Title: The Sky Holds My Hand


  Author: Lissa


  E-mail: alexeevv@cadvision.com


  Disclaimer: Not mine. Chris Carter's.
 It's a pity really, cause in this case
 I'd love to do to the boys what I've done in this story.


 Archive: DO NOT ARCHIVE


 Rating: PG-13


 Category: Story/Angst/Romance


 Keywords: Mulder/Krycek slash


 Spoilers: Christmas Carol/Emily


 Summary: Post- war world.


 Author's Notes: I just wanted to write a happy story.
 And I did. Don't know how plausible it is, and seriously
 I don't give a damn. As long as the boys are happy I am happy too.
 Enormous thanks to Araxdelan for beta. You are the sweetest.


  Feedback: Please. I'll be so glad.




     The Sky Holds My Hand



   When the last helicopter rose into the air
 and they all, like the flock of big and shiny
 black birds, flew towards the city, Alex had
 realized that it was the end. He remained alone
 in the huge field of the scorched earth, of the
 yellow, dry, burnt grass from the war, from the
 past autumn, from the dreadful heat of the sun
 in the hottest spring of the last decade. He refused
 to come back to the city with everybody. Said
 he needed to stay, to think, and make some decisions.
 They didn't argue. Nobody had ever argued with him.
 Dry lips touched his. Strong hands shook his.
 They tiredly smiled at each other. Then he was
 left alone.


   The field was clean now. The enormous space
 of yellow earth and blue sky. Nothing else.
 A week ago there were furious fire, explosions,
 dust, dirt and black soot, and bodies, human and
 alien. They had worked hard, days and nights,
 cleaning the earth from the dirt of the past war,
 burying their friends and enemies, erasing all
 traces of the horror and pain, and all aching memories
 with them. The field became clean full of the dried
 gold and piercing azure. There was nothing more
 beautiful, he thought.


   That night it had rained, heavily. And although
 the morning sun dried the humid air, he could feel
 that warm wetness of the dark brown earth under his
 feet. He could feel the moist, sour smell of it.
 Alex suddenly took off his hard army boots and
 stepped with his bare feet, drowning in the warmth,
 feeling the tiny pricks of the dry grass and cool
 wetness of the dirt.


   The real, his own, real earth was under his feet,
 was around him.


   They won. They won the war. Their land was theirs
 again. And the sky over his head was so clear; it
 hurt to look at it. And the vast of this endless,
 golden field proved that they were free, they were
 not bounded and enslaved by something alien, foreign,
 something so different from that dear, familiar,
 wonderful land where he was standing now. He smiled
 and then was laughing, sincere with joy, filled with
 satisfaction, with pure happiness from being alive.
 And stopped suddenly, amused, listening to the echo
 of his laughter. His laughter! He thought he had
 forgotten how to laugh. And he was falling on his
 knees, taking his land into his hand, and praying
 in gratefulness for the gift of life, given to him,
 to all of them, and thinking that it was the time
 to search for a way back home.



 *************

  They were coming home. Mulder caught Scully's
 amused glance in the back view mirror. She was
 driving. They chuckled. Skinner lazily opened
 the eyes and lifted his head to look at them.


   "What is it?"


   They began laughing.


   "I feel like I am in kindergarten".


   But he smiled too, knowing very well why they were
 so joyful. They were laughing, quietly and softly,
 very carefully, as if after the long, dreadful illness
 they were making first steps, afraid to fall, but
 excited. The war was over and they were going back
 home, their home, their little sanctuary. And Mulder
 thought that never before had Dana's eyes been so
 clearly,  brilliantly blue. And Skinner had never smiled
 before. Mulder grinned. He has never seen Skinner so
 merry. He didn't know Walter could smile at all.


   The road was wet from the night rain. But the wind
 through the lowered windows was dry and hot, and morning
 freshness was disappearing under the pressure of the
 hot coming day. Their smiles hid the old pain. The lips
 were aching, not accustomed to smiling. The memories
 were tormenting hearts. But they were laughing, because
 the war was over, and the sky was in the brightest blue,
 and their home, hidden in the forest, was warm and
 welcoming. And also another battle was waiting for
 them. The last one. The last debt had to be paid.



