Title: The Quiet

Pairing: David/Christopher; Chris POV

Under all speech that is good for anything there lies a silence that is better. Silence is deep as Eternity; speech is shallow as Time."

-Thomas Carlyle

There are some things, Christopher has found, that are better left unsaid.

It's not that David doesn't trust him, but some things make him uncomfortable, a little skittish, if you will.

Christopher wants nothing more than to be able to hold the general close, tracing the welts he has raised, and whisper stupid things about flowers in mid-May and what season premiere he might missing, and that he wouldn't miss this for the world anyway, no matter what Rachel might be doing with her hair come fall.

Christopher knows, however, that intimacy cannot go further than soft smiles in dim lighting, a brief hand squeeze under the table, or the warm shivering touching in the dark.

Christopher is well aware that David cannot say the things Christopher would beg and plead and die to even imagine him saying. David has trouble expressing himself with words. His English assignments are proof. Hysterical proof, but a little bitter, too.

Christopher won't ask the things of David that David is neither willing or wanting or prepared to give him, and Christopher is satisfied and ached that David is with him now, while ignoring the speaking limitations.

Christopher is surprised when David leaves a note in terrible handwriting, as he must run off to a meeting. He is more surprised, that upon reading, it is a love note. For him.

"Christopher," it read, "I know you want me to tell you something a little less surreal and a little more reliable. I know that you will take what I've offered, even if it's not very fair- nothing really is." The next words seemed a little smudged, as if they were meant to be there, but were a bit unsure and embarrassed to be seen. "I think you're beautiful when light touches your hair, and when you laugh your face makes you look like you might be the light itself." Christopher deciphered the hasty chicken scratch at the bottom with awe. "I love you. - David."

Christopher found it difficult not to cry, and gave up quickly, to be found by the dark haired man in a little ball of astonished tears on their bed.

"David, David I love you." Lips pressed against Christopher's and the tears were brushed away, strong arms holding and hushing noises issued. "Chris, there's no reason to cry for it."

David may never be able to say the three little words, but Christopher knew that the silence was not one of shame or regret. It was something wonderful, to hear gentle breathing and know, simply, love for what it is.

A'n: I feel really freaking proud of this eleven-minute thrown together ficlet. So, damn it, tell me I'm awesome. This, to me, is nice. I like it.