Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Because Abraham and Rosita have like, nothing written for them last time I checked and I think that is a gosh-darn atrocity, okay?
Warnings: *Contains: spoilers from "Self Help" to "Crossed" adult language, adult content, sexual content, vague comic book references/possible spoilers in terms of backstory, my own personal take on their first meeting in Dallas, vague reference to attempted suicide, attempted sexual assault, mentions of divorce/marriage issues, reference to the usual emotional trauma, angst, sexual situations, friendship, love and unexpected bonding along the way.
Operation: Football Bat
Chapter One
She'd been different from his wife.
That was what had held his attention at first.
She was an unknown entity.
Fresh.
Interesting.
New.
She'd been a responsibility he hadn't wanted – hadn't been lookin' for - but had shouldered all the same. He hadn't been right, not for a long time after it'd happened – after his wife, their kids – his head hadn't been screwed on right. He'd almost ended it. He'd gotten caught up in the moment. Intending to deep throat his Glock all the way to a good old fashioned dirt nap when god's gift to Nerddom started hollering at him from across the parking lot.
Like it or not, Eugene had given him a purpose.
A reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
A mission.
He hadn't understood it at first.
Hadn't wanted to.
But right from the start, Rosita had always meant just a little bit more.
He was a simple man. Not that hard to figure despite what his wife might have had to say on the subject. He needed, well, to be needed. He needed something to fight for – a cause – something bigger than himself. He needed it like he'd needed his time in the service.
He knew it was fucked up. That it probably wasn't healthy putting all your eggs into one basket. And that if he'd ever slowed down long enough to get shunted off to some brainiac with a license to rifle around in his head, they might have suggested trying to live for himself for a change. But he'd always needed the rush.
He'd lived for the pride and surety that'd come hand in hand with the stiff lines of his dress uniform. Basking in the knowledge that even if lives were lost, there was always the bigger picture, the greater good. That everything had its time, purpose and place. And that you had to keep on going, keep fighting, because deep down this wasn't about you.
It wasn't about politics or religion or any of that crap.
It was about what was right and what was wrong.
And how the world balanced it out in the end.
But more than anything, it was about how he'd always felt like he had to be a part of it.
He still wasn't quite sure what to make of the fact that Rosita had understood that part of him without even having to try. Accepting it in a way Ellen never could.
He didn't like to think about it, to be honest.
Call him dramatic, or even a fucked up romantic, but he'd always pictured the end of their marriage as looking more like a battlefield - pock-marked and bloody - than the aftermath of some Soap Opera holiday special. He'd foreseen a fair fight, unplanned, honest and explosive. Something that would fit who they were - together and apart - or at least who he thought they were anyway. It seemed like he'd been wrong about a lot of things back then, and that assumption had only been the start.
They were two strong personalities who'd married early, too early. Like some rom-com's wet dream they'd been high school sweethearts, tying the knot just a year after graduation and only a few months before his first deployment. Their parents had been proud as hell and they'd been plum-drunk on each other.
"Mad love, ginger-snap," Ellen had always said, swapping his frown for a kiss as she dug her thumbs into the sore points of his shoulders after a day of getting his ass kicked out on the range with his unit. "Mad love is what we got. Now and forever. The world couldn't stop us if it tried."
But between that, the kids and his deployments, somewhere along the line, they hadn't just grown apart, they'd grown different. It got to a point where they made an art form of arguing over the phone. Of keeping their voices to a minimum during the screaming matches on his furloughs home and hiding the fact that he was sleeping on the living room couch more nights than not whenever friends and relatives came to visit.
In the end she'd given him and ultimatum.
Them or the job.
So he'd come home - retired.
Made the adjustment back into the civilian life with barely a ripple from the outside looking in.
Only it hadn't worked.
In fact, it'd only made things worse.
In the end, his sweet little suburban dream had guttered itself with salt-tracks, silence and something a bit less than a whimper.
"I left for you. I took early requirement. Handed over my unit - my men – all for you. You and the kids!" he roared. All clenched fists and a dangerous sort of deadly calm he didn't quite know what to do with as she looked up from her desk with tired eyes - the office nook strewn wide with all her newspaper shit despite the fact that she hadn't published a story in months.
