David Haller (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} xgene) wrote, |
But before he could stop himself, David was looking back at the gathering. Looking back and walking towards them. Maybe if he was quiet, as long as they didn't see him. Stay around the outskirts, stay quiet. Look like any other guy, look like he belonged, then maybe they'd never know he was here.
At the fringes of the group, he could hear the rabbi begin to speak in English -- reading off a list of his father's accomplishments, asking those in the group to share their stories of Robert Haller, to celebrate his life. It was Amy who spoke first, her voice high-pitched and strained. She spoke of how optimistic their father was, his energy always a bright beacon, something almost infectious about it. She talked about how deeply he'd loved their mother, but that he'd never lost his ability to love or lost a single ounce of his brightness in continuing to be their father. When she mentioned David, she spoke of how he wanted to be here today, but couldn't, and swiftly quieted sharply cutting herself off as her eyes fell to the ground, Ben's arms wrapping around her.
To the right, a tall man spoke, someone David had seen a few times, a co-worker, someone who worked at an observatory. "I remember, decades ago now," he began, voice even, "Robert referenced a conversation he'd had with his son during one of their outings to observe the stars." David stared at the man, still holding (white-knuckled) onto the fabric between himself and Syd, transfixed. "Something David had said, about how the stars spoke to him -- Robert had been so driven by the answer. I never pressed for details, but it always kept him going, kept him pushing for more answers, pressing for deeper research to unravel the mysteries of the sky."
The man shook his head, smiling fondly. "That one conversation is without a doubt the only reason any of us had our jobs for so long. Robert always pushed, was always... yeah, inspiring with that energy, that passion to know more. The world's a darker place without him."
A few others chimed in, offering words of agreement and other fond stories, happy memories. David had no idea when he'd started crying, tears falling freely as he watched and listened, stunned... and relieved. He was here. Like he always should have been.
And when the ceremony was over, his father's coffin lowered into the grave, people beginning to leave, none of them looked at Syd or David. Even Amy seemed to disregard them. A distinct hum in the air, like a moth's wings against glass, sounded when her eyes grazed over them, smoothly continuing without seeing them. David didn't notice, unable to take his eyes off the grave before him. As everyone else left, the grave to be filled in peace and solitude, he just kept staring.
"The smartest guy I've ever known," he started softly, barely managing to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. "And the only one who was never afraid of me, even at my worst." How anyone could've been so brave when dealing with a raving madman in front of them. "The world really is a darker place without him. Without both of them." His eyes glanced at his mother's grave. "People of quality." It's a wonder he hadn't figured out he was adopted all by himself.
"I miss them." God did he miss them. For all that they'd filled his dreams the last few nights, he still had trouble seeing their faces in them. Still had trouble recollecting anything good, only flashes of the hell he'd raised. Memories mixed with random garbage his subconscious decided to throw in, a subconscious filled to the brim with anger and self-loathing. Why was he still alive when two, far better people were in the ground?
It wasn't right.