the philosophers (original) (raw)

Title: the philosophers
Summary: He doesn't know how lonely she is. She doesn't know how empty he is.
Pairing: Ben/Ilana
Rating: PG-13
Notes: AU!Ben/Ilana. :)

Dr. Linus doesn't go on dates. He does not see women romatically. He does not buy them dinner or flowers or tell them he loves them. Dr. Linus does not do these things because he's lost track of the last time a woman looked at him and told him she wanted him. Told him she loved him. It's been too long, really, to try and do it all again.

But he might. For her.

He doesn't know her. And she doesn't know him. And he is aware that the feelings he has for her are one-sided and bizarre. But he looks at her and can imagine the feel of her hair between his hands, the weight of her arms in his own, the taste of her lips. He looks at her and he knows that she's not like other women. But he is who he is and so he goes on with his day, passing her by in the bank, not daring to look too closely ever again. She is dark and well dressed. A professional. By her demeanor, he pegs her for a lawyer.

Dr. Linus passes her in the bank without ever thinking he'll see her again.

Three days later. The bank. Held at gun point by a man in a mask. On the floor. He senses something familiar next to him. Like a body he knows in his dreams. Her. Tears on her cheeks. He leans in close and whispers You're going to be okay. His voice scares her, then she smiles, nodding. He wants to say he's done this before. Wants to tell her a story about another bank, far from here, when he was a boy with his father. But he is aware that a hostage situation is an inappropriate place to be nostalgic.

Later, when the world resumes its rotation and life can pretend to be normal again, he watches her gather herself. Their eyes meet. For a moment, he is allowed to look closely. But so is she, and he can't let that happen, so he looks away, leaving before ever doing what he meant to do, before she can see that, really, he's empty inside and he has nothing to give her.

But now it is she who watches. Once a week. The bank. He thinks about changing the day and time he goes, but he can't. Can't because he doesn't want to. Because he likes having her eyes on him. And he likes that he can glance at her when she's in line and pushing things aside in her purse without her seeing him. Little secrets with one another they have.

He doesn't know how lonely she is. He goes home and doesn't know that she thinks about him while she's on the bus to her apartment. While she's waiting in line for her coffee. Not all day. But when she's truly alone, his voice is in her head. You're going to be okay. She's heard it before. Other people have said it. Never so honestly. Like he was sure. That even if they were going to be shot and killed and never really be okay at all, in the end, they'd be alright. It makes her sob in the shower, in her bed, at breakfast, in her office with the door shut.

She has to find him.

Watching him becomes increasingly difficult. She doesn't know this, but he's avoiding her more. Looking away from her gaze more often. He's even not made his weekly visit a few times. In her mind, she counts the weeks that go by since the shooting. Twelve. Three months. Then a season. Five months later, she's still lonely and he's still eating less and torturing himself for thinking about her when he knows he has nothing to give her.

In her mind, she imagines him to be an imperfect lover. And it thrills her. He imagines her as something stronger than him.

Five words is all it's taken to create a connection between them that goes beyond glaces. She's inside his soul. And he can't get her out. Her eyes and her hair and her smile are in his dreams. His voice lives with her. Neither imagines they'll meet someplace else. But they do. In the quiet of the art museum. Suddenly they are next to one another, staring at the same painting, marvelling at brush strokes, each thinking I want to see this beauty when he turns and there she is. She turns and there he is. And for the first time, they finally look at one another and don't break contact. She closes some of the space between them. I'm Ilana.

Ben, he says, voice hardly above a whisper. But they already know names. They already know so much about one another, have words and feelings stitched to their hearts.

Later, she pulls off his glasses and turns out the light and whispers I've missed you. Like he's only been away for a while. He answers her with a rich kiss and after that they're just tumbling.

And somewhere, amid a tangle of sheets and sharp breaths and laughter, he whispers, We're okay.