"And you never let me forget it," she replied, voice hard as steel as the fire-brand he'd married made a brief re-appearance before apathy rushed in and ruined it. Softening it in a way that made him think if this shit didn't stop, it was going to end in tears - one way or another.
She shook her head sadly, like once again he'd managed to disappoint her. "No Abe. You left because I asked you to. That's the thing. You left for us, but if I hadn't asked. If I hadn't begged and pleaded and told you how important having you home was for me - for our family - it would've never occurred to you."
"You've always said you needed a mission and deep down I never understood that. I tried to. For fuck's sake Abe, I tried for years! But every time I got close to an answer, all I could think – all I saw – was us. Me and the kids and you off in some sand hill playing solider."
"Why weren't we never good enough?" she demanded, posture ram-rod straight as she held a steaming mug of tea in her hands like a shield. "For god's sakes Abraham, tell me why, give me something."
He didn't remember much after that.
Save for the sole sensation of his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Tempering the urge to backhand that stupid mug of tea all over the god damned wall. Telling himself over and over that it wasn't worth it. That he should've seen this coming a mile away, that-
He didn't remember who started it.
Or how he shot back.
All he did remember is how she finished it.
It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances, that she chose to break him with words. Using the one thing he wasn't good at to strip him raw and leave him with nothing - less than nothing - as he fought the urge to crumple right there in the middle of their god damn living room.
"You're a good man, Abraham. A good father when it comes down to it," Ellen reflected sadly, looking up at him with something so close to pity that sick surged in the back of his throat.
"But you're just that type, you know? The kind that was never really meant to come home."
He had them back for a little while - back when things first fell apart.
It had been close to a year and a half since he'd signed. Since he got the kids every other weekend plus holidays, rather than every night when he lugged his tired ass through the door after a day of listening to a bunch of spoiled brats whine about doing laps in the rain.
And hell if he hadn't sat bolt upright on the couch when Wildfire first made headlines.
He hadn't even thought about the fact that he'd proven her right when the first thing he did was ring up his old CO and get the entire thing right from the horse's mouth.
He'd been one of the lucky ones. The kind of paranoid that planned for shit like this. That had it all figured out – from his evac route to all the supplies they might need – prepped and ready to go close to half a week before the military starting flying troops into Atlanta.
What he hadn't counted on was Ellen putting her heels in.
"For god's sakes, Abe! You sound like a crazy person. The President just said that the CDC was working on a cure and that the military has it contained in- no! You know what, I don't want to hear it! We aren't going anywhere! I am swamped with work, Becca has her dental tomorrow and I need to get A.J. to soccer practise in-shit! Look, just stop calling me or I'll get your visitation revoked!"
She stopped taking his calls eventually, throwing his entire game plan right into the pisser. In the end they barely made it out. He rolled up just in time to catch her lugging suitcases off the front porch and into the suburban. Acting like she had all the time in the world as explosions and screams – someone's natural gas or maybe just a good old fashioned electrical fire - rippled through the neighborhood not two blocks over.
He'd seen it before. Tunnel vision.
He knew better than to go with words. He just scooped up the kids and stuffed them, tears and all, in the cab of his truck. He ignored the pile of suitcases still left by the front door and threw the suitcase she was wheeling clear over the hood of the car just in time for the neighbour's front window to come bursting open – a blur of dark shapes tearing through glass as the kids screamed and his hand fumbled with the snap on his thigh holster.
"Move!" he yelled. "Move your ass!"
The worst part about it was, back when she'd eventually served him with the papers, intimidating the lanky little slip of a lawyer she'd sent to the hotel he'd had to suck up his pride just to park alongside. Looking down at that plain, manila envelopment with the fancy seal stamped in the corner, he realized that when push came to shove, he didn't feel as broken up about it as he'd thought he'd be.
He tried not to think too much about that either.
A/N #2: Thank you for reading. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter, stay tuned!
Reference:
*"Football Bat" – is a US Army slang for an individual or way of doing things that is particularly odd.
*According to The Walking Dead wiki, Abraham's wife's name is Ellen. Their son was called A.J and their daughter, Becca.