What Is Real? (Just a Dream)

[just_a_phase]

She dreams.

When she was awake, there was too much, much too much, to remember. To sort through. She was too many places at once, and in most of them, no one noticed her. In some of them, she scared people.

In one, though...

One was close. Closer than the others. Like it wasn't a different universe or dimension or timeline, like she just...shifted.

Awake, it's all too much to sort through--another dose of Kick, and she probably could have. But another dose of Kick, and she'd probably have never stopped.

But she dreams, and she could swear, it's so real, then, it's not like dreaming, it's like remembering something that she desperately wishes she could believe was true...

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[just_a_phase]

"Peter," she breathes, and she kneels immediately next to the couch. "Peter, Petrushka--oh, sweetie--"

She's stuck, all in-between, and she tries, and she tries, and her hand--there. She's there, if not totally, maybe 2/3 of the way. Enough that her hand presses his cheek, if feels strange, rather than passes through.

"Oh my God." She hasn't had a god, though, not since he-- "It's you. It's really you. Peter, baby, look at me."

[konocc]

"You'll go away," he pleads grasping for her hand. "Like the other dreams. Like all the other times! Most of them my fault." Tears escape from his closed eyes.

"Should have loved you, Kayta. Should have..."

[just_a_phase]

"No. no. Listen to me. Listen to me. I love you. I don't know what's going on, I don't know--I took a drug, and I'm here, and I don't know," and she's crying, "how to stay, Piotr, I don't know, but I missed you so much I needed something. And I took this drug, and everything--I phased, and I know, I know, all the ways I can use my powers, and I'm everywhere, I think, but--but I'm mostly here. I'm mostly with you. And the Kick's going to wear off, and I don't know if I can stay here without it, but I'm here now, and I love you." It's frantic, and the kisses are too as she starts to cover his face with them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I pushed you away when I lost our baby. I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything and shut you out. I'm sorry, and please, God, don't turn me away this time while I'm here. I promise you, I'm here, and when I go back, you won't be there, you'll be the one gone, so please. I can't tell you after this, I can't hold you, I can't kiss you or say I was wrong or that I love you, so God, please, believe me and believe it's me." Every few words are interrupted by more kisses all over his face, his throat, and her skin feels too smooth and too cool, but it's there, and she won't stop.

"Please. This one time, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I lost the baby, I'm sorry I shut you out, please just let me love you and believe me. I know you loved me, you did. I know, and I think I always knew. And we're both stubborn, stupid people, but don't be right now."

[konocc]

"Do not do as I did." Still, he won't look at her. A hand moves across her phased back, with practiced muscle memory. "Do not die. For you, there is always another way."

He moves his neck up with great effort. The kiss is long and slow - like a dark, sad version of one long ago, a time when they escaped together. "Wanted you for last...They made a liar out of me."

[just_a_phase]

"No. Stop, please," and she's desperate to make this better, this miracle she doesn't deserve, and then she's tasting him and vodka and his tongue feels right against hers.

"Petrushka," she breathes, and brushes at his hair. Solid, and not quite feeling like normal human skin; something of smoke, like a ghost you can feel.

But she knows he can feel her, and she runs her hands along his chest. "I scattered your ashes," she whispers. "And then the hole that our baby left in me was so much bigger. And I can't tell anyway, we promised not to tell anyone--"

It's funny, without being humorous; the tears that fall turn entire solid when they land on his skin.

"Kick--I took two doses. I think that's two hours," she whispers, "a little more. Closer to three. Don't--please don't waste them. God--you made an atheist out of me, too, you know. You died, and I knew you were right, there wasn't a God anywhere. Not for me. But maybe I was wrong, and maybe I'm just lucky, I don't know, but look at me," and she knows her clothes are gone, like that, that phasing suddenly is so much more than just a convenient trick, "and tell me, tell me while looking at me, that you don't love me. Try to make me believe that. I won't. So please--please, I can't--don't make this another should-have. Just look at me and love me."

[konocc]

He could feel her already. The earth always feels the wind. His hands move from memory.

"Is funny," he whispers. "Because I believe now in your God for you."

He opens his eyes, which are glazed in vodka and pain. "Do not tell them. I am now the Proletarian. The people's champion." A hand moves through her ghostly hair. "I live only for them in the day...and this dream of you at night. But you always fade away."

