Post by tingrin on Nov 25, 2006 17:18:06 GMT -5
Alexandra and Illyana had returned some twenty minutes previously and Piotr had finally left his father's side to take a break and a walk in the fresh air. He had said very little to Sibyl other than ask her if she wanted to take a walk, and that had been almost curt and brusque. He was tired, emotional, hurting and, unusually, selfishly absorbed in his own feelings for once.
They stood outside the hospital, Piotr attracting one or two second glances from people on account of his size, but he seemed oblivious.
Finally, he spoke.
"What am I going to do, Sibyl?"
Sibyl patiently took it all on, knowing this was one of those moment when people needed all the leeway you could give them just to survive intact.
She took his hand, looking at him for a moment before turning her eyes out at nothing. “You will do what your heart tells you to. What you believe your father would wish for you to do. If the two conflict, then let your head decide.” It was the only thing she’d been able to come up with, and sighed softly.
Squeezing his hand, she wished for this all to be over with, so that he wouldn’t hurt anymore.
He rubbed at his tired eyes with the heels of his palms and stared up at the sky. The light of day was seeping into darkness and dusk was very definitely settling. It was rather indicative of the big man's own mood.
There was the sound of evening birdsong somewhere in the trees that lined the entrance to the hospital and he closed his eyes, listening to it.
"How am I supposed to go on without him, Sibyl?" Piotr asked. "My family will look to me as their leader and I am not ready for it."
Sibyl didn’t answer. It wasn’t that she realized it wasn’t fair to ask her that question, but that she simply didn’t have an answer available.
Twisting her fingers together, she listened to the birds, watched the sunset, and waiting for him to ask something of her so that she felt she was being some comfort.
It seemed her wisdom had run out.
"I cannot cry," he said, suddenly. "My heart is heavy and my soul wishes to weep for him, but I cannot. Am I heartless, Sibyl? Am I so very subscribed to the duties of my role as son that I cannot grieve for the father I love?"
His hand clenched into a fist and he stared down at it. "I have killed with these hands," he said, "and I felt grief and remorse, despite the fact that those I killed would have done the same given half the chance. Yet when my father...I do not understand my own mind."
He was angry, she could hear it in his voice.
“Oh Petya. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Your tears will come. They came before we flew here, and they will come later. Right now, you are being strong for your family. You have set your heart in a place where you are separated from your feelings.”
She sighed and looked at him. “You should not be blaming yourself for anything you feel or do right now.”
"If I had not left. If I had stayed. Papa would not have worked so hard. I would have helped him."
His face darkened as he turned his anger inwards, allowed the fury he was feeling at the injustice of it all to take root inside rather than outwardly. "I would have helped him," he repeated.
There was a long silence whilst he struggled with his tumult of emotions.
"I should go back," he said. "I feel bad for you having to be here...but I am so grateful, you would not believe."
Sibyl fought the urge to shake her head. Taking his arm, she turned with him back towards the hospital. “Do not think a thing of me. Go and be with your family. I am going to give you all some time to be with yourselves. I believe I need to sleep a little, I will rest in the waiting room. Is this alright with you?”
She led him inside, feeling a horrid sharp pain in the center of her chest and rubbing it unconsciously. It would all pass soon, she told herself. Nikolai would not hold out forever.
He rubbed at his eyes again. "You will be so uncomfortable..." he mumbled. The travel, the anxiety and the mixed feelings that were churning him up inside had left him particularly uncommunicative. "But if you are sure, I would be glad to have you near."
As they approached the corridor that led to his father's room, Piotr had a sinking feeling that something was wrong. The feeling was heightened when a team hurtled past him with a crash trolley.
"No..." he said, staring at them. "No, it is too soon...much too soon..."
Sibyl swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. Pushing Piotr’s arm insistently forward, she made him walk though his legs were likely made of jelly by this point.
Oh my Petya. She was beginning to feel as emotionally walled off as he, getting done what needed to be done just to get him through the whole mess.
They reached the lobby of their father’s unit and she gestured towards the door, not saying anything.
