Prompt: 48 – Tear(s)
Character/Pairing: Tara Yaxley, Walden McNair Jr.
Warnings: violence, blood, murder; a scarred soul
Word count: 599
Summary: Tara loses her temper again, and Walden picks up the pieces.
A/N: Tara Yaxley is a character of mine on another RP, Silent Twilight. Some of her past can be found HERE. There is a link there to her character profile. <3 This is in response to delayedpoet’s request.
Tara loses count of the number of times the knife flashes down in her grasp. There’s an inferno in her chest that takes charge of her body, burning rage that she cannot control no matter how hard she tries – not that she’s tried tonight.
By the time she stops, her breath is the only sound in the room, harsh as fire crackling in her ears. The rage was gone, like a fire that had burned all the oxygen out of the room. The man she’d taken it out on in this uncontrollable fashion was long past dead, his blood painting Tara’s front like morbid crimson flames.
The aftermath leaves her quaking, shoving her roughly from one extreme emotion to the other. Tara’s equilibrium is hard to find at any given time, but especially so after being catapulted into such a rage. She collapses in on herself as if the fire had seared out everything inside of her, leaving her nothing to support herself with.
Arms encircle her from behind, taking the precaution of restraining the knife hand. She’s boneless in his grasp, a keening sound of extreme sorrow tearing out of her like a glacial wind over an ice crevice. The knife clatters unheard to the ground as she’s gathered up against a broad chest, tears mingling with blood on her face.
“Shhh, Tara, you’re safe, it’s okay,” a deep voice murmured, unperturbed by the situation, the blood, and the noise. Walden has been here before many times. Her anger explodes out of her tenuous control, leading her to act on it without a thought; the consequences throw her to remember the first time she’d been covered with blood, and she falls into an equally uncontrollable sorrow.
She clings like a child to his front, sobbing, and he walks straight into the shower with her. She doesn’t acknowledge the hot water pelting them, both fully clothed. He undresses her with no thought of lust, though if circumstances were different that would change.
He washes Tara, a doll of a woman broken when she was only a child. She is pliable in his hands. He hates her quiescence – it’s worse than her rages and near constant anger and her control problems in so many ways. The Tara he knows is full of vigor, spark, will. When she gets like this, it’s impossible to forget that she’s not the person she was meant to be.
The tears have stopped and he leads her naked out of the shower, spelling his own sopping wet clothes off and drying them both with fluffy towels. He cups her face in his hands for a moment, flawed and perfect sides alike. The scars are, he knows, just an outward mark of the larger inner scar, the tip of the glacier that is hidden by water, the rift in her soul that will never heal.
He puts her to bed in his bed, tucking a heavy quilt around her. He dresses in more casual clothes and picks up his Communicator, pressing the green button that indicates Theo. “Don’t worry, she’s safe and in bed. She’ll be on her way back to normal when she wakes up.” Theo’s voice comes through the device, asking a few questions, which Walden answers and then disconnects.
He settles into a chair near the bed, watching the smooth, perfect side of her face relax into sleep. His heart aches at the sight – she is so beautiful, she always has been. Even covered in blood. Even in a rage.
It hurts unbearably to know that her back-to-normal will never, ever be normal.