odette_river: (lots; kahlan/cara)
[personal profile] odette_river
Title: i held the man for nothing in my arms
Fandom: The Bible
Pairing: Mary Magdalene/Peter, unrequited Jesus/Mary Magdalene and Peter/Jesus
Rating: PG
Word Count: 661
Summary: Sometimes, she thinks Jesus’s smile is just a little sadder when he looks at her, but then again, maybe it’s just a trick of the light.
Cut text from "Someone Saved My Life Tonight." Title from "Saint Judas".
Written for [livejournal.com profile] comment_fic.

The fact that she spends more nights awake than asleep is not lost on her. There’s something about the nights, though, that make them impossible to tolerate. Everyone is peaceful around her and there are crickets chirping, but she’s just restless and wants to run and run.

She doesn’t, of course. If he hasn’t changed her in any other way, he’s at least changed her in this: she no longer runs.

It’s on one of these nights that she and Peter first talk. Oh, they’ve talked before, of course, usually arguing over what women can and can’t do until Jesus laughs and says, “Brother, Sister, embrace each other.” It’s actually sort of annoying when he does that, because sometimes it’s more fun to argue.

But this night is different. Peter comes upon her sitting on a bluff away from their camp. He sits down beside her then he just starts talking, saying that he’s scared, that he feels things changing, that he’s not ready for them to change. He turns to look at her and even in the darkness she can see the pleading look in his eyes.

Most of the others don’t really understand what Peter says most of the time, but she usually does, even when she argues with him. She understands him now, and she says so. “But there’s nothing we can do,” she says. “We just have to hang on.”

“To what?” he asks.

She doesn’t say, Each other, but it’s easy enough to close the gap and put her hand on his cheek and turn his face toward hers. It’s easy enough to kiss him and she’s (mostly) not pretending that he’s someone else, just like he’s (mostly) not pretending that it’s her he wants and not someone else that they can both never have.

After that, things are a little different between them. Now there’s two of them most nights, thinking things that they don’t fully understand but only feel. And then there’s less thinking and just feeling, because that’s so much easier.

Sometimes, she thinks Jesus’s smile is just a little sadder when he looks at her, but then again, maybe it’s just a trick of the light.

After he’s arrested, everything is chaotic. He’d told her not to come with him to the garden, he’d practically begged her not to, and she’d listened. She always did when he got that way.

It had been a mistake, because after that no one could really tell her what had happened, or why, or why they weren’t doing anything. A small part of her mind recognized that she was panicking—and recognizes that she’s still panicking—but she pushes that thought aside and goes out anyway, brushing aside Andrew’s protests. She needs to do this.

She goes to the high priest’s house. That’s where they’ve taken him, and the only thing she can do is follow, just like she always has. Unlike Peter, she’s not recognized. She knows how to cover her hair, knows how to lower her eyes, knows to play the proper part.

Of course Peter is there, and of course she hears it, all, hears him say, No and No and No and each time she wants to cover her ears, or interrupt and say something, though she isn’t sure what. But she doesn’t. She just turns her face away.

They don’t spend nights together, after that. It would be easy to say that it’s because everything is a shambles, because everyone is confused and they need a leader, they need guidance. It would be easy to say that she and Peter are too busy now, too tired. But it would be a lie.

She still doesn’t sleep at night. She still looks up at the stars and wonders how there could be so many and why God placed them that way, and if she turns her head and looks behind her, she can see Peter silhouetted there in the distance, thinking the same things.

She aches for kisses that she’ll never have and for kisses that she never had.


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March 2014

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