Chasing Memories of You pt. 3
“Lyla,” his voice slurred, “Play file zero.”
Lyla came to life, her frown deep as she saw Miguel surrounded by bottles. His eyes were hazy and drunken as he held a picture frame of you. Lyla wanted to say something but she knew that any word would spark an argument, with Miguel thinking that Lyla is trying to make him forget you. She pulled up file zero, which is multiple files of you and Miguel getting to know each other. They’re scattered, but each file shows a deeper connection between you two.
The first file begins to play and Miguel instantly recognizes your New York, seeing you fly in your black suit, the spider symbol in gold flashing in the sun. Your mentee, Gwen, was flying next to you in a red and black suit. It was here when he met you, answering the call of an anomaly in your universe. He viewed another one, instantly knowing which memory this was. You stormed into the medical area, to where Miguel was resting, insisting that he was acting reckless trying to save you, that he wasn’t thinking about his daughter, who needed him to be around. The argument was cut short when he pulled you into him, kissing you for the first time, breathing that he also needed you around.
Goosebumps then, but nothing now. He watched these files so many times, that all that they had created was a hole, numbing him. Taunting him of a reality that he’ll never have. As he drunkenly scrolled through the files, he came across one labeled as surprise. Even in his hazy mindset, he knew that he had never seen this before. He opened the file seeing more videos of you. He clicked on the first one, holding his breath as he saw you appear in front of him. He sat up, his mind gaining the clarity that it desperately searched for.
“Miggy, wait,” you mumble, pushing his mouth away, “I think I’m going to puke.”
He instantly got up, before walking you to the bathroom, asking you what you ate earlier. You told him the same as usual, but for the past few weeks, you’ve been avoiding greasy food, and eating more salads and bowl-type foods. Anything that you ate could set off your nausea, but at the same time, you wanted to eat everything.
“This has been happening a lot back to back recently,” Miguel said from the other side of the door, “It’s probably something that you’re eating.”
“Maybe the food in 2099 is made so poorly that if you aren’t used to it, it makes you sick,” you joked.
“Like your poisoned food is any better,” he said which caused you both to snicker.
You finally came out of the bathroom, telling him that you still felt the same. He kissed your forehead, asking if you wanted to sit on his balcony. You snuggled further into his hoodie as the two of you looked over Nueva York, the sounds of the city were peacefully quiet, as if a hush went through, and the neon hues washed you in warmth. You snuggled closer to Miguel, and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you further into his side. He softly kissed the side of your face, before trailing down to your neck. You could feel the worry fall off him and onto you. In between the kisses, you felt him stare as if he could see what was ailing you. He’s on eggshells, the funeral was just only months ago, and he hasn’t let you out of his sight. He frets over you about anything, trying to control every aspect to mitigate any possible consequences.
“I think you should see a doctor,” he says softly, “I want you to be healthy.”
“I am,” you kissed him, “But what if it’s not anything serious?”
“Then what would it be?” His question was fragile, threatening to break under a possible reality. You stayed quiet, not wanting to voice that possibility, especially when he was still trying to heal.
“Nothing, I’m fine Miggy,” you smiled, “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”
He should’ve known then, he should have picked up on the signs: the nausea, the pickiness of your appetite, the slight plumpness of your body. If he had known, if he wasn’t blinded by grief, he could have protected you, the both of you. He would have put you on fewer missions, and made you do more lab work, hell he would have taken your watch away so you wouldn’t be hurt by an anomaly. He saw another file, his hand moving faster than his mind, as he clicked the file. Watching memories of you compares to a dark paradise, filling him with poison that he knows stops him from healing.
“Lyla,” she appeared next to you in Miguel’s bathroom, “where’s Miguel?”
“At HQ,” she said, “Want me to get him?”
Your eyes widened as you quickly said no, your hand clutching around something that Lyla couldn’t make out. She appeared closer to your hand to see, but you moved whatever it was to your chest. You let the toilet cover down, sitting on it, hunched over, quiet. You tapped your foot on the ground, your mind a mess while your mouth was unemployed. You wanted to throw the damn thing away, the reality threatening to make your lunch come up. Two months, the funeral was two months ago and you’re … You shook your head, ignoring Lyla’s words about your heart rate. You softly rocked back and forth, before getting up and pacing around his bathroom. One hand still clutching the small, but very significant change of your life, as you bit the inside of your cheek. You didn’t catch your reflection in the mirror, not feeling brave enough to do so. You tasted the salt from your tears, as you slid to the floor, what if he hates you, resents you for a mutual, intimate action? What if he makes you get rid of it, makes you choose? What will happen then?
“How accurate are your tests?” You shakily breathed.
“What tests?” And with her question, you reveal the pregnancy test. Her quiet was deafening, sinking you further before she answered that it was accurate, the most it’s ever been. But to ease your worry, she did a bioscan of you, confirming that you are pregnant.
