Still Falling

Michelle walked through the house, feeling cold despite the temperature. Tony's sweater was too large for her and the Stanford logo was faded with time and multiple washings. He'd only wear it at home, but he wore it enough.

She took another sip of the glass of water in her hand and fought a wave of nausea.

At first she wasn't hungry but lately it seemed she couldn't eat because her stomach was mourning too.

Frustrated, she wiped away tears and took a breath. Her slippers made soft noises on the living room floor and outside she saw that night had fallen.

The world had lost its light. Her chest ached with loss and it was hard to remember why she had to go on.

I understand, sweetheart, now I understand.

At least when she went away, there was a sliver of hope, but this was final.

Everyone tried to comfort her, not understanding that she'd lost her motivation, that this blow she couldn't handle. But she pretended, she even visited some clients but it was all just going through the motions. A wall had been erected between her and reality, she stood safely behind the layers and didn't intend to ever let anyone in again. She fought irrational anger and tried not to blame her friends.

I needed you too much, Tony, and I don't know what to do. I wish I went with you.

She still imagined him there, sometimes catching a flash of him in her peripheral vision, feeling a phantom hand touching her face, hearing his voice with her eyes opened or closed. He always thought she was so much stronger, that she could survive his death, that without him she'd be fine. Until that moment that the car blew up, she'd thought he was right, but then she knew that her need for him was physical and deep and that losing him would break something inside of her.

She was right.

Intellectually, she knew that the nausea was her body's physical sign of emotional pain, but she'd started having dreams where Tony turned into a giant bowl of ice cream which talked to her and she woke up horrified that she was disappointed she didn't get to take a bite.

It had been weeks since she'd gotten a decent night's sleep and beyond her grief she felt weak and tired and was having trouble getting warm.

Her plans for the future were gone.

She pushed open the door to her bedroom, surprised when she heard noise, shocked when she realized that she'd made it back to the bar.

Her expression lightened and she smiled, barely keeping herself from running to Bar and hugging her.

Every dark haired man in the bar could be her Tony, every voice sounded like his - but she knew none of them were, none of them made her breath catch or her heart race.

First, she ran to their apartment, pushing open the door and refusing to let the dusty air or closed windows bring her down. He could be living somewhere else, he could be outside --

She didn't care how she looked, dressed in pajama shorts and Tony's sweater and her hair a frizzy cloud around her face. Her search was quick but methodical, each door could lead to Tony, he could be around any corner, he could just be waiting for her, waiting...waiting...

Outside, it was getting a little cool, but she didn't notice as she hurried to their tree, forcing herself to slow down and walk when she got close enough. She could hear her pulse in her ears and whispered his name.

In a fairy tale, his face would slowly appear, his hands reaching out for her, and he'd hold her close.

The spot in front of Tony's tree was empty.

He wasn't there. He wasn't in Milliways. He was gone.