Disclaimer: Desperate Housewives absolutely isn't mine.
Story Summary: After tonight, their whole life is fractured, and they're not sure how to fix it. Post-ep for "Then I Got Really Scared."
Fractures
A story by Ryeloza
Penny's sob cuts through all of the anger like a knife, a sudden, horrifying break in the passionate rage between them. The worst part is that's all it is—a break. As Penny runs upstairs and he looks back at Lynette, he can still feel all of that tension lingering in the air between them, and the reality of this situation hits him in the face.
This isn't one fight.
This isn't going away.
Lynette looks like she's about to burst into tears, and despite everything he said—did he really just call her a bitch?—he knows that that pain in her face has nothing to do with that and everything to do with their daughter. Right now she doesn't even see him, couldn't care less about him, and somehow that, more than anything else, calms his rapidly beating heart. It's a reminder of why he loves her; a reminder that he desperately needs right now.
When she turns and walks out of the room without saying a word, he doesn't try to stop her.
Upstairs a door slams, he can hear Lynette's footsteps, and then silence. It's so welcome that Tom actually breathes a sigh of relief as he sinks down on one of the kitchen chairs. For the first time in a long time, his mind is here, not in the office, not caught up in a fight, not lost in some fantasy. It's like he can finally hear himself think; unfortunately, it only makes him feel like even more of a jackass.
He has no idea how things have gotten this bad, but he does know that it's not as much of Lynette's fault as he's pretending it is. And that's part of the problem. Blaming her is like a defense mechanism lately, and every time he does, she strikes back with the most potent weapon in her arsenal: control. The more he blames her, the more she feels the need to hold on to whatever control she has left, and that just leads back to him blaming her even more. It's a vicious cycle, and one he mostly takes responsibility for. He's always known this about Lynette, always accepted it as her greatest flaw and at the same time, understood it. It's probably really unfair of him to hold it against her now; it's probably callous of him to throw in her face instances that passed years ago without any previous comment from him.
But at the same time, he's really sick of it. He's sick of sitting back and letting her take charge of every fucking situation. He's sick of nodding dutifully and rarely fighting back. He's sick of being her lap dog.
Something has to give.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs breaks his revelry, and when he looks up, Porter and Preston stand before him, identical, disgusted, hurt expressions on their faces. It's disappointment, he notes, stomach tightening. For the first time in their lives, they are blatantly disappointed in him, and just the thought of it makes him sick. Before he can even begin to process this, there is another clattering of footsteps, and Parker passes by in a flash. His name is only half-formed in Tom's mouth when he opens the front door and slams it shut behind him.
"He's staying with us tonight," says Porter.
Tom swallows, but his mouth is so dry that it tastes like sandpaper. "Did your mom—"
"He's staying with us," Porter repeats, making Tom feel absurdly childish. He turns to go, and Tom's eyes drift to Preston. There's an unreadable expression on his eldest's face that makes him feel completely ashamed of himself, but the apology he should make seems lodged in his throat.
"It's Mom," says Preston quietly. The implication couldn't be clearer: that unspoken faith that they have always had in his love for their mother, no matter what she did or how she acted. He is the one who has broken that, and fair or not, they blame him.
"Preston, let's go!"
Preston turns slowly, walking away and leaving Tom to wonder if he's really the one who has ruined everything.
"Penny, sweetie, calm down. You're going to make yourself sick."
The words don't seem to reach her daughter. She's lying face down on her bed, sobbing hysterically, and clutching a stuffed bear that Lynette hasn't seen her with since she was seven. The hopelessness that radiates from her nearly chokes the life out of Lynette. She's been this little girl, living this kind of pain, and it breaks her heart irreparably to know that she is the reason that her daughter now knows this sadness. Aching, she reaches out to touch her child, desperate to comfort her, and then reels back as though slapped when Penny jerks away from her.
"Don't touch me!" She's sitting up now, wild-eyed and angry and scared. "You're a liar!"
It isn't the first time one of her children has accused her of this, and she doubts it will be the last, but somehow it hurts so much worse this time. She has a feeling that for once, the accusation may be entirely true.
"You promised me that you and Dad weren't going to get a divorce! You promised me!"
"Honey, we're not—"
"Why do you hate each other? I don't understand!"
Lynette can feel the tears forming in her eyes and forcibly stamps them out, swallowing several times to get rid of the lump in her throat. Penny stares at her, her little body wracked over and over again by waves of sorrow; it is unbearable. "We don't hate each other," she says, and maybe that's a lie too. She clears her throat, amends, "We still love each other."
"Then why are you fighting all the time? I don't even want to go on vacation! I don't want to go anywhere with you!"
"Penny—"
"And I don't want to pick! I don't want to only see Dad on the weekends and have two birthdays, and I don't want you to get divorced! Why can't everything just go back to the way it was before?"
