Disclaimer:I own nothing but the car I live in. And it's not worth suing me for.
Author's Note: This is one half sequel, one half prologue to my first ever Jolie fic, "It Should be Raining" which you can find archived on this site. I've toyed with the idea of writing this since I wrote the original and started typing it up somewhere around September of last year. Reading the original is not a prerequisite to reading this, in fact, in someways it'll make more sense if you do it backwards.
Because I took so long to get it written it doesn't completely mesh with show continuity after the time I started writing it. I tried to incorporate events as they happened, but there were only so many rewrites I could do. Truth be told I'm a bit scared of this story as it contains our beloved duo doing some stupid things. And if you've read the original you know how the prologue part ends. You might want to have some tissues ready. Tho' I honestly think the original was more of a tearjerker than this.
Also, the disclaimer's a joke. I don't really live in my car.
Dedication: I have to thank everyone for their responses to "IsbR"—without it not only would this have never been written but I probably wouldn't have kept writing Jolie ff at all. I have to especially thank EternallyEC because if she hadn't been constantly prodding me I don't know if I'd have ever gotten this written. Thanks to her and PCGirl and Sam (and anyone I'm leaving out. Sorry!) for reading the rough draft and giving feedback. I have to give special thanks to Cru and winterangel06 for line editing this whole freaking thing. Besos!
"Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile,
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
With broken boughs and blackened leaves,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Driven by a storm that ever grieves."
From "The Two Trees" William Butler Yeats
"Hello." John wondered whether the irritation in Rex's voice was standard or an indication that he'd recognized his number on the caller ID.
"Balsom, it's John McBain. Sorry to call so late, but I need to know if you've heard anything from Kayla today. Or the last couple days?"
"Um… yeah," came the tentative response, "she's asleep on my couch right now."
Relief washed over him; later he'd think to question why Rex hadn't called him when she arrived, but for now it was enough to know that she was safe. "Thank God! Listen, don't wake her up. Don't let her go anywhere. I'm on my way."
"Uh… to do what exactly?"
What kind of question was that? "To bring her home."
"No, you're not," Rex said as though he were stupid for even suggesting.
"Excuse me?" he said grabbing his keys to leave even as he continued talking. "I'm her father; I'll decide-"
"When to piss her off so bad that she hitchhikes halfway from Philly to Llanview before she finally calls me from a truck stop to come pick her up?"
John tried not to think of all the things he knew happened to young girls hitchhiking. Or the kind of men who hung around truck stops. Kayla was safe; that was all that mattered.
"Look," Rex continued, "you want to come down here, fine. But your daughter's not exactly in the best place right now. You come storming in with that 'I'm your father, you'll do as I say' crap and she's just gonna run again. And we might not be so lucky this time."
"So what are you telling me to do?" he asked. He knew that as much as Rex might hate him, he loved his niece a lot more. And these days seemed much better able to communicate with her.
"Come on over," Rex said suddenly adopting the tone of a television announcer, "Just promise me that you'll talk to her and listen to her and treat her like a rational human being for a change."
"Okay," he promised opening the door, "just don't let her leave."
As he pushed the speed limit on the interstate a few minutes later he prayed silently. "Kayla, please still be there. Please wait for me." A sudden feeling of déjà vu overcame him and it hit him. He'd murmured the same prayer along this same stretch of road four years earlier.
Michael called as he was leaving work. It was a Tuesday. "John," he said gravely, "you need to get back here."
"She's worse?" he asked, trying not to let the panic show in his voice.
"She doesn't have much time left."
"We're coming for the weekend… you don't think that's soon enough?"
"John," he said firmly, "If you want Kayla to have the chance to say good-bye to her mother, you need to get her here as soon as possible."
And so a few hours later he was speeding down the same interstate with Kayla dozing in the backseat, begging Natalie not to leave before they got to her.
Rex greeted him at the door to his apartment with a key in his hand. "What's this?" John asked.
"Your room at the Angel Square Hotel," Rex said.
"I heard Jessica showed up here… I'm sorry," she said sinking down in the chair on the opposite side of his desk.
"Don't be," he said.
"I also heard that Roxy refused to rent you a room. I talked to her; it shouldn't be a problem now. Or if you'd prefer The Palace, obviously I'll comp you a room," she continued. Her voice was hoarse and softer than usual and she wouldn't look him in the eyes.
"Is that what it's come to?" he mused, "Comping rooms for each other?"
"You can always come home," she said looking up.
"How's Kayla?" he asked, changing the subject.
"How do you think she is?" Natalie asked, "She wants to know where her Daddy is and why he won't come home."
"What did you tell her?"
She bit her lip, unsuccessfully fighting back tears, "I told her it was a grown up thing and that you still loved her very much. How can I answer her questions when I don't understand the answers to them myself?"
"Kayla's asleep right now," Rex continued, "come back in the morning."
"I don't think so," John said attempting to walk past him.
"I do," Rex said blocking him, "because you need time to cool off just as much as she does."
"Rex-" he began wearily pressing a hand to his forehead.
Rex's expression softened slightly. "Look I promise I'll make sure she doesn't go anywhere or do anything stupid, but trust me on this. As someone who knows what it's like to be a mixed up kid-"
"Fine," John said snatching the key. There was truth and logic to what Rex was telling him, but he wanted to make it clear how much this irritated him. He was about to leave when the door behind Rex opened wider and Kayla blinked drowsily at him.
"Kayla-" he started to say before she gained full consciousness and turned an accusing glare to Rex.
"What is he doing here?" she demanded, "Did you call him?"
"No," Rex groaned.
"Then how-?"
"I called him," John interjected. "I was worried sick. Do you have any idea how dangerous that stunt you pulled was? Taking off without letting anyone know where you were going? Hitchhiking? What were you thinking?"
"I don't know," she said folding her arms across her chest, "I guess I wasn't. You can't be surprised, I mean you don't think I'm capable of thinking for myself anyway-"
"I never said-"
"Okay, okay," Rex said holding up his arms and physically inserting himself between the two of them. "It is way too late for me to have to deal with this and besides you're going to wake up the neighbors. We'll talk about this in the morning."
"I don't want to talk to him," Kayla said sullenly.
"Well then go back inside while I walk him out," Rex said. Casting her father one final glare she turned on her heel and disappeared into the apartment. When she was gone Rex turned to John. "Seriously, you've gotta cool it."
John shook his head in frustration. "She-"
"She's headstrong and stubborn," he filled in, "Gee, wonder where she gets that from."
He could hear shouting even before he got to the door. "Kayla!" Natalie's voice echoed, "This is not open for discussion. Now, get your stuff together before your father gets here."
He knocked. She answered the door looking worn and aggravated. He fought the urge to ask about her health. Instead he settled on, "What's going on?"
She growled. "You're daughter is the most head strong, stubborn…"
"Hmm," he said with a smile, "Where do you suppose she gets that from?"
"Don't start," she said putting her hands on her hips, "she gets it from your side as much as mine."
At that moment eight-year-old Kayla marched down the stairs wearing a pair of dress up heels and a blazer which appeