A Visit to Paris

by CreativeLiterature

Summary:

When Maxine of Scribblenauts finishes Me Before You, she is determined to write one correction that, at least, will make a difference in two lives somewhere far away...

Chapter 1: Prologue

The land stretched far and wide, with a small house and farmland immediately nearby. A blue sky stretches like a canvas above, and a girl, who looks not unlike Maxwell, kicks her legs in the air like riding a bicycle, until she plummets down to earth and spins to land on her stomach and harrumphs, tossing a book aside.

“Honestly,” Maxine harrumphs, for extra effort, “I think something should be done.”

With a manic fervor of scribbling in a Death Note, Maxine pulls out a notepad on which is written ‘blue skies’ and ‘peace’. She squints over to the tossed book, which reads ‘Me Before You’, and starts writing.

“Will Traynor… oh! Well, we’ll just have to get rid of that attribute. And that . There is no way he is suffering anymore. There is no way anybody will suffer anymore - “

Maxine looked hopefully at the book, curls of grass waving around it, ants sniffing hopefully to tread across it.

“ - if I have something to write about it.”

Chapter 2

Louisa went out of that room with a heavy heart.

She could not bear to see him, to look at him, only to raise her hopes again, and to hear his parents crowding back in along with the doctor, she could not. She would not. At stifling ends of her resolve, was to walk away, was to stay, and a crunch in her belly told her all would soon be not well, and both well. For the torrent of tears came, the ability to hold it in amongst the corridor nurses not possible, and their expressions, however much understanding, could not help in this slamming of the women’s toilet door, to buckle into a cubicle, to hold herself as had been her custom, and shake and sob and wrench pieces of toilet paper to blow her nose, snot-filled and gladly a disgust she would trade if only - if only…

All her help had been in vain. How could she not rail, how could these people help Will, if not for them, he would have to live! But, she thought, he might try again, and worse though it was to have heaven delivered - or heaven, to him - in a bed surrounded by his loved ones, be that they found him as Nathan had once found him, crimson on his wrists, and Louisa blanched.

She had to rally her positivity, for it was a front when it was not a front, and now she knew little. Now she could not cry. Now she could only cry. The iron edifice of her will to keep going was crumbling; what were the words that kept her going when it started, why could she not hold in all her emotions when precisely she was known for not, and then doing so, and losing him was more than just him , it was losing a part of herself…

The utmost wrench of anger pulled her to a standing position, to hear what sounded like cheers, excited shouts, and footsteps. She assumed some other patient had given in, had decided to leave, and that family was now bright.

How dare they, Louisa scrabbled with the look, her face not contrite for the words she would have, for as much as Will deserved to go home, she knew he would never after such a conversation, and this family - as much as her beating heart knew she should be happy for them - she was too angry. She wanted them to quiet. This was a place for peace, where she remained in it with anything but, and then she turned to the corridor, seeing all the nurses astonished, and Camilla and Steven Traynor flanking what appeared to her to be a vision.

“Fuck me,” Louisa’s mouth dropped open.

Chapter 3

It was too much to take in.

All throughout the flight, which was not home, as Will had told her, during the process which had been speedy as his tone could warrant it, and her astonishment which, had if at once cleared out her hostility, left her empty.

Did she bang her head? Was this really happening?

But the moments had passed too quick, and then in that corridor she was kissing him, and he was lifting her , and the abrupt frailty had returned to her in spirit, and then she was blushing at her words.

But even then , with his look, she knew what he was thinking, and then she was thinking it, and surely, in the most wildest tales, it was a relief, not an urge such as this that enveloped them?

She had a notion of where they were going, but some self-restraint largely learned in his presence (though she disliked it, her emotions were too raw to begin to countermand him, and though he could now walk himself to the airplane loo, he was still too brimming with his ability to tell people that he did not want to be shepherded around) told her to let him have his fun.

But a shocking idea came back to her. What if it happened again? A medical marvel may be him, and with the media interest when Patrick had spilled the story, it was sure to carry on the waves - Will Traynor, thirty-two…

She tightened her eyes and squeezed them with her fingers. She glimpsed outside that plane window, sitting in the window seat that he suggested, in first-class with the glass of champagne largely drunk just to calm her nerves, because she still could not believe it.

All the elation, and kissing, and swept up off her feet, that still persisted. She could still feel that warmth. But that was beyond definition, and the specifics well known.

This was a fear that gripped her. She would have to continue watching him. For, as he came back down that corridor, his cologne in her nostrils and everything physical about him which she would soon know, and did not rebuke, she loved him, he loved her with that glance as he set back into his seat, and commenced no longer to be that grumpy self but almost tease her, she knew that he would put her through her paces.

And she would be in a difference of opinion for every step he took, because he had lead her to the precipice of losing him, he had taken her there, and now he was saying, let’s do it all again and no, Clark, you cannot tell me what to do.

Of course, being a woman, Louisa knew there were ways . Men, even Will Traynor, could not know the subtleties. Unfortunately for her, Will seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. Or at least he gave her a look that quite convinced her of such, and Louisa, torn between her desire to keep him safe, lay into his shoulder with a sigh of guilty relief that she could now rely on him to keep her safe.

Chapter 4

Paris was, of course, a delight.

The Eiffel Tower stood strong, and Louisa imagined it falling over and the chaos it would cause. They sat at a certain cafe, and she knew she would get very fat if she wasn’t careful, for there were many places Will had on his list - in fact, she knew, he planned to travel more or less permanently, for god forbid, he said, he should be stuck in that house with his parents squabbling, and an existence that might force them to take it easy.

He had had enough of taking it easy, Louisa knew, and she knew that he knew she had only the same advice.

The first time he crossed a street, he was discouraged with the alarm with which Louisa looked both ways. He grew grumpy, though never for long only out of habit; and as her positivity soared, for she could not help but delight in all that was new, he smiled for he knew he had her in the grip of something powerful, of what he had hoped for her when he had told himself this was the end, and at last, he could relax for nobody looked at him like an invalid.

In their hotel room, though he could not quite adjust immediately, he put her through her paces, and she was as quick to put him through his. This was after the first time, which was so loving as to make him burst, and when the gentle kisses and soft touching, when lying on top of her in her and not moving, when looking in each other’s eyes with only the rapture of now ceased, and joining was successed by a rapid hunger on both their part to do more than just love, but to ravage , then they were both sweaty, climaxed, and on the sheets with such acclaim that they could find each other despite what, out there , lingered in the back of their minds.

For she would never truly see him as a man invincible to harm, no matter how much it grieved him that he could not pronounce it by the set of his shoulders and his bark; and he could never know her to be without that dread that he might leave her, to another world only, and that he was, in some part, he felt guiltily, responsible for it.

They lay a long while in that Paris hotel room, with life outside, with them inside, their thoughts whirling, for the copulation, the relief of being with each other, the romance, their shared time together was not wholly defined by that, but by what had happened before…