Love is a Language

Aftermath

It had been an accident, the firemen had said. A terrible accident, but an accident all the same. The wires had been old, and in desperate need of replacement, just as Mister McCrae had feared. Miss Trelawny had put so much faith into her little house, but the wires had simply given out. Frankly, the chief had been surprised it hadn't happened already. All he could say was that he was grateful that the fire had been stopped relatively quickly. He expressed his sincere condolences to Mister McCrae in the hospital lobby. The firemen hadn't been in time to save Miss Trelawny, not that they probably could have anyway. Her initial cause of death was her broken neck and a bad concussion. The smoke from the fire just hastened her passing. Mister McCrae took the report and the condolences silently, his jaw tight and his complexion a sickly shade of grey.

The children had been hurried away to the closest hospital, and Mister McCrae had been called to meet them there. It was there that the tragedy had been laid out to him. The fire chief didn't beat around the bush about it, for which Mister McCrae was grateful. He appreciated understanding the full weight of the situation, even if the news was absolutely heart breaking. There was one piece of news that worried him however. The firemen had been told by the children that both Miss Trelawny and one of the orphans were trapped in the house. But upon searching the entire building from top to bottom, they found no signs that there was anyone there. There was no dead body, there were no tracks or signs of injury. All possible hiding places had been searched. The boy had simply vanished.

A doctor had taken Mister McCrae up to the room where the children had been taken upon their arrival. Nurses and doctors were tending to the frightened orphans as best as they could, but it was quite apparent that seeing them in such distress was taking a toll on them. Most of them were crying, some were simply sitting in one place with blank looks on their faces. When Mister McCrae walked in, all of them abandoned whatever caretaker had been assigned to them to rush forward and throw themselves at their grown-up friend. He fell to his knees and tried to wrap all of them in his arms at once, pulling them as close to his heart as he could so they knew that he was here to protect them.

"M-miss Trelawny," whimpered one little girl as she clutched onto his shirt, "sh-she-" Her soft voice broke, and more tears flowed from the anguished eyes of her companions. Mister McCrae nodded numbly and rested one of his large hands on top of her head. She sniffled and snuggled closer to him, seeking comfort from his much bigger frame. Mister McCrae wiped away their tears and murmured gentle things to them that he wouldn't remember saying a few days later. He was doing his best to help them feel better first before taking time to mourn himself. It probably wasn't healthy to shove all his own personal feelings to the side, but he had to make sure that the children were well-adjusted first.

In a way, he thought to himself as he squeezed Peter's hand and gave John a tight hug, it's like they've been orphaned again. The thought was painful, and he closed his eyes tightly before tears could fall down his own cheeks. Miss Trelawny had been a mother, father, sister, brother, friend, everything to these children. Having her pass like this had indeed made them orphans a second time. They had no home now, and no one to take care of them. He made a mental note to ask the doctors what would happen to them when he had the chance. As he gazed at his little companions, he realized that someone was missing from the little group. When he looked up, he saw Henry curled up in a little ball in the farthest corner of the room. The boy was so still that one would think that he had been frozen into that position.

Peter followed Mister McCrae's gaze and frowned sadly when he saw Henry. "He's been like that since we got here," he murmured to him. "He was screaming at the house, but when they got him here he got super quiet. He hasn't moved since we were put in this room." John nodded solemnly in agreement. Mister McCrae noticed that the two boys were standing very close to each other, as if expecting they were anticipating having to support the other because they would collapse on the spot any minute. Peter jerked his head in Henry's direction again. "You can go talk to him if you want," he said. "He won't talk to any of us."

Mister McCrae slowly got to his feet, and the children slowly began to scatter around the room again. He walked over to where Henry was hiding and sat down right beside him. Henry looked up when he heard Mister McCrae next to him, and the Scotsman's heart broke when he saw that the little boy's green eyes had turned dull and lifeless. He pulled Henry into his arms, a fatherly instinct making his soul ache to see this little boy so broken and sad. Mister McCrae was confident that Pierre hadn't died in the fire, but that didn't change the fact that the boy was missing and probably injured. Losing Miss Trelawny on top of his closest companion would haunt him for weeks, he was sure of it.

Henry cuddled close to the Scotsman, making a small whimpering noise at the back of his throat. "Pierre promised he'd come out," he whispered. "He promised. But I don't know where he went..." His voice cracked halfway through his sentence and Mister McCrae held him closer. He stroked Henry's hair, trying to calm him down. Henry looked up at him, his eyes still lacking the light they usually held. "Did he break his promise if he didn't come back?" he asked, tears streaming down his cheeks again. "Do you think he's dead?"

Mister McCrae shook his head firmly. "No, Henry," he said. "Pierre kept his promise-he got out of the house. And I don't think he's dead." Henry nodded slowly, closing his eyes once more. He seemed somewhat more at ease hearing Mister McCrae's words, but he still looked so frail and lifeless in his arms. He looks a little bit like me like that, Mister McCrae thought suddenly. Different hair color of course, but he looks like me when I was his age. A cruel thought cut across this innocent connection. You're more alike than you think perhaps. After all, you both lost someone you had deep feelings for, didn't you? He couldn't hold back the choked sob that followed this painful realization, and Henry looked up at him worriedly. Mister McCrae looked away, trying to gain control of himself.

Through his own misery, Henry made the same connection that the Scotsman had. His realization was slightly gentler though, and he wiggled around in Mister McCrae's arms so that he could sit upright and hug the man tight around the neck. "You can cry too, Mister McCrae," he murmured. "You had butterflies for Miss Trelawny, so it's okay." Mister McCrae's control dissolved completely, and he held the little boy tightly as he wept. Henry cried too, but his tears were silent. Man and boy shared a common despair, which strengthened the bond that was slowly starting to grow between them.

It's an unfortunate thing to form a bond over a similar misery, but that is just how life is at times. It can be for the better, if you look at it one way. Because you share that similar ache, only the two of you can truly understand how it feels to have your heart shattered in that way. You know how it feels to be lifeless and broken for a time. But you also know how it feels to relive the joyful memories that preceded the blow to your heart and mind. You share the sweetness of nostalgia, the slightly bitter taste of the melancholy in those memories. Sometimes it is through pain and sorrow that the strongest friendships arise. And for these two, the green-eyed Scot who lost the woman he loved, and the green-eyed orphan who had just barely learned what it meant to love for the first time, this bond would become the strongest thing they could hold onto in the midst of their heartache.

For what bond could be stronger than that of a man who would come to see the child as the son he never had? Or the child who would later look up at this same man and call him 'Daddy' because he would be the only one he would ever know or remember? Good things do come from misery, and a warm new home was certainly one of them. Henry wouldn't hear from his fellow orphans for quite a few years, but for now he was happy with Mister McCrae-Gilroy, as he had insisted on Henry calling him. His home was small, and he made little money, but Gilroy would make sure that his tiny apartment felt like home to his adopted son. Henry fell asleep on the couch, his temporary bed, on the first night still missing Pierre terribly. But he knew that when Pierre made promises he kept them. So while he lived with Gilroy, he would wait for Pierre as long as it took.

Even if he had to wait forever.
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Author's Note: Early chapter because I knew if I waited until Saturday to post it I would probably forget about it. Plus I was too excited to put this up.

I have promised an Epilogue. This is not that Epilogue. The next pat is the Epilogue, and the end of "Love is a Language." I have yet to create a title for the sequel, but I have a name for this two-part series now. The series is called "Always and Forever," a tribute to the promise betwen these two little boys. I hope you've enjoyed my story, even with its sudden turn for the tragic. One last part, and then we move on to the next adventure. Until then, my dear readers.