There were sounds of shouted instructions, sounds of machinery, sounds of his mother and his sister's heart-broken sobs and all of these noises filtered through the haze permeating Piotr and he grit his teeth.
"He will not die without me saying goodbye," he announced grimly and strode in through the doors, actually pushing a doctor who tried to keep him outside out of his way.
The noises inside the room continued for a few minutes and then the crash team left, looking faintly surprised.
She just couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Almost running to the little waiting area across the hall, she sat down with a thump in the chair and put her hands to her face, her shoulders shaking as she fought hard not to burst into tears.
Heaving in breaths, she calmed herself down rigidly, reaching for a tissue and pressing it to her eyes. She didn’t dare look upset if they chose to come out.
"Sibylinka?"
Illyana's soft voice pulled her from her reverie. "Sibyl, Piotr has asked me to let you know that Papa...is not yet dead."
She sounded too made up for it, too wise for a child of her age and the inevitability of it all was crushing. "Piotr would not let the doctors stop. He also told them that Papa did not need any further assistance to remain alive, that he was to be allowed to die with dignity."
The pride and love in Illyana's voice was touching. "Come," she said. "Be with us. It is what we all wish."
Standing, she took Illyana’s hand and kissed her cheek. “Bless you, Illyana.” She put her arm around the younger girl and they walked back to the room together.
Opening the door for her, she couldn’t bear to look into their eyes, making sure Illyana had taken her seat before finding a place on the sill near Piotr. Her hand touched his shoulder and patted softly, comfortingly.
He had slipped from the role of son into the role of family head almost seamlessly and he nodded at her, love shining in his eyes. Alexandra was sat at the head of the bed, her husband's hand in her own, past grief and misery, locked now in a private moment with the dying man, whose breathing rattled in his lungs. Every moment for him now was precious.
"Illyana and I have said our goodbyes," said Piotr, softly to Sibyl. "I offered to leave Mother with him, but he asked for us all to remain here, and wanted you to be here as well. He asks if you will take the middle name 'Nikolovna' as your own if...when...you and I marry."
Sibyl tried so hard to offer up one of her pleasant, peaceful smiles, but she could not. Curling her hand along the back of Piotr’s neck, she nodded tearfully, swallowing hard before managing to whisper. “I would be… more than honored, Father.” She looked to the old man, and wiped away tears. “Thank you so much for accepting me into your family.”
Daring a look at Alexandra, she realized now how terribly important to her it had been that they be pleased with Piotr’s choice in her. It had been why she’d barely spoken to the woman, and why she had kept herself back from the family’s grief as best she could. But now, she felt engulfed in it, without apology.
Taking Piotr’s hand, she bowed her head and wiped a few more tears away.
"Piotr Nikolaievitch, my son."
Nikolai's fading eyesight moved from his wife's face and looked at the boy - no, the man his son had become. "I am proud of you. Follow your dreams, my boy, as I did not."
"I will, Papa."
Piotr moved slightly so that he could put one arm around Illyana and drew Sibyl in with the other. She could almost feel his pride at his father's words.
"Nikolai..." Alexandra spoke for the first time, her voice thick with emotion.
"My Alexandra," said Nikolai, turning his attention back to his beloved wife, gazing up into her eyes, a slight smile upon his face, until mere minutes later, he drew a deep breath.
He never let another one out again.
But the smile remained.
Turning her face into Piotr’s neck, she rested her head there on his shoulder, holding her breath as a few tears slipped down her face.
She reached to Illyana’s free hand and squeezed it briefly, adding her own comfort. The room was so quiet suddenly, but for the sound of their breath. Sibyl wondered to herself, as she’d never been that good at Seeing her own future, if she too would have as good a death as Nikolai Rasputin had.
Piotr said nothing. He exchanged a glance with his sister that spoke more than mere words and touched his mother on the shoulder. "We will be outside, Mother," he said, quietly. "Take all the time you need."
"You always were such a good boy, Petya," said his mother, laying her hand over his own.
