Red and Gray

Gravestones

The case wrapped up quickly. Her ex was locked the hell up. As it turns out, Scott had been evading the law like a rat in a maze. There was never really a chance for escape.

Gray was out the week after.

He'd never been very good at patience, and that was the one thing his uncle at boot camp hadn't managed to beat into submission - impulse.

Despite the pain, Gray wouldn't let Erina handle her ghosts alone. Hell, he wouldn't even let her be alone anymore. He would have moved her into his bedroom if she hadn't protested wryly.

"You need to rest," she told him, when he brought up her mother again. "You know what the doctor said - "

"You sound disconcertingly like my mom right now," he said, and watched the smile break over her face like a searchlight. "And I also know that if you don't do this by this week, you never will."

She closed her mouth at that, her protest dying at her lips. Finally, she sighed and sat on his bed, hugging her knees. "Get it done. You make it sound so easy. Like homework. Only, you can forget what you actually learned when you've turned in your homework. And this shit'll stay with me for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, wrong word," he conceded. "It's not fucking easy at all. At least you've got me. You never had that before."

She looked at him, and Gray wished that photographs were enough to capture that look. That perfect look. "No, I didn't."

She leaned into him, and they collided like stars. His hands on her back. Her hands in his hair. Their mouths on each other's. The kind of kiss that will never end, because they could always continue.

He'd always found it weird how great cemeteries were.

Like, they were a lot cleaner than pretty much everywhere else, and seemed too beautiful a place to be so macabre. Nobody wanted to talk about what came after living. Nobody wanted to know. There's a hollow place inside us where we should we should know, but we can't. And holes want to be filled.

Drugs and booze and money and high-rise condos - you could get as high as you like and still end up six feet under. Like everyone else.

Out of a strange emotion - half-curiosity and half-respect - Gray had gotten flowers before they went. He didn't know what they were called, but they smelled nice. And looked nice.

Erina didn't even raise her eyebrows when she saw them. She twisted her hands in her lap. Gray didn't dare take his off the wheel, but he tried to make his tone reassuring. "Calm down. I'm here."

She relaxed. "I know. Thank you."

She'd never done this before.

Gray found it hard to understand why he found that adorable. Or is adorable the right word? It implied that she was helpless and tiny and accident-prone, and she was none of those things. But adorable it was, that Erina couldn't do this without him.

It got less adorable later on when she was trudging through the freshly cut grass, him trailing along, until she stopped at one headstone so abruptly he almost collided into her.

It read, 'Amy Collins.'

Erina laid the flowers down on the grave, kneeling in front of it. Gray stepped closer, and for one second - one terrifying second - he thought of how strange it was, that they would soon belong here in this place of death with its smell of life, and already she looked more at home.

He kneeled and put his hand on her shoulder. She didn't look away, contemplating her mom's headstone. She was so still. Too still.

"Erina?"

Without a word, she turned to him and buried her face in his neck. He could feel her tears, but there were no sobs.

Somehow, the silent cries were more devastating.

Gently, he pulled them up into a standing position, placing his chin on her head. She sniffed once and dug claws into his shirt.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered. Gray knew she wasn't talking to him. "She's not moving. She's not moving."

"Shh," he said. "I'm here."

The sobs built up and crashed like waves, and her tiny body shook with them. Gray held her together.

"I'm here."

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