Butterflies
Show: Young and The Restless
Central character: Victoria Newman
Notes: I started this somewhere in 2015, and at the time, I thought it was going to be this chaptered thing with many parts. Now, going over old stories that have been left to collect dust, I have decided that this is best as a oneshot type story and that's it. No additional chapters. No nothing. Just leave this as is.
Summary: That sweet girl will never see a butterfly again. / Or, Victoria Newman realizing the tragic past and the terrifying present. [Victoria-centric]
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

"Dear God, please let the judge have the good sense to send you to trial tomorrow and then put you in jail for the rest of your life, you disgusting murderer."

-Victoria Newman

"Are you sure? Do you have definite proof that Gabriel Bingham is my son, Adam?"

"Yes, Mr. Newman. The body that was identified as your son was burned beyond recognition but your suspicions were correct. The water bottle you had us test came back with a positive ID. Gabriel Bingham and your son, are one and the same."

A long pause. Deafening silence. A deep sigh.

"Thank you. Tell no one. I pay you for your results and discretion. Have a nice day."

Chair legs against carpet. Footsteps getting distant. Door clicking shut.

(Here's what is unseen: a brunette woman rounding the corner, blue eyes stormy and angry with tears falling fast down her flushed cheeks and the grip on the purse strap so tight, her nails press faded half moons into her palms. Victoria is fucking sick and all of a sudden, that meeting doesn't matter. All she wants to do is go home and see her children – all three of them.)

—

Her breaths come in short and fast if this elevator doesn't get here, it'll be a problem.

"Oh, Victoria!" Connie stops her, a look of confusion and concern etched into her features all at once. "Your father is ready to see you. I thought – "

She plasters a smile, tries to hide her shaking hands.

Tucks a lock of her hair behind her ears.

"It's alright. Um, can you just let my father know something came up?"

"Okay. I will let Mr. Newman know."

Victoria closes her eyes for a brief second. Gabriel is Adam. Adam is Gabriel. Adam's alive. The phrases play in her head like a really bad song and the emotional dam with her slightly strains against the plethora of feelings that bubble just beneath her skin. She needs to deal with this herself before she deals with anyone else.

Her heels tap rapid and quick against the dark tiled floor and she catches Connie mid-turn.

"Actually, wait. Connie – could you pretend you didn't see me at all? I just… I just prefer to deal with my father directly," Victoria answers in her most put-together, business like tone when on the inside, she is one emotional thread from becoming undone. "I'll speak with him tomorrow. It's not important."

"Alright, Victoria."

"Thank you," she replies and just like salvation, an answer to her prayers, the elevator comes and when enters, it closes her in. Like a cocoon.

And then Victoria remembers: Delia loves caterpillars and she simply adores butterflies. That sweet girl, dead because of the pond trash she's working with all this time, will never see a butterfly again.

—

It's just her and four panels of glass around her. Her hyperventilation becomes more intense with every floor that descends toward the parking garage below. The revelation is poured on her like salt on not so healed wounds, received that fateful October night. The sting spreads everywhere, fast and hot. It makes every beat of her heart painful. It makes her chest constrict with every breath she forces herself to take. The Newman Enterprises parking garage is where she numbly finds herself, pushing to get to her silver car.

It's by some miracle when she gets in, and pulls out of there with a white knuckled grip on her steering wheel. Victoria finds herself on that stretch of road on Route 7, sees the little shop with the ice-cream through her peripheral vision and then like she's on autopilot, stops.

It's a beautiful sunny day, with a cloudless blue sky and the sun warming up her face. But now, she's cold. She's icy and she's numb as with careful steps, she finally finds herself at this roadside memorial. The wind ruffles her hair, dances in between strands of Victoria's hair as her blue eyes survey everything – the cards and notes that still come in and are new, the stuffed animals, the flowers in whites, pinks and purples because those are her favourite colours, the wooden and gold plaque that says she gets a theatre in her name.

Victoria sees another picture and steps closer. It's another wallet-sized photo of Katherine. She remembers because Billy takes this one and there's a framed one on her office desk. Katie's blue eyes are especially bright and her baby girl's wide toothless grin is frozen in time for the camera. Billy's words play in her mind that day as she says it's a really cute picture and it'll go in Katie's baby book. He grows quiet on the couch. His smile fades just a little bit and Billy's eyes have sadness and the remnants of a type of grief that will never go away, in them.

"I can see Delia in Katie's smile, Vick. My girls have the same smile…"

I can see Delia in Katie's smile.

Delia in Katie's smile.

Delia. Katie. Smile.

When she gazes at Katherine's photo, and sweeps her blue eyes over Delia's framed photo, the tears fall down Victoria's cheeks. She doesn't bother to whip them away. It's her first time since Delia's funeral she comes here.

The last thread, thin as the strand of a spider's web, snaps.

The emotional dam with all its cracks, straining and bending, breaks.

Finally, a half and a year of suppressed grief and micro-managed emotions come to the surface and Victoria Newman comes undone and sobs.

—

fin.