 ***************

  They just wanted to come back home, back to the
 normality and ordinariness of their life, not even
 expecting, it had become beyond expectation, but
 knowing what was waiting for them there. And that
 assurance and knowledge were ruined in one moment
 by the old image of disappointing hostility. The
 menace, the criminal, haunted and haunting, clad
 in the old jeans, denim and leather was there,
 turning his back to them, wearily leaning with his
 head on the sun heated glass of the closed
 windows. And they froze at the door shocked, angry,
 confused...


   Tearing his glance form the familiar and somehow
 terrifying blackness of the leather, Mulder noticed
 how the dust was dancing in the sun-rays, and the
 absurd thought that they really needed to clean the house
 went through his mind. He suddenly was scared
 of the ordinariness of that thought, and of the odd
 expectation of something terrible and unwelcome.
 Change. Everything was going to change.


   He forgot it, maybe not entirely forgot, but
 pushed the thought of it back into his mind, overwhelmed,
 possessed by the power of war and then by the joy
 of victory. He didn't want to think about another battle
 that was approaching. He understood that there was
 absolutely nothing he could do. It was the time for
 a decision. He tried to push the fear back to the dark
 corner where it was hiding, not looking at his old
 enemy but very well feeling the growing rage.


   He had not understood yet.


   He asked softly and calmly, with horror expecting
 the coming:


   "Alex?"


   Alex. Not Krycek. After years of playing with each
 other's minds and hearts; after the time, spent together
 in the cold darkness and dirt of hidden tunnels,
 together deceiving death and enemies, together drowning
 in shadows and then fucking in the alleys, in the empty
 rooms on the cold stone floors, and on the dirty earth
 and fallen golden leaves of the autumn; after enduring
 reproachful and compassionate glances of his friends,
 when Alex appeared again to throw them into another fight
 with the enemy; after feeling their silent disapproval
 and unwilling acceptance, their hatred towards Alex,
 their hurt, which was his fault, it was Alex. Obsession,
 lover, enemy, demon, who took from Mulder his strength,
 his freedom, the blood and warmth of his humanity.


   The figure slowly turned away from the window.
 Blinded by the sunlight streaming straight to their faces
 they could not see him. Only a dark and fearful
 silhouette. When he began to speak, his voice seemed
 cold and firm.


   "Congratulations on your victory. It was a good game".


   Yes, it was a game. Like everything else in
 the world. Their victory? In every struggle they
 felt his presence. In every operation they knew
 he was there. It was a mad war, where enemies
 turned into friends and friends into monsters,
 where kindness and cruelty mixed so tight, it was
 impossible to tell the difference, and the most
 precious gifts were given by the enemy.


   Behind every hero there were hundreds of those
 in dirt, on their knees crawling in the
 trenches together with the rats and worms. There were
 those who lied, and betrayed, and killed, and through
 the tearing pain they accepted it, because it helped
 them to win the war. They accepted that invisible
 force, not knowing how to fight it, not understanding
 how to deal with it, hating, despising it, trying
 to avoid, to eliminate it from their lives. But sometimes
 in the darkness of evil they could come across the tears
 of pain. And then everything was right. As long as there
 was pain, there was penitence. And as long as there was
 penitence, there was mercy. And then it was in their hands.
 It was their right to give it.


   Mulder's eyes, having gotten used to the piercing light
 of the sun, took in the image before him. The menacing
 presence of Krycek was deceiving. He was thinner and
 more tired, although very strong and matured through
 the years. But maturity also brought those gray streaks
 in his hair, those wrinkles on the forehead, creases
 around the mouth. His voice was deeper now, lower,
 quieter. Not cold and firm, how Mulder thought, but
 calm and weary.


   He felt a movement behind him. Scully was very
 intense, doing a great job in controlling herself,
 her rage. She was waiting for the explanation, for
 the words, for something that would bring her to
 the decision that had to be made in that situation.


   Krycek was looking at them, feeling their hostility
 and anger. He knew he would lose this battle. He
 could not return to the light. Too much was lost.
 Too many were hurt. He took a deep breath, and when
 he began to speak his voice was angry and defensive,
 but then he stopped, feeling how wrong was that path.
 He didn't continue. He took several steps towards them,
 and then Scully gasped in shock and pain. They didn't
 notice before. The little girl was hiding behind him.
 The girl who died a long time ago, but the pain was
 still fresh and throbbing.