“Well,” she began slowly, “Congratulations, but how did this happen?” You shot her a look, which caused her to sigh, “I know how, but when?”
“It was when,” you began to search through your memories, peeling back the layers of your brain, to the moment when the two of you were alone, “I don’t know Lyla, I don’t know what to do, the one person that I need, I can’t tell.”
You cleaned your eyes, thinking of what to say to Miguel, imagining how he would react. Would you have to leave him, be alone with your child? Your mind could only imagine Miguel’s face twisted in disappointment, or even anger. He’s going to hate me, was the only thing that you could think despite your heart trying to tell you otherwise. You felt as if you were in a headlock, not knowing if you should go or trust Miguel.
“You are going to have to,” Lyla said, “You’re going to start showing.”
“I… I know, but Lyla, you can't tell him,” you cleaned your eyes, “Please.”
You finally felt some comfort in the silence before you spoke again, “Do you think I should surprise him, with dinner, or a party?”
“Party,” Lyla smiled, “And we can get a confetti gun filled with pink or blue confetti.”
You nodded, cautiously smiling, your mind filling with the possibilities of a new future. Finally, everything felt like it’ll be okay. A new beginning for you both.
Miguel turned it off, unable to look at your face, unable to bear looking at the hesitation on your face about telling him about your pregnancy. It’s unbearable with you being gone. He took another swig of his bottle, feeling another memory from his mind appear, rolling slowly like thunder approaching a city. He was able to figure the rest out, how you were going to break the news of your pregnancy, a surprise party. But that day will be forever stained with your blood, the loss of his second family. That day, that memory, always bubbles up, it can never be defeated by the alcohol, by how many villains he beats into a pulp, by each thought of seeking another just so his bed won’t be empty. It’s always there, chained to him. He can never seem to forget.
He stood at the door to your apartment, taking a shaky breath. He’s going here to think. To think of how to tell your family that you’re dead, that he failed to protect you. He leans his head against the door, trying to collect his breathing as more tears fall from broken eyes. He didn’t bother to clean his eyes or nose, which made everything hurt all the more. He was startled by pink and blue confetti, and voices yelling “congratulations”! Miguel took a step, looking around as he felt the urge to vomit. In silence, he took note of the various baby decorations, pink and blue streamers hanging from the ceiling and on the wall. The table had small sandwiches and chips with the dessert being small pink and blue cupcakes. He saw lettering decorating the wall, condadulations, Miggy!
The smiling faces were choking him, closing in on him. He felt his breathing become shallow and shorter as if he was exhaling every time he inhaled. He leaned against the door, struggling to look at faces, especially your parents, he couldn’t tell them that he failed his promise.
“Where’s my daughter?” your mother laughed, she was holding a cake, “She was supposed to come with you.”
Miguel began to take large breaths, as he couldn’t stop his tears, the inky hands of grief pulling him down. He sunk to the floor, holding himself feeling a sick realization that this was how you were going to break the news of your pregnancy. At a party, not in his arms, dying. He painfully tore his eyes away from the ground looking at your mother, and he was drowning again, this is how you would’ve looked, aging with beautiful and graceful features. She knelt in front of him, telling him to breathe, as he was barely aware of her cleaning his eyes with a napkin. He pushes her hand away, he doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment, not after ruining her life forever, “I’m sorry,” he choked, “I … I failed her. I’m sorry,” he repeats, holding your mother.
“Miguel,” your mother’s voice is still kind, though there was a worried edge in it, “Miguel, breathe okay. Whatever argument you two got in will work itself out, it’s just her pregnancy.”
Oh, he wishes it was an argument. That means that he’ll be able to have you back in a matter of moments, he’ll argue with you about anything if that means he’ll be able to hold you again. She said to relax again, telling him to breathe, and he finally gave in to the despair, “She’s dead. She … died in my arms. There was an attack … I couldn’t save her in time.”
Your mother’s face paled, all the light, all the life, drained from her face. Her body slouched, the only sound was the plastic plate hitting the floor. Miguel couldn’t say anything, but how could he? Who would want to be comforted by their child’s murderer? Your father filled the silence, stepping past his wife and pulling Miguel up by his shoulder. Your father’s face was the opposite, lit with a fury that can only be caused by grief. Miguel forced his eyes to stay on his face, as your father demanded what happened. As he demanded to know why he let you die. Your father repeated the same questions, each time getting closer and closer to Miguel. Miguel felt as if he was set on fire, feeling nothing but hopelessness. Nothing else mattered, all was obsolete. Your father repeated the same question, but to Miguel, it sounded distant, as if someone was yelling at him behind thick walls. Even if he heard the question, he couldn't care less, your father isn’t the only one who’s grieving. The world was spinning, yet shattering around Miguel, he was lost in a haze. The last kiss that you gave him, your lifeless body, crushed him. Two people died when you permanently closed your eyes, you and the man who he thought he could be. He was right there, on the edges of his fingertips. Ready to be everything that you wanted, that you needed. But your death makes being dead alluring. You made death look like mercy, a dark paradise.
