Quicksand - Degrassi, PG

Title: Quicksand
Disclaimer: As much as I wish it were so, Degrassi does not belong to me.
Notes: Tag to (glorious, amazing, breathtaking) episode 712, “Live to Tell.”

She had lost it completely. He knew she had lost it; she knew she had lost it; hell, everyone in the whole goddamn school knew she had lost it but what they didn’t know was that he was starting to feel like he could lose it too. She was pulling him under.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, trying not to flinch when Emma’s shrill voice sliced through the air. “Why was she here? What could she possibly have to say?”

He wished it were silent. But it wasn’t, and he couldn’t be, because so far every unspoken word that settled dormant on his lips had only drawn him deeper into Darcy’s whirlwind mess.

Because he hadn’t said stop.

And he hadn’t said, Darcy, what the hell are you doing.

And he hadn’t said, I think you need to leave.

He hadn’t said a single word or breathed a single breath.

“Well?” Emma pressed.

“She came to apologize,” he said, as if it were obvious. Because it was. But so was everything else.

Emma rolled her eyes. “She shouldn’t be here. You’re under investigation, and if anyone saw the two of you together, who knows what—”

“Emma. It’s going to be okay. Really.”

She was quiet. “I just think it’s risky for you to be seen anywhere near her right now.”

Snake nodded. “I know. I know.”

She offered a small smile and turned away, heading downstairs to her room, and relief washed over him for a fleeting moment. He was so damn sick of the inquisition.

But even in the comfort and familiarity of his living room, he could feel himself drowning still. Sinking to Darcy’s level. Succumbing as the pressure boxed him in. He reached hastily for his bag, not to get anything but just to feel something tangible, to know that he could hold onto something and it would be real. As he picked it up, an envelope fell out and fluttered to the ground.

Automatically, Snake bent down to retrieve it and opened the flap, knowing already what he would find. Darcy’s hair. It seemed silly now, but he had scooped it up off the floor to save for later, to use as evidence in the intervention or to protect her somehow. Maybe to protect himself. It didn’t even make sense. Nothing did.

He reached in and held the strands between his fingers, flicking his thumb against the sheared ends, back and forth, back and forth, as if this tiny piece of her physical being might offer insight into her inner psyche. He pulled and he twisted, wanting to grab hold of the loose threads and unravel the fabric of her damaged existence. It was a damage they shared together now: hers and his, sewn into one.

And he didn’t even wonder what Daphne or anyone would say if they saw him now, standing there alone and entranced, twirling his student’s hair between his fingers. Or what Emma would say if she suddenly came bounding up the stairs.

Because if he closed his eyes, he could only see her. Looking back at him and smiling. Calling him Snake between halted breaths. Pulling him under.

It was a risk he was willing to take.