Title: Heart's Desire

Author: WGSarah (wondergoddesssarah@yahoo.com )

Rating: PG-13 (Mature themes, character death, it's not a happy piece, folks.)

Summary: If Paige got what she always wanted, would she be able to handle it?

Notes/Disclaimer: Marvel's, not mine. ::Sigh:: Please ask before you archive unless you already have permission to archive my work. Feedback is adored and responded to.

----

He hasn't aged a day since I met him, and Christ, I hate him for it.

Paige Starsmore stands over the bed she shared with her husband and watches him sleep. Reaching out, she tousles the hair that frames his face, the one that she'd fallen in love with some thirty-five years earlier. The one she still loves today despite the anger and frustration she feels. With a sigh, she goes over to her dressing mirror and drops her robe to the floor. Craning her neck, she examines her body, turning to try to glimpse herself from every angle.

Long legs, slim hips, full breasts, you wouldn't think I was any older than, what, twenty? Twenty-two?  She raises her arms over her head and poses. Why Miz Starsmore, Ah declare. Y'all are just a child! Snorting indelicately, she begins to pick at her hand. The smooth, young surface begins to flake away as an older, veined hand appears underneath. Grasping at a large flap of loose skin, she rips up her arm and peels out of it, the empty shriveled husk falls to the floor. Looking into the mirror now, an older, cynical woman stares back at her. Wheat blonde hair falls to her feet, a more ashen shade, liberally streaked with grey appearing in its place. Fair, supple skin gives way to veins and age spots, and her face, once the picture of youth and guilelessness, becomes jaded and lined.

She gasps quietly. "Momma."  Scrabbling frantically at her skin, she tears it off and peers out at the world with a new face. A familiar one, of sixteen year old Paige.

I'm getting old. I can't fool myself any longer, really. I can feel it more every day as I get up and try to shake the arthritis from my hands. Each change of form becomes more difficult. I'm afraid that some day I won't be able to change at all and I'm afraid of the body that I'll be trapped in. Will I be young and pretty or will I get stuck I some freakish looking skin? I know it sounds horrible, but I'm not willing to take that risk.

I don't know what I should look like any more. I'm not sure if I'd look like my mother did at this age or if I'd be completely different. I gave up aging years ago, to be with him. A new Paige, a younger Paige, a better Paige. We compliment each other perfectly, just like we always did. Two young people, barely out of their teens, with not a care in the world. Then after a while, I begin to age. My new skin begins to wrinkle and sag. It's almost unnoticeable. Most people don't see it, but I do. Being with him all these years, I catch every little pucker and crease. And he remains the same. Always the God damned same.  Sometimes...

Sometimes it hurts so much to look at him knowing that he'll be like that forever, while I know that I'm going to rot away in the ground somewhere. I don't think I can deal with it. I know I can't. And I can't be without him, either. He's what I always wanted, and I've had him, all these years.

Drifting back over to the bed, Paige pulls the nightstand drawer open. Her hand dips in and emerges clutching a prescription bottle, the name of a well known sedative is listed on it's side. Hands shaking, she goes into the bathroom. Cupboard doors open and shut as water runs. Some time later she comes out, her face tear-streaked, the empty bottle held loosely in her right hand. She reaches into the drawer again and pulls out a syringe. The silver needle gleams in the dim light. She crawls into the bed beside her eternally boyish husband and allows him to pull her to him unconsciously.

"I'm sorry," she whispers as she slips the needle into his arm. "I'm so sorry..."

-fin-