January 14th, 1899

Dearest Nina,

I know you don't want to talk to me. I know you're young and you don't believe me when I say that what I did was for your own good but believe me, it was. Darling, I couldn't have you give up everything you have worked so hard for. Just for one man? Who could leave you high and dry once he gets what he wants?

You won't believe me, but I know all about that. There's some things we will discuss the next time you're home. You're old enough, I think, that I can tell my secrets to you. Let me know how things are going. I love you forever, my solnishko.

Love,

Mama

October 3rd, 1907

"Hello, David." The voice was raspier than he remembered and the face that greeted him was so much older as well. Still, you could tell that in her youth she had been beautiful. He wondered that looking at her, seeing the resemblance, didn't make his heart ache as much this year. It gave him the briefest pause to consider that, and he tucked it away to analyze later.

"Edith. How are you?" He asked, transferring the flowers he held to his right hand so he could step forward to offer the older woman his arm, his boots crunching on the leaves that had begun to fall the last few weeks, sending New York into a vibrant display of oranges, reds, and yellows.

Edith Elliot took his arm, patted it lightly, and smiled gently up at him, "Very well, because of you. But, really, I must insist you stop sending me things. I can manage on my own, you know, and I'm really just one person. I don't need very much." She told him, adjusting her shawl as a light, fall breeze rustled through the trees. Summer was holding on long enough to give them a warm enough autumn, but the cool breezes that swept through had the bite of winter to them.

They were quite a pair, walking through the cemetery. David was more than a foot taller over her own not-quite-five-foot stature, and where David was dressed formally in black, Edith was wearing a skirt in the brightest shade of red, her top a dark, chocolate color that complimented her brown eyes that were exactly the shade of his Minny's. Again, though, he felt worried that the ache of seeing them wasn't as much this year. Instead of the roar of grief he was used to, it was now as weak as a kitten's mew.

David all but ignored Edith's words, unconcerned about the items he sent to her, anything from flour for baking to the occasional yard or two of material. He felt it was only right that he took care of her after they had both lost the most important person in their life eight years ago. "It's no trouble, Edith." He told her, not really interested in chatting. Edith seemed to realize this, and they fell into a companionable silence.

Eight years.

He felt a bittersweet taste fill his mouth as they closed in on the stone that marked where she was buried. So much had changed; he was far from that boy who loved her like she was his universe, could no longer remember what that feeling was like. Would she have loved the man he had become? Part of him felt like she wouldn't have. Yet, this man he had become wouldn't exist if she had lived, of that he was sure.

Beloved Daughter. David experienced a surreal feeling, as if he were gazing down on himself and Edith, in an out of body way. A man and woman standing over a gravestone of a girl who would never become a woman, who would never live past sixteen, would never marry or have children. He should feel the grief that he felt the day she died in his arms, should feel the overwhelming pain at losing his first and perhaps only love.

But, he no longer felt that grief so acutely. It had let each passing year bury it farther, just like she was buried under six feet of soil. For so long, David let her death define him, to drive him. He had built his empire trying to fill the space in his soul that had appeared after her death.

But, now? Time had taken a thread and needle to his pain, had stitched it up as effectively as the best surgeon and he was left unable to push work into a void that was no longer there. He had beat grief, had moved on from Minny, had healed too well. He no longer remembered the sound of her voice or the exact details of her face.

That was the worst part of healing, he started to realize. As much as he tried to hang onto her, the dead did not linger long.

Crouching down, he laid the flowers along the gravestone. He continued to squat there, staring at her name and the dates scrolled beneath October 3rd, 1883-March 3rd, 1900, remembering the first time he had met her, near the end of August right after the excitement of the strike had died down. David had just begun to work at the Hotel Chelsea under the private tutelage of the owner, an enigmatic and older gentleman by the name of J. H. Walty. The man had been a ruthless businessman, but not the greatest hotel manager.

Minny had lived across the street from the hotel, and he had caught glimpses of her before and after work, sometimes from the window of one of the hotel rooms and her beauty had caught his initial interest.

Towards the end of her life, he had fervently wished he had grown the courage to talk to her sooner, to have gotten even a day more of her love and light. He'd have sold his soul for just second more with her.

"Edi?" He asked, not looking at the woman and surprised he was about to ask something so personal, which was quite unlike him. But, the words left his mouth before he could stop them, "Has the pain of losing Minny and Will dulled for you?"

It was silent for a few minutes as Edith turned over his question. Finally, she answered as he rose beside her, eyes still caught on the gravestone that made no mention of their great love story. "Yes. But, that is the curse of the living, David. If we felt that pain on a daily basis, as fresh as the moment we first felt it, we would never survive life. Forgetting our dead loved ones, at least aspects of them, is how we heal."

He blew out a breath, "You can leave whenever you want. I might stay here a little while longer."

She touched his arm lightly, "Visit your family today. I think it would do you well to be around them."

Nodding absentmindedly, he listened as her footsteps grew distance until he was left with the soft silence of the cemetery. A bright orange leaf fell from the oak whose branches hung over her grave and landed gently on the top of the stone. Lightly, he brushed it off and sighed, reading her the stone, realizing just how cold it was to have your entire life shortened to a few simple words and dates.

Benjamin 'Minny' Violet Elliot. Beloved Daughter. October 3rd, 1883-March 3rd, 1900

Turning away from it, he walked away, not in the direction of his parent's apartment like Edith had suggested, but towards another part of Manhattan. His mistress, work, would not be kept waiting.

A/N: solnishko means sunshine in Russian. I actually cannot write the actual Russian letters, but that's how it's pronounced. Yay for David's story! I just started my semester, though, so updates maybe slow for this particular story. I hope you all are as excited as me for this! I feel like it's a long time coming. Also, I've decided to do a Jack story after this one. So another BHS story!

Anywho, please review!

Truly,

Joker is Poker with a J~