"Come," said Piotr, to Illyana and Sibyl. "Let her say her own goodbyes."
His voice was as cool and emotionless as his steel form - but Sibyl could feel how deeply he grieved, how he would need her later.
They stood outside the hospital, Piotr attracting one or two second glances from people on account of his size, but he seemed oblivious.
Finally, he spoke.
"What am I going to do, Sibyl?"
Sibyl patiently took it all on, knowing this was one of those moment when people needed all the leeway you could give them just to survive intact.
She took his hand, looking at him for a moment before turning her eyes out at nothing. “You will do what your heart tells you to. What you believe your father would wish for you to do. If the two conflict, then let your head decide.” It was the only thing she’d been able to come up with, and sighed softly.
Squeezing his hand, she wished for this all to be over with, so that he wouldn’t hurt anymore.
He rubbed at his tired eyes with the heels of his palms and stared up at the sky. The light of day was seeping into darkness and dusk was very definitely settling. It was rather indicative of the big man's own mood.
There was the sound of evening birdsong somewhere in the trees that lined the entrance to the hospital and he closed his eyes, listening to it.
"How am I supposed to go on without him, Sibyl?" Piotr asked. "My family will look to me as their leader and I am not ready for it."
Sibyl didn’t answer. It wasn’t that she realized it wasn’t fair to ask her that question, but that she simply didn’t have an answer available.
Twisting her fingers together, she listened to the birds, watched the sunset, and waiting for him to ask something of her so that she felt she was being some comfort.
It seemed her wisdom had run out.
"I cannot cry," he said, suddenly. "My heart is heavy and my soul wishes to weep for him, but I cannot. Am I heartless, Sibyl? Am I so very subscribed to the duties of my role as son that I cannot grieve for the father I love?"
His hand clenched into a fist and he stared down at it. "I have killed with these hands," he said, "and I felt grief and remorse, despite the fact that those I killed would have done the same given half the chance. Yet when my father...I do not understand my own mind."
He was angry, she could hear it in his voice.
“Oh Petya. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Your tears will come. They came before we flew here, and they will come later. Right now, you are being strong for your family. You have set your heart in a place where you are separated from your feelings.”
She sighed and looked at him. “You should not be blaming yourself for anything you feel or do right now.”
"If I had not left. If I had stayed. Papa would not have worked so hard. I would have helped him."
His face darkened as he turned his anger inwards, allowed the fury he was feeling at the injustice of it all to take root inside rather than outwardly. "I would have helped him," he repeated.
There was a long silence whilst he struggled with his tumult of emotions.
"I should go back," he said. "I feel bad for you having to be here...but I am so grateful, you would not believe."
Sibyl fought the urge to shake her head. Taking his arm, she turned with him back towards the hospital. “Do not think a thing of me. Go and be with your family. I am going to give you all some time to be with yourselves. I believe I need to sleep a little, I will rest in the waiting room. Is this alright with you?”
She led him inside, feeling a horrid sharp pain in the center of her chest and rubbing it unconsciously. It would all pass soon, she told herself. Nikolai would not hold out forever.
He rubbed at his eyes again. "You will be so uncomfortable..." he mumbled. The travel, the anxiety and the mixed feelings that were churning him up inside had left him particularly uncommunicative. "But if you are sure, I would be glad to have you near."
As they approached the corridor that led to his father's room, Piotr had a sinking feeling that something was wrong. The feeling was heightened when a team hurtled past him with a crash trolley.
"No..." he said, staring at them. "No, it is too soon...much too soon..."
Sibyl swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. Pushing Piotr’s arm insistently forward, she made him walk though his legs were likely made of jelly by this point.
Oh my Petya. She was beginning to feel as emotionally walled off as he, getting done what needed to be done just to get him through the whole mess.
They reached the lobby of their father’s unit and she gestured towards the door, not saying anything.
There were sounds of shouted instructions, sounds of machinery, sounds of his mother and his sister's heart-broken sobs and all of these noises filtered through the haze permeating Piotr and he grit his teeth.