   They blew up the facility where all the cloning
 research had taken place. All the documents, results,
 experiments, information were gone. And also gone
 was the possibility and hope for Scully of ever seeing her
 daughter again. Here she was now standing, brought to
 her by the enemy. Scully was not even able to move. She
 was supported by Skinner, and tears were flowing down
 her face. And Mulder thought that decision had been made.


   Alex was crucial to their fight, bringing them
 information and unexpected help. The hell, Alex
 practically began the war, giving them the possibility
 of resistance, faith that they could fight and win.
 He was crawling in dirt for them, so they wouldn't
 have to do it. He taught them a lesson, the lesson
 they had forgotten: You want to live? Fight.



 **************

  He and Krycek were left alone. Mulder understood that
 they wanted him to talk to Alex. Through the years
 of war his friends learnt everything that was
 happening between him and Krycek. And now their
 glances told him it was the time to come clean.


   Alex began to talk first. Sitting in the chair.
 Hunched. Eyes lowered.


   "I am too old for playing, Mulder. Too old for
 any game. I have to make a decision what to do
 with my life".


   He fell silent, smiled bitterly.


   "I thought of killing myself. And understood
 I could not. It's not for me. It's so alien,
 so wrong for me. I wanted to leave, but I know
 very well that this is not only my choice, but
 yours too. That is why I've been waiting for you.
 You have to decide too".


   Silence met him.


   Alex wanted to scream. Mulder knew it, remembered
 his reactions from the early days, his behavior.
 Alex controlled himself. Self- discipline always
 amazed Mulder.


   "Because where we are now is not only the result
 of my desires and choices but also yours.
 And..."


   He raised his head looking at him. But Mulder
 could not see him. The sun somehow became too
 bright. And his eyes ached.


   "Your choices even more than mine. I gave myself
 to you because you wanted me to, because you needed
 it. I left. I came back. I gave myself to you, because
 you wanted, and I decided that I could give you everything
 I have, everything I am. Because I love you. I belong to you.
 My life. My death. Body, soul, heart. My answers and
 questions. My needs and desires. For you. Only for you.
 Everything for you. Nothing is hidden. Nothing is held back.
 Open, naked for you. What I am, me, what's in me. It is
 all for you. Because I decided to give you my life,
 my existence, my strength and weakness, and yours too.
 I had parts of you that I have given you back. It's my life.
 My path. My way of being with you, being in you, my way
 of loving you and giving you anything you want. My way
 of asking forgiveness and taking it. As I said, it was a game.
 A fight. A battle of wills, powers. I became too
 old for this. I grew up. It is time to change it".


   He was waiting for Alex to finish still shocked.
 Still did not understand.


   That sudden outburst, so unexpected, so strange
 to see that in Alex, so unusual and thus scaring.
 They didn't talk much. They had never really talked.
 All questions were answered in the language of their
 bodies, their passion and the forbidden, sinful desire.


   Mulder thought he knew what Alex was going to say.
 That Mulder lost him. Reality with awful strength hit
 him, lifting that haze through which he had been
 looking at the world for many years.


   There was a big scratch on the smooth dark golden
 parquet. And Mulder was staring at it, hating it for
 its pathetic realism and odd significance. He suddenly
 heard the noise of traffic from the highway. There was
 always such silence. He forgot how close the city was.
 He thought he could hear the loud voice of the town.
 He thought he could smell the smog in the clear air
 of the woods and meadows surrounding them.


   /I love you too. I belong to you too. But it doesn't make
 me anything. My life is mine. My decisions are mine.
 Every time I made the choice to follow you, belong to
 you because there is nothing, nobody in the world I
 love more. I am tired. I want silence and warmth. I
 am even tired of the wild passion/


    His eyelids were burnt by the sunlight, and his lips
 were painfully dry. He could not say a one word.


   /I don't want you to leave. It terrifies me. Going
 on without you. Living without you. Waking up without
 you. Thinking there will be somebody else. Somebody not
 mine, not you. Alien. Wrong. Not right. But you...
 I can't accept... you... everything. I can't accept that...
 that I want. If you just leave, leave and never come back.
 I can handle it. It will be hard, horribly lonely but I am
 strong enough to handle it. Remaining in the same position,
 in the same condition as before is unacceptable now.
 It was a good game. But this is the end. One of us can
 leave now. I am trying to hope. I want to believe that we
 can have normal, equal relationship with caring, talking,
 loving and understanding. But I don't know. I don't know/


   The silence was deafening.


