A/N: This was written for the Livejournal Community 15minuteficlets for Word #119. It takes places after 205, and well. I think that's all I can say. If you want to read a better formatted version, please go to my Fanfiction Livejournal theblackmonster.
Disclaimer: I don't own The 4400.
Waiting For The Sky To Fall
Stupidly an Our Lady Peace song is stuck in his head; repeating around and around, kind of like the Our Lady Peace CD that's playing softly in the background.
But more than the song that's stuck in his head is the line 'I'm waiting for the sky to fall,' because of anything he's feeling like right now, it'd have to be of that.
It kind of is like he's waiting for the sky to fall, even if it obviously won't happen. And obviously he isn't really waiting for the sky to fall. Because there are other things he'd rather wait and hope for.
Jordan walking through the door to his office would be one of them. And in fact, besides the Our Lady Peace lines and songs repeating through his head, there is one other thing. One other thing is easily translatable into one person. And one person is easily translatable into Jordan.
Except, the thing is, it's not just Jordan. It's more like Jordan, Jordan, Jordan, JordanJordanJordan. There probably isn't a high enough number for the amount of times Jordan's name has repeated through his head.
Anytime now, Jordan will walk through the door, and pause at it, where he'll contemplate on taking off his jacket. But he won't and he'll walk in a determined manner toward his desk, in a way only Jordan Collier can do.
And since he's sitting here now, Jordan will ask him to get out of his chair, because if anything, Jordan was always touchy about his chair. If Jordan were a little more, possibly wacky he could imagine Jordan naming his chair.
But he'll never know, because Jordan can never tell him if he did or if he didn't. Maybe he'll name the chair. (Even though it'd hurt too much to name it Jordan, plus, that'd be too wacky for himself.)
Perhaps tonight Jordan will come walking through his office door and pause there, then ask him why he's sitting in his chair. Perhaps he'll wake up in his bed, or on Jordan's couch, and when he sees Jordan at breakfast he'll hug him like he never would before.
Perhaps he won't let go.
But then, perhaps a new secretary will come in tonight and hand him more papers, and she won't pause by the door because she doesn't need to wonder whether or not to take her jacket off, because it isn't her office.
And the fact is, it isn't Jordan's either. It's his.
And tonight he'll wake up from a nightmare, but the thing is, it won't exactly be a nightmare. Because it really happened, and out of everything, that will be the worst.
In the morning he will not hug Jordan at breakfast, because Jordan will not be there, and he'll sit in his chair with soggy Lucky Charms and cold coffee and wonder why he never told Jordan so many things. Why he never hugged and never let go like he had always wanted to do.
It will be three in the morning before he does go to sleep, when he finally turns off the damn CD player with its Our Lady Peace CD repeating that one song over and over again.
He'll efficiently ignore the way his mind wants to snap back into that memory and repeat it over and over again like he had with the CD. And the song. And the line from the song.
He will walk into his room, and also ignore that it's oddly cold in the room, and he will not pause at the door to contemplate on taking his jacket off there.
Because most of all, before anything else, before even waiting for the sky to fall, he's waiting for Jordan to come back. And that is the one thing that will never stop.