this isn't home without you || twdg one shot

this isn't home without you

Sometimes I wonder if this home of ours will ever feel complete.

It feels like half of my brain is missing, or the other half of my body. I won't be too corny and say it's the other half of my heart, but... maybe I'll be corny.

Most days, I just try to focus on how I'll manage without a leg. How to live, exactly. How to survive. Even the most mundane of tasks like sitting down at the picnic table or getting out of bed is a struggle, though at least I'm getting used to it. When Lee came to my rescue – purple, bloodied, and missing half his arm – he made it look so easy. Well... yeah, I knew he was dying. But the way he moved around and gestured his nub like his arm was still attached to it made it feel like he was still 100% Lee.

But today isn't like most days. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to sit at the picnic table. I didn't want to walk on those stupid crutches. I didn't want to see the shining sun, or breathe the crisp air, or even blink. All I wanted was to stay in the confines of my room. I wanted to lay there... cold, motionless, alone.

Like we left him.

Sometimes, I even hold my breath. I hold it, and I hope that we share the same state. The state of lifelessness; of emptiness, just so we could share something one more time.

But life picks up again, and air fills my lungs in a desperate gasp, and warm tears fall down my face because I can't be where he is. I've fought so hard, for so long just to see the daylight that he can't. And when I finally get some solace in the place I call home, it's without him.

We had so little to go. All we had to do was get back home to the others, and there, we could finally fall into each other's arms and breathe a sigh of relief. We could say "Hey, well would you look at that. We made it." And we could just exist, and exist, and exist, and without anyone trying to stop it.

But we didn't. We never will.

AJ brushed past me while I sat on the stairs, his head merely turned in my direction.

"We're going now, Clem. I'll see if I can find those pretty flowers again," he told me as he continued to walk.

"AJ," I called his name, watching him halt and turn to me.

"I know, I know, I'll be careful," he nodded determinedly, yet the roll of his eyes hinted he wasn't so fond of my constant worry. While I was still getting used to being legless, AJ was growing more independent by the second. I now learned to have trust in him, given what happened. But not being there for him like I always was? It horrifies me.

"Don't let go of Violet's hand," I firmly added. "Her vision is improving, but you know what Ruby said. She's still got a long way to go before she can get used to this."

"I won't. Violet said I'm good at it," he replied, a satisfied grin creeping up.

"At holding her hand?" I smirked, staring at him skeptically.

"Yeah, like Louis was. She said he wouldn't even let go of her hand when they were in the carriage. The one after the explosion," he told me, before his brows then lowered in sorrow. He tended to do that when it came to Louis. Once he remembered.

I let out a soft breath, my eyes instinctively shutting. I could sense AJ's remorseful eyes on me, pleading with me to please feel better. I was used to this, having to repress it all for the sake of everyone else. Because who would want to see their leader, the same person who lead them into victorious battle, cry and wail and lose her mind to her emotions?

"Get going, kiddo," I forced out, my eyes opening at the ground before me.

With a timid nod, AJ turned around and met Violet and Tenn by the gates for their late afternoon stroll. Ruby suggested I join them to get used to the maimed life, and usually I did. But today just wasn't one of those days. With a whistle here and a creak there, the trio took Rosie alongside them, left the premises and left me alone in the courtyard. Willy was doing god knows what down in the basement, Aasim and Ruby were on watch-duty, and Omar was collecting greens for tomorrows dinner by the greenhouse.