"He will not die without me saying goodbye," he announced grimly and strode in through the doors, actually pushing a doctor who tried to keep him outside out of his way.
The noises inside the room continued for a few minutes and then the crash team left, looking faintly surprised.
She just couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Almost running to the little waiting area across the hall, she sat down with a thump in the chair and put her hands to her face, her shoulders shaking as she fought hard not to burst into tears.
Heaving in breaths, she calmed herself down rigidly, reaching for a tissue and pressing it to her eyes. She didn’t dare look upset if they chose to come out.
"Sibylinka?"
Illyana's soft voice pulled her from her reverie. "Sibyl, Piotr has asked me to let you know that Papa...is not yet dead."
She sounded too made up for it, too wise for a child of her age and the inevitability of it all was crushing. "Piotr would not let the doctors stop. He also told them that Papa did not need any further assistance to remain alive, that he was to be allowed to die with dignity."
The pride and love in Illyana's voice was touching. "Come," she said. "Be with us. It is what we all wish."
Standing, she took Illyana’s hand and kissed her cheek. “Bless you, Illyana.” She put her arm around the younger girl and they walked back to the room together.
Opening the door for her, she couldn’t bear to look into their eyes, making sure Illyana had taken her seat before finding a place on the sill near Piotr. Her hand touched his shoulder and patted softly, comfortingly.
He had slipped from the role of son into the role of family head almost seamlessly and he nodded at her, love shining in his eyes. Alexandra was sat at the head of the bed, her husband's hand in her own, past grief and misery, locked now in a private moment with the dying man, whose breathing rattled in his lungs. Every moment for him now was precious.
"Illyana and I have said our goodbyes," said Piotr, softly to Sibyl. "I offered to leave Mother with him, but he asked for us all to remain here, and wanted you to be here as well. He asks if you will take the middle name 'Nikolovna' as your own if...when...you and I marry."
Sibyl tried so hard to offer up one of her pleasant, peaceful smiles, but she could not. Curling her hand along the back of Piotr’s neck, she nodded tearfully, swallowing hard before managing to whisper. “I would be… more than honored, Father.” She looked to the old man, and wiped away tears. “Thank you so much for accepting me into your family.”
Daring a look at Alexandra, she realized now how terribly important to her it had been that they be pleased with Piotr’s choice in her. It had been why she’d barely spoken to the woman, and why she had kept herself back from the family’s grief as best she could. But now, she felt engulfed in it, without apology.
Taking Piotr’s hand, she bowed her head and wiped a few more tears away.
"Piotr Nikolaievitch, my son."
Nikolai's fading eyesight moved from his wife's face and looked at the boy - no, the man his son had become. "I am proud of you. Follow your dreams, my boy, as I did not."
"I will, Papa."
Piotr moved slightly so that he could put one arm around Illyana and drew Sibyl in with the other. She could almost feel his pride at his father's words.
"Nikolai..." Alexandra spoke for the first time, her voice thick with emotion.
"My Alexandra," said Nikolai, turning his attention back to his beloved wife, gazing up into her eyes, a slight smile upon his face, until mere minutes later, he drew a deep breath.
He never let another one out again.
But the smile remained.
Turning her face into Piotr’s neck, she rested her head there on his shoulder, holding her breath as a few tears slipped down her face.
She reached to Illyana’s free hand and squeezed it briefly, adding her own comfort. The room was so quiet suddenly, but for the sound of their breath. Sibyl wondered to herself, as she’d never been that good at Seeing her own future, if she too would have as good a death as Nikolai Rasputin had.
Piotr said nothing. He exchanged a glance with his sister that spoke more than mere words and touched his mother on the shoulder. "We will be outside, Mother," he said, quietly. "Take all the time you need."
"You always were such a good boy, Petya," said his mother, laying her hand over his own.
"Come," said Piotr, to Illyana and Sibyl. "Let her say her own goodbyes."
His voice was as cool and emotionless as his steel form - but Sibyl could feel how deeply he grieved, how he would need her later.