   Then Alex was slipping, fading into the darkness,
 as black and transparent as a shadow through the sunlight.
 Slammed door. Car starting. And then again the awful
 silence, and anger, and the tears, welling up somewhere
 deep in the heart, and pain of the loss.


   He still did not understand.



   ***************

   Now, deep in thought and depression, looking
 back at the past Mulder sees that they were heading
 straight to it.


   Changes come and leave. You accept them or not.
 But they come anyway and win, because your victory
 over changes means death and nothingness. Changes
 come and they are not always welcomed, always visible,
 till the very moment of change.


   The end of the war, the victory brought them back
 to the abandoned, normal world they lost long ago. That
 world changed. They came back to something they were
 not acquainted to. And they, themselves, they were
 not the same also.


   For a long time her hair had not been as bright,
 streaming in furious flame, as in the past, and her
 eyes some time ago became more indifferent then
 calm.  Mulder was so impressed by the pure power of
 Skinner's presence and his influence on everybody,
 the strength of his authority, he didn't notice that
 dreadful fatigue, overcoming Walter every evening.


   Changes finally had come with the end, and as
 always, Alex was the first who noticed them and
 acted on them. And, as always, Alex was right. Mulder
 wearily chuckles in to the fluffy warmth of the couch.
 Alex Krycek was always right to the very core of the
 question, of the problem. Always. And always made the
 best decision, for himself, but at the end obviously
 for all of them. Bastard Alex. Beautiful, half-wild
 and merely tamed animal. And now he was lost. He left.
 And Mulder didn't stop him.


   Alex could be back this evening and they would
 sit at the table, normal, with no games of power
 and control, but normally as if they were a family.
 He would tell Alex his decision, the one that,
 it now turned out, he could not make. And as always,
 now he sees clearly, it would be Alex's choice.


   Mulder wants to cry. As a little boy he wants
 to run to his mother, wrap his hands around her
 and to cry out loud. The ability lost with the arms
 of the father and the words: "Men Do Not Cry".
 The law. The Golden Rule for mankind. For the power,
 for the strength. Never cry.


   Alex did. And at the end always came out as the
 strongest. Everybody was broken. But the cat, falling
 on all fours, just rose and continued his long,
 unknown way into the land that nobody except him
 knew of, to the goal, for nobody except him, clear.


   Mulder rises, with regret leaving comfort of
 the couch, going downstairs, into the basement,
 the center of their struggle, where they gathered
 weapons and information, where they created and
 discussed plans for the battles.


   This house they bought together and made their
 sanctuary during the time of war. What is going to
 happen now? They will leave. They will go on different
 ways. They will return to their own homes from war.
 Try to rebuilt their lives, try to create families with
 somebody they will meet, or maybe stay alone for
 the rest of their lives, carrying memories of sacred
 friendship, of trust, of pain and horror, of those who
 have left, of that what was lost. Will they sell this
 house, happy to get rid off every memory of the past?


   Skinner is standing in the doorway, not coming inside.


   "Walter?"


   Skinner turns to Mulder. Without protecting glasses his
 eyes seem ill from the lack of sleep and terribly tired.


  "I don't want to go there. I am afraid.
 It's over. But if I go there it's as if it still continues".


   Mulder stands beside him, looking into the darkness
 of the basement, feeling the movement of the cold air
 in the corners, where ghosts of pain and fear live.


   "Leave it".


   Skinner looks at him, not saying anything. Then closes
 the door. And they go back to the rooms filled with sun
 and light. Then Skinner suddenly stops and frowns.


   "I forgot to tell you. Scully told Alex to come
 for dinner tonight".



 ************

   They are sitting at the dinner, awkwardly,
 pretending not to care, but waiting, not touching
 the food, waiting for the familiar figure, for the
 familiar steps. The door slams again, merely heard.
 Nobody can hear the steps this time. They suddenly
 became the ones of a stranger. And the eyes that watch
 them are not of Alex, of Krycek with whom they fought
 together, but of someone new, a stranger they have not
 learnt yet.


   No leather jacket in sight. Not a menace. Not a
 fighter. His movements are not those of a predator,
 but of an ordinary man, athletic, strong, but the
 same as they can meet on the streets among the
 strangers, ordinary. His eyes are not of a sly and
 smart strategist, but calm and bright of the usual
 brightness of any ordinary man.