In that moment, she knows she really is a liar because the first thing she thinks is to tell Penny that everything is going to go back to normal; that somehow they'll erase the past two months and everything will be okay again. But it would be the biggest lie she ever told, and she can't do that; especially now, when her entire relationship with her daughter hangs in the balance.
"I'm going to tell you the truth," she says calmly. "Is that okay? Is it okay if I don't tell you what you want to hear?"
Strangely, the words seem to sooth Penny in the smallest way. She draws her knees to her chest, still hugging that ridiculous bear, and nods; tears still drip off the end of her nose, and she squeezes her eyes shut tight, pressing her face into Teddy's head.
"Okay," breathes Lynette. "I don't know what is going to happen with me and your dad, but I'll tell you this much: we aren't going to fight like that anymore."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because both of our hearts are broken right now knowing we hurt you. We're not going to do that again."
She has no choice but to take Penny's lack of response as acceptance.
"And it's important that you know that your dad and I aren't just going to throw away our marriage. We've spent twenty-one years together. We're going to do everything we can to get through this."
"But you can't promise that it's going to be okay."
She takes a deep breath, fighting the sob that's building in her chest. "No, honey," she says. "I can't. I don't know what's going to happen. But I'll tell you what I do know: I'm never going to stop loving your dad."
Penny raises her head, brushing her cheek with the back of her hand. "If you love him then why can't you just stop fighting?"
"Because…Baby, it takes more than love to make a marriage work. And right now what your dad and I need to do is figure out if we can find a way to make it work again."
To a fourteen-year-old girl who has only ever known stability, Lynette knows that it makes no sense. She isn't surprised when Penny shakes her head and says, "Stop being mean to each other."
"It's not.." she starts, and then she pauses, forces herself to change direction. "We will. But it's going to take more than that."
Penny stares at her blankly, her entire future lain before her, completely incomprehensible. Lynette hates herself for doing this to her; she already knows that she'll never be able to forgive herself. "Penny, honey," she says, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. Penny pulls away listlessly, falling down on the bed and curling up in a ball with her back to Lynette. "Go away, please," she says; it's obvious she's crying again.
"I don't—"
"Mom! Go away!"
As she stands and leaves, it feels all at once like the best and worst thing she can do for her daughter.
That night, they have never been further apart.
Neither of them is able to sleep. They lie on their sides, backs to one another, resolutely not talking despite the fact that they both know the other is awake.
Tom is wondering if this is fixable.
He doesn't want to be the one to back down this time. He can't go back to what he was before because even if he did, it would all be a miserable lie that he just can't live. Already, though, he thinks of a million concessions he will make in order to keep her: to stop throwing the past in her face; to quit making unilateral decisions without consulting her; to make more of an effort to listen to her—really listen —instead of just hearing the criticism. He will do all of this in a heartbeat, do all of this willingly, if she will just let go of a little bit of that control.
He's not sure she can.
He's not sure she wants to.
But God he hopes she'll try.
Lynette is wondering if this was inevitable.
She thinks back to when they were first dating, and she opened up to Tom like a flower reluctant to bloom. She remembers letting him see every flaw, revealing herself to him in a way no one else had ever seen, and thinking, "He's going to run." Instead he held her and loved her and comforted her—he gave himself to her, and eventually she stopped thinking that it was too good to be true.
Now she thinks she was a fool.
Deep down she always knew that he wouldn't be able to love her unconditionally forever. No one ever has. But she had tricked herself into believing the lie; she resents it now that the truth once again stares her in the face.
He's going to leave if she can't change.
She wants to believe that she can. She wants to believe that if he lets go of his sudden, terrible resentment of her, that maybe she can meet him in the middle.
But part of her thinks that it's too late. He's seen too much of her, and no matter if she can change or not, he'll always only see who she was.
It is the longest night—thinking and praying and hoping—and they don't speak.
They are too far apart to hear one another.
A/n: Tonight's episode broke my heart, but in a good way (if that makes any sense). In a strange way, I at least found some hope in the fact that they finally realized they have to confront these issues.
So I'd love to hear what you think. I'm not entirely sure about the ending; I felt like maybe it came across that I was mostly blaming Lynette for this, and the truth is that I think it's equally their faults. And of the two of them, I think I actually feel worse for her (which I know is not the popular opinion). Truthfully, though, it does seem like she's going to have to make the bigger change if they're going to fix this.
One more week. I will be back on east coast time to watch the final episode, and I'm praying it won't completely shatter my heart (as long as nothing happens with Renee, I think I'll be okay).
Thank you to anyone who reviews. You guys have really helped me get through the past month of worrying about this couple, and I can't thank you enough for it.
-Ryeloza