H is for Home

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

(Written for the 2007 Summer Alphabet Challenge)

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I don't have anything to do with Numb3rs.

What makes a residence truly a home?

Standing on the threshold of the master bedroom, he watched her sleep blissfully in the moonlight, as yet unaware of his presence. Given her recent state of exhaustion, he found it highly unlikely that she would wake. Still, he did not wish to disturb her and so he carefully leaned against the doorframe and pondered his unexpected question.

Following the calls and interests of his vocation, he had moved his fair share in life, from the bustle of urban centers to the serenity of countryside towns to the awe-struck silence of the cosmos. He had lived in a variety of housing: from the small bedroom he grew up in, to the noisy dorms of universities, to cramped apartments, to the vast foyer of a Victorian era mansion. And yet…

As a child, there was no question about the concept of 'home.' Until he left it, the little brick two-story house third from the corner was his family's domicile, where he lived, ate and slept when not in school or chess club. His bedroom was his laboratory, where he was free to pursue his interests without interference — provided, of course, he didn't cause the house to explode or call the police to the door. It was a 'home' to him, yet the contemplative emotion evoked by his reminisces was not the same as those that had settled into his life recently.

So what was a 'home'? If it was just a mere physical structure, then he had numerous homes geographically scattered across the country and a handful more in other nations. But he had left many of those habitations without a wistful glance over his shoulder; indeed, there were a memorable few where it had been quite a relief to escape elsewhere. Therefore, the simple structure of a residence did not qualify a place for the title of 'home.' Perhaps, it had to do with the situation, both in life and environment. The places where he had enjoyed himself the most were also those that he felt most "at home" in. Perhaps that was the definition of 'home'?

In that case, he supposed that his first 'home' after leaving his childhood home were his years as a Princeton educator, living in the small, but comfortable accommodations provided by the institution while educating bright, inquisitive young minds about the wonders of physics beyond the mundane. But that assessment wasn't quite true. While he enjoyed the rigorous challenges of academia, his rooms were simply a place for him to retire to when he was exhausted. Most of the time, he didn't even bother to make the trek back to his quarters, preferring to snatch hours of sleep on the couch in his office or catnapping in the physics labs. The rooms given to him were sufficient for a bachelor to live contentedly, but there were nights when he knew that some intangible aspect was missing from his life.

The second place he could call "home" would have been his Victorian mansion. It had been a purchase made partially on impulse, partially on infatuation, but mostly with the aim of acceptance. He had needed an all consuming project to immerse himself in to forget the world around him and the restoration of a Victorian had seemed like the perfect task. With his father's death, he had tried to throw himself into his research and teaching, but he found that grief was a difficult hound to shake without a focus. And so, while walking the streets aimlessly in the early morning one day, he had spotted a "For Sale" sign in the small front lawn of the Victorian. He knew instantly that it would provide him both home and shelter, from both the physical and psychological storms of life.

As he had slowly worked to restore the grand residence to its original glory, he found himself absorbed with not only the physical toil, but also in the richness of its past. In what little spare time he had, he found himself researching the lives of the men, women and children who had once called his current abode "home." Little treasures revealed themselves with every stage of renovation, and slowly the grief had melted away into an old scar on the heart.

He had loved the Victorian, with its twisting towers and majestic rooms, but there were moments when the awe faded, and he found himself standing alone, with nothing but a dreaded silence for company. He tried to compensate for it by bringing his life into the place, using the rooms as they were used when the mansion was first built nearly a hundred years ago. But it was lonely and unsettling at times, particularly at night, to be the solitary person in a house meant to be filled from top to bottom with adults, children and servants, bustling with noise and activity long into the hours of darkness. So when the offer came to fulfill his childhood dreams, he had put the house on the market without notable reluctance.

So what made this place that he lived in now, this modestly-sized condo, a 'home'? It was spacious enough for two people to live comfortably, and still maintain some semblance of privacy. Even when he was alone in the residence, he never felt alone, yet — unlike in his youth as a college student — he did not mind the lack of solitude. The place was considered fairly modern by most standards — there were no true mysteries of what lurked underneath the hardwood floor or in the ivory-painted walls. Yet there was always a faint feeling of surprise when he re-scrutinized a familiar painting on the walls and found something new hidden in plain view.

And perhaps, that was the key. Never before had he met a woman who was so strong and yet so delicate in the same heartbeat, who surprised him at every turn — whether with her willingness to listen to him mindlessly ramble after a long, horrendous day for both of them or her gentleness with terrified children compared to her ferocity in hunting down criminals. For a man who believed that science was the discovery, not the invention, she was a constant, enthralling enigma that he wanted to explore for the rest of his life, but never to conquer. She challenged him to discover new ways to cherish her, to know her as a person, and she did the same for him in return. Every day was a new beginning, a new story that he shared in telling, the first beat of a life-long waltz that effortlessly traversed the stars and seas. He was part of a whole: strength for weakness, support for need, laughter for tears, give for take, take for give, and never alone.

He moved quietly into the room, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. As he undressed and changed into his sleepwear, she stirred slightly in her sleep, her hand slipping out from under her pillow, the inset diamond band catching the silver beams of moonlight. He smiled as he slipped under the covers with her, and he knew. 'Home' was neither a physical structure nor a simple situation, but rather, the welcome spirit of loving and being loved in return.

He had had many homes in his life, but now he had come to his final home, to the woman he loved and who loved him in return.