   Mulder smiles at the stranger. He knows who the
 stranger is. The war has ended, and the fighter
 disappeared together with it. An ordinary man, who
 he was before, came back, but still carrying the
 pain of the committed crimes, of the sold innocence,
 and lost lives. Alex Krycek died together with the
 last gunshot. Somebody came to take his place and
 Mulder wants to get to know him.


   And, understood, Alex smiles with such sincere,
 pure joy and relief. His eyes are so bright, so
 breathtakingly beautiful this moment; Mulder wants
 to return and go through all of it again so he can
 see how rise and shine that beauty. Alex understands.


   /We'll take it slow. You won't even notice/


   His eyes tell Mulder, calm and soothing, assuring,
 controlled.


   /We'll take it slow/


   And the next moment something warm and wonderful is
 inside Mulder, touching his heart, breathing in him.
 What he had an eternity ago, and what he thought he lost.
 It is still with him. Alex in every move, in every
 breathe, his love, his obsession, his, lost and newly
 returned, his again, for the last time his, for the
 first time for him.


   Scully smiles. And Skinner, no, he does not smile,
 but his glance is deep, and satisfying, and sad.


   They all came back home. They survived. Changes
 finally happened.


   And they understand.



  *************

   That night Alex came to Mulder and gave him
 every part of himself, not hiding, giving, presenting.
 Gave pain together with the, oh so sweet and
 so bitter, tenderness.


   The next morning he stayed with Dana in the
 garden, where she was sitting in her chair with
 Emily. He on his knees, kissing her hands and
 crying. Men do not cry. But Alex does. Because
 he is the strongest.


   And at the end of the day when the dawn softly
 smiled at them, in twilight and dewdrops Alex became
 his. Again. For the first time. For the last time.


   Because they were really too old for the game.



************

   The grass at the end of May was still silky
 soft, but already long enough to hide in its
 green cool world the nudity and vulnerability
 of two bodies. Thick forest around the meadow hid
 it from everything else, creating a warm and comfortable
 corner for the refugees of the last war. The heavy
 smoothness and hardness of Alex's body covered
 Mulder's, his hair was tickling Fox's chin and the
 calm, measured breathing was caressing the skin
 of his neck. The grass was soft enough for them
 to lie comfortably naked, and thick enough to
 protect from the wet, cold earth.


   It was an early morning, fresh and cool, filled
 with the comfortably familiar sounds of insects,
 songs of birds, and rustle of leafs, all that wonderful
 and sweet noise of  nature and home.


   There was smell of something baking, very sweet
 from the house.


   Scully.


   She promised to come that morning and bring
 Emily. Though Mulder suspected it was just
 an excuse for her to escape from the town, where
 everybody always needed her for every stupid and not
 so stupid thing, and to take a slow walk, barefooted,
 on the dew wet grass on the way to their house.


   She was happy and smiled so much now, laughed at
 Mulder and at his stupidest jokes, just because she
 was happy. And her laughter was always followed by
 that wonderfully sweet laughter of a child. She gained
 weight. She was practicing medicine in the town. She made
 the best pies in the county. His tough and strong Scully,
 smarter then any rocket scientist, who could hold in
 her hands the entire resistance was the warmest, the
 funniest, the most domestic woman in the town.


   And Skinner left FBI on the day they offered him
 the post of the Director. He told them to go to hell.
 Moved in with Mulder and Alex. And they built their
 small, purely male world with beer and poker, and
 basketball and Lone Gunmen. Scully just smiled, and
 snorted, and watched over their health with Alex.
 Krycek was not just a neat freak, thankfully to whom
 the house was always squeaky clean, but Scully found
 in him the most loyal and dedicated follower in
 everything that concerned healthy food and drink.
 They both with great pleasure criticized Mulder every
 time they got a chance and tried to put in him those
 scary looking herbal things. And, every time, Skinner
 was somewhere on the floor under the table trying
 to survive the attack of the unstoppable laughter.


   Walter was working on the house, expanding it,
 rebuilding, making it more comfortable, warmer, lighter,
 bigger, for them.


   All the hurt remained in the past. Time filtered their
 memories and left them only a mild sadness from the losses.
 The crying faces were not haunting them at nights.
 But the presence of those who left was here with
 them. Forgiving and forgiven. Those who died
 had not left. They were around them, part of the wonderfully
 new and familiarly old world. In their hearts not
 the memory of pain, but of the light and love, stayed.

