn't leave! Ghost couldn't leave their home in the realm of the living and breathers couldn't leave their home in this realm.
He tried to stop her, to tell her, but it was too late, she was gone. Babs and Adam were certainly going to realize she wasn't with them soon enough, but would they know to look for her on Saturn? Certainly not. He shuddered, he hated sandworms, and then gathered his power to him. He'd never tried to rescue someone from Saturn. Hell, he'd never gone there on purpose, he wasn't certain if he could do this but even if it was dead and dusty he still had a heart and--
He shook his head as if that would clear it of the cobwebs of thoughts he had no desire to have in his mind. It had been harder than he would have ever guessed to get to Saturn. It was so easy when one of those stuffy bureaucrats wanted to send you there, but if you were trying to break in it was damned hard.
He stumbled as he landed, feeling more like he'd been tossed to this other place rather than the smooth transitions he was so skilled at normally. He looked about and felt a rush of cold flood through him as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. Two figures were tumbling down a dune in the distance, one was obviously a Sandworm, writhing and hissing madly, like they were prone to do. The other figure was smaller, and frailer. A tiny dark pin-prick really, but something in his chest twisted viciously and he was certain it was Lydia.
He stumbled forward and realized a second later that he was shouting her name as he ran. He wasn't entirely certain what he would do, what he could do for that matter, but he knew that he had to save her. Even if he didn't want to admit it, even if he didn't know why, Lydia couldn't die, especially not suffering.
That he was running was the second realization he made and instantly he tried the transportation again, and it went smoother this time, and Lydia was right there, pale as the day he'd first met her. Her hair was rumpled and she looked frail in his over-sized clothes. The Creature whirled on him, smelling his power and attacked.
He had always been terrified of the awful creatures but suddenly he wasn't worried for himself, he was worried for the little living girl that had married him even though she didn't want to, and he found the courage to fight it.
He drew power to him as much as he could manage and thrust it outward, listening to the sizzle as the raw power burned even the tough hide of the sandworm. It hissed darkly at him and he prayed he wouldn't need to attack it again or he might not have enough power to bring the both of them back to his small home. It was an unecessary worry, the creature turned and dove into the sand, screeching as it went. He sighed heavily and sagged, wavering on his feet a moment before turning to Lydia.
She was battered and if the angle of her left arm was any indication she was going to be in a lot of pain for a long while. "This is gonna hurt ya a lot more than it hurts me." He murmured, and was suddenly grateful that she probably couldn't hear him or that tremble in his voice, the vein of worry that ran through it. When had he stopped looking at her as a means to an end and started looking at her as a tiny, frail woman. Pretty maybe, he wasn't even certain anymore what pretty was, or what he would do with it if he had it within his grasp.
He collected her into his arms, trying to be gentle and certainly failing by the way she whimpered and whined, trying desperately to voice her pain loudly even as tired as she was. She slipped into silence and sagged against him and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He could almost feel her pain and that surprised him. He bent his head and pressed his forehead to hers at an awkward angle. She was hot against his cold skin and he wondered if that was because she was alive, or because she wasn't going to be that way for long.
The trip back was hard on him and he just barely had the energy to manage it. He certainly didn't have the energy to deal with schlepping her into the little room he'd given her and instead dumped her into the recliner he'd stolen ages ago. She whimpered again and slowly came to and he regretted the careless way he'd dropped her into it.
"Betelgeuse?" Her voice was so soft, like a whisper of wind through autumn trees and he was startled that she could say his name so softly, kindly. Maybe she'd hit her head.
"Yeah Babes?" He asked, falling to his knees beside her and then wondering why he had. He shouldn't have called her that, he should have called her by her name, but he just called all women things like that.
"Remember when I said I hated you?" She asked, struggling to stay awake and get this out, he hoped she didn't think she was going to die, he wasn't about to let her die after he'd gone to the trouble of saving her.
"Yeah." He sighed, and touched her hand, wondering if the arm was broken and if that meant he had to set it. It was just the barest of the pads of his fingers against her palm, but her hand flinched and caught his fingers in a weak grasp. He didn't pull away.
"I didn't mean it." She managed, trembling at the effort of just talking. Still all that happened was that he smiled and felt a steady warmth build in the pit of his stomach, flaring to the tips of his fingers and the top of his head, and even down to his toes. "I don't hate you." She murmured, and then repeated it, slurring the words together as she fell into a deep sleep.
He couldn't help but smile crookedly at her and brushed a hand across her forehead. "Good to know Lydia." He whispered. And his heart that was supposed to be as dead as the rest of his felt like a heavy lump of iron in his chest. What had he gotten himself into now?