Author's Note: Something mysterious laid me up so badly I was bedridden for days. I seem to be on the mend for now, but we'll see.
Takes place sometime after Parents McCord make it back, so...after my companion pieces Love Me As Though and When I Wake Tomorrow.
Disclaimer: Man, if I owned this I could stay paying bills. None of the characters are mine, however much I adore them.
Warnings: Gentle mother/son comfort. I couldn't help myself!
I Do It For You
"Mom?"
Elizabeth turned from where she was sorting laundry in their bedroom. She had washed the dirty clothes mostly successfully, though Henry had had to fix the washing machine. Again. He made no comment to her, but simply raised an eyebrow to her in passing. As she knew he would; he did every time she did laundry, now.
This wasn't Henry, however: this was their son. Their teenage son who was trying to find his place in the middle of the chaos of her and Henry's lives. He disavowed government, but more and more she was beginning to think he was questioning his own perspective. Not that he would ever fully change his mind, she reflected, yet he seemed almost willing to listen to the merits of working with the State Department lately.
"Yeah?"
She didn't pause in the middle of folding a T-shirt; Henry's. It still made her heart lift, that they had survived the last encounter abroad, to be able to do something as mundane as folding laundry. To think they had come so close to not being able to…
"Why do you do it?"
Elizabeth smiled as she patted Stevie's pile – done. "Fold laundry? Because I broke the washer again, and I owe it to your father to do something around here."
Jason shifted his weight, and it was his hesitance that made her look up and lose the humor. "I mean, why do you stay working at the State Department?"
She stopped in the middle of rolling up socks, letting them fall to the pile of the unfolded. "Well –"
He cut her off, sounding angry. "You and Dad are always gone. And you don't usually tell the truth about where you're going, or why. And I know you lie. I'm not dumb, and I get tired of hearing the TV anchors talk about you."
This much from her son was unusual. He had inherited Henry's quietude, albeit with more – what did kids call it these days? – 'tude. It could be the combination of her spunk and Henry's intelligence. God, what a combination.
Someday, she thought, a girl will fall hard for him.
She studied Jason, studied his impatience at her lack of response, saw how his shoulders were tense and his hands were shoved in the pockets of usual jeans. It was a rare weekend that she was home, and suddenly she saw how his chest would fill out, how his uneasy posture bespoke thoughtfulness despite the tension, and how much she had missed.
Time to be honest.
She left the clothes sitting on the bed – she would finish folding, but this was more important – and stood in front of Jason. He looked up at her, but only barely, his height nearly reaching hers. When did that happen?
She settled her hands on his shoulders, wanting to show him more of truth. After what happened recently, he deserved an answer with less lies and more hope. And this particular response contained no classified information whatsoever; in fact, it was probably the most public, though these days all three of her children needed the reassurance.
Ouch – that hurt. She schooled her expression and filed the hurt away, to get Henry's thoughts on later, in their new pattern of divulging their thoughts while getting ready for bed. He might have insight she was missing; at the very least, his arms would be comforting.
How to phrase her answer, though? And she knew – simply.
She made sure her gaze was level with Jason's and spoke as meaningfully as she could.
"I do it because I have a home to return to. I do it because when I see the difference I can make, it makes me work harder to do more. I do it because I swore to, and although the work is a challenge, it is worth it to be able to do good, any good, at all."
"Most of all," she continued, "I do it for you."
She cupped his cheek, tenderly, thinking of how much she loved her children, and how much she regretted being often away. "Jason, you and Stevie and Aly – all three of you inspire me. You are standing in a world broken and yes, corrupt." He smiled faintly in response. "But it doesn't have to be that way, not as long as I have a chance to change it."
"I do it so you can have a better chance, a more hopeful world. And on those days where that seems impossible…well, your father might say, 'the things we love most tell us what we are.'"
"Ugh, Mom, you're crying." He ducked away, nose crinkled in disgust, and wiped a tear from his face. "I didn't want you to cry."
"Am I?" She touched a hand to her own face, and indeed, there were tears. "Oh. Chalk it up to missing you, kiddo. I did. A lot."
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. Maternal love and all that, blah blah blah…" He turned to leave her to the laundry, evidently uncomfortable with too much emotion. Back to the internet, she supposed, or more likely, a game with Henry. He, too, was resting up this weekend, enjoying deeply the chance to be just…Dad.
Elizabeth turned back to the laundry, counting the socks she had already rolled up. Just a few more and she would be finished folding. And then she could clean the tub; a line was forming again around the basin.
"Thanks for being honest," he called over his shoulder, clattering down the hall. "And by the way, there's no ice cream left. I finished it."
"At ten in the morning?" she huffed back, indignant, but all she got was his laughter.
Scratch cleaning the tub. She would go get some ice cream, and then, perhaps, watch a movie, letting her children pick.
For them, she thought to herself, turning off the bedroom light and lugging the hamper. Always for them.