[just_a_phase]

"Listen to me. If you remember nothing else, remember this," she whispers, and takes his hand to press a kiss to his palm before setting it on the scar on her stomach.

"Why would you dream this scar? You don't remember it on me." She's trying not to choke on tears. "That's from where I lost our baby. And I was so angry and everything went wrong." She moves his other hand to her breast, holds it there like she used to, and then leans down to kiss his forehead. "This one night, it's not a dream. And I promise you, I promise you, that you will be my Piotr Rasputin, my Colossus, again. And drink a lot less vodka," and that's with a choked laugh, "because I think I'm getting tipsy from kissing you.

But she kisses him again, moving her hands to cradle his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it's just one night. But this one night, it's not a dream. And through everything, Piotr, I've never lied to you. I've yelled at you, I'd throw things at you, I've lost my temper to a ridiculous extent, but I've never lied. And I'm not lying now. I'm here, with you, as solid as I can be. Until the Kick wears off. And if--if it wasn't a dangerous drug that I only took in the first place," she admits through tears, "because I missed you so much I felt dead too, I would never have touched it. I don't think I can risk taking it again. You'd never forgive me if I turned into an addict because of grief for you. But right now, I'm here. And we're both alive. Don't waste it, Piotr. Please."

[konocc]

He moves his hands up and the next thing she will know is that she is on her back. "Get me out of them," he breathes.

[just_a_phase]

"Yes," she gasps, and oh, this is strange, she's so there, but not quite, and not intangible, either.

She feels just...other.

And then she's phasing his boxers off and not paying attention to that sensation anymore. "Get me ready," she murmur back. "You are large," and there's mischief in her eyes. "I need your help."

[konocc]

There is no preamble, but there is gentleness. Hands that know her body move to area they remember - breasts, calves, hips...until his mouth goes elsewhere -

But only long enough.

[just_a_phase]

She'd been whimpering when his mouth touched her.

And then he's in her and she's gasping, and yes, he's big, and thank God he did help her get ready, and even so it's not quite comfortable.

She doesn't care, and she shifts forward, pulls him in deeper, and moans against his neck. "//I love you. I have always loved you. I'm sorry for all the times I should have said it and didn't. I'm so sorry.//" She can't keep the tears back, but it's not from any physical discomfort.

[konocc]

He whispers her name over and over, as he moves with her. "Never stopped...Don't stop..."

The alchol is is still in effect and is making him feel uncoordinated. Her phased form isn't helping.

"Get on top," he mutters, leaving her and shifting positions.

[just_a_phase]

"Da," she murmurs, and she's kissing him hard as she can, now, trying to bring herself more here--

And she is. She knows it, she can feel the lack of too-slick smoothness. Maybe not entirely, but--but 90%. More. Enough.

"Oh, God--" she can't say more, just moans, as he slides in deeper and she buries her face into his neck. Whispers, after a moment, "This. This is how it should have always been. Rough--be rough, be gentle, I don't care, but don't stop. And touch me."

[konocc]

"This is why I moved you." Now in addition to the thrusts, she can feel now what he's doing with both hands free. He moves back to those same senstive areas he touched before, now only with more focus and coordination.

"I love you, my beautiful Kayta. My best dream..."

[just_a_phase]

Talking is hard; he's known her well, even without sleeping with her, since they were teenagers, and experience only makes his hands more clever.

"I'm not a dream. Please. Please, Piotr. This time, I'm not a dream," she manages, arching her back. "How--oh--how can I make you believe me?" she whimpers as she wraps her legs around him.

[konocc]

He wants to believe.

He begin to believe.

And then nothing.

Nothing at all.

In an eyeblink she is gone again and he is alone.

A scream fills the space.

[just_a_phase]

She doesn't know if it's his scream or hers.

It might be both.

All she knows is she can feel all of her, all the parts, zooming back together, and then she's on the floor, unable to think through the jumble. Just sobbing.

---

When she wakes up, sore from where the frame of the picture dug into her chest, she's crying again.

And trying to convince herself it was just a dream--with a feeling in her gut telling her if she hasn't gotten rid of the Kick, damn her, she'd know for sure.