Miguel’s focus on you was shattered when your father’s fist connected with his face. The shock caused him to fall over, his hand covered in red from his nose. Your father shook off your mother as he stepped over Miguel. “You should have stayed away from her,” your father sneered, “Then she would still be here. You should have taken her place. She should be here in front of us, not you.”
“You don’t think that I agree with you,” was all Miguel said.
Miguel and Gwen stayed outside the medical room as your parents grieved over you privately. He couldn’t do anything, he wanted this day to be over, he wanted to go back in time and correct this mistake. He wanted to be the hero that you always thought he was. But you were the hero, always saving him, and he hates you for it. If you didn’t save him, then you would be here, and that’s all that would matter to Miguel. When his memory fails him, will your love abide? Looking at you, he knows that he’ll love you for a long time. If his mind fails to remember, his body and his heart will remember.
“Is everything going to be okay?” Gwen asks him, her eyes begging for a sliver of hope, “Are we going to be okay?”
Miguel blinks away some more tears before he looks at her, and he breaks. She seems so small, holding herself against the wall. Her small, huddled frame reminded him of Gabi when she was upset. He would kneel in front of her, clean her eyes, and tell her that everything was okay. He found himself doing the same thing, slipping so easily into father mode. It wasn’t hard for him, as your mentee, Miguel and you were her second set of parents. Going to school events and even covering as her guardians so her parents won’t know about her slipping grades or missed classes.
“Hey,” he said, cleaning her eyes, “We’re going to be fine. We’re going to get through this together,” he hugged her, “I promise.”
Just as he did with Gabi, to make her less upset, he would lie. He kissed the top of her head, repeating another lie of comfort as he focused on your dead body. He wanted to say I don’t know if we’ll be okay, at least he knows that he’ll never be. Without you, the darkness eats him, he’s not himself, and he won’t be ever again. He’ll love you for a long time, he’ll miss you for a long time. A wound that he’ll never heal from.
And now, he’s forced to watch videos, these memories of you that he’s slowly tainting with the desperation of guilt. He can’t let go, and he won’t let go. He knows that you would want him to, but he won’t. He’s in a daze, and he needs you, but you’re so far away. Across a sea that he can’t cross … unless. In his room, the soft beeping of his watch caught his attention, he stared at it feeling something be planted. Thinking of all that it could do, thinking that it was how he met you. He thought of HQ, of all the Spiders there, how they all traveled by that watch. Would it be possible … if there are Spiders from different Earths, then … He got up, opening a portal to HQ. He can end this, end this feeling of being alone. He’ll have a chance to go home. To be closer to love.
He realized that he was only someone with you. That only you loved him naturally, and he needs you, he has always needed you. This time, he won’t leave you alone, you’re his sun and stars, the air that he breathes. He’ll never leave you alone again. On his screen, he ran multiple tests, screening each Earth for your DNA, and bio-scans, essentially screening for you. He was in a headlock, trapped by you. He thought that he was better than this, but grief, no desperation was stronger. Desperation to protect, to bring back something that has been lost. Miguel finally felt something break, no, not break, he felt something resolve, grow stronger.
He will have you in his arms again, he can start again. He will start again.
The screen started beeping, indicating a match. He zoomed in on that Earth, moving past the people, his eyes quickly moving over the faces of strangers. He did another scan, this time to pinpoint where you were, which was a TV studio. Miguel felt his heart in his lungs, he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to see you in real time. He opened your location, and his breath was gone. He was gone, he fell to his knees, silent tears on his face, it felt like ages since he last looked upon your face. You were beauty beyond words, a force in the room. You were a goddess, dressed fittingly in white. He closed his eyes as he listened to you talk during your interview. He felt it all ending, his senseless grief, the hole in his heart was closing the more that he listened, swaying to your words as he was drunk.
He felt as if he was in church, on his knees in reverence and you were who he was praying to. When you would look into the camera, he felt your eyes, he felt your soul, and it was warm, feeling like home. He reached out, aiming to touch your face, only for his hand to go through the projection, your image briefly flickering. A bitter reminder of reality. At least he won’t be chasing memories of you anymore, closer to love, he found you again. And, in time, he’ll do more than monitor you as if you were a machine. He’ll join you, he won’t leave you alone anymore. That sea that separated the two of you disappeared.
“I’m coming home, my love,” he whispered to the projection, he whispered to you.
A/N: Writer’s block has me in a mf chokehold, I fear. Also, do people still read Miguel O’Hara fics???