   Mulder felt how the smile of a happy idiot was
 spreading on his face.


   The warm, familiar, delicious body of his lover
 was stretched by his side on the ground, laying half
 on top of him. Mulder was absently looking at the
 sky over him, filled with such happiness and joy,
 he could not believe he was feeling it. It was impossible
 for him to experience those feelings. But here they
 were. The simple joy from being alive and from holding
 the naked, beautiful body of his lover. The happiness
 of childhood, of warmth, of what they had before.
 And he was laughing, laughter rising from the depth of
 his heart, from every bone, every tired muscle, tired
 from a love making, from every cell of his skin, so
 soft, so warm laughter. Alex woke up immediately,
 lifted his head and looked at Mulder, asking silently.
 Mulder smiled:


   "You know, how we always talk about going forward,
 to undiscovered, the unknown, forward?
 In reality we are coming backwards, back home".


   And Alex smiled in response, nodding, understanding,
 always understanding him.


   "I love you".


   Alex's face was lit up by the incredible smile full
 of such beauty, Mulder could not breathe. And he would
 repeat it again and again, wanting to see that smile
 on the beloved face. Alex lowered his head and closed
 his eyes again, half asleep, dreaming, half awake,
 devouring every moment of being with Fox. They were
 lying under the sun-rays, drowned deep in the soft,
 cool grass, long and wildly growing, uncut because
 in the wilderness of the forest they liked it that
 way. Entwined, glued to each other, holding each other,
 so tightly, so strongly, in love. Skin to skin, warm
 and silky, touching, without explosions but with the
 constant, gently burning fire.


   There was a house at the end of the meadow,
 surrounded by lindens. The wood, dark from the
 many rains, opened windows, and smell of pine needles
 in the rooms. There in their home strong and soothing
 hands could give them comfort. There was a fiery
 glow of her hair that lightened the rooms and hearts.
 The child was laughing there.


   Now in the reality of the touching skin, in the
 nakedness of passion, Mulder had finally realized that the game
 was over and the real, the natural, begins now, here,
 right at this moment.



 **************

   It is a good game. It is worthy of playing.


   The satisfaction of the darkest, of the most
 terrifying desires you don't even know you have.
 The exploration of the wilderness of the world,
 opened to them at the moment of admittance. Playing
 with power. Game of control and strength, of the broken
 spirits, fighting wills, shattered beliefs, lost
 and found faith.


   The game. The most desirable one. The most satisfying.
 The most dangerous. Throwing them into the dark,
 mysterious world of the unknown emotions, strange
 feelings, pain, deep and strong, despair, and hope.


   But it's only a game.


   The old trains with hammering wheels on the
 trailed path move all over the land but are restricted
 by the iron grip of the rails. Earth is lulled,
 surrounded by the oceans, imprisoned. Bodies move
 on the usual roads, hiding in the biting wool or
 slippery silk, unable to cross the limits. Minds
 that stopped asking questions. Hearts that stopped
 seeking answers. Lost and sold souls. Everybody
 is playing the game of power, imprisoning, overriding
 everything, everyone, drinking the strength.
 But what is at the end?


   The biggest, the purest sky spread over them,
 laughing, caressing their dark, twisted, green,
 hardened world. Sun, the gentlest of all lovers.
 Wind, controlled by the unknown power but light
 and playful. Freedom, laughing at the doors of
 prisons.


   It is a good game that gives them the right to love
 and to hate. To feel, to possess, to lie, and
 to confess.


   It is a good game. Dark and painful also.


   But as long as there are drops of the cool water
 at the end of the long, hot, and dirty road, as long
 as every train returns to the old station, it
 is worth it.


   As long as there is a home at the end of their
 lives, it is worth it.


   The night comes every evening, covering the world
 in black cloak, with nightmares, hidden desires,
 lust, death, terror. But there is always a morning
 after. The storm comes, bringing the destructive
 wind, terrifying strokes of light, thunder and
 roar of furious nature. But there is rainbow
 after the rain. The nightmare comes with the night,
 fear, deep to the bones, heart -stopping fear. But
 there are soothing hands of a lover, mother, friend.
 The clouds gather over the world with their dark
 grayness and intimidating heaviness. But everything
 comes back to the blue sky because this is where
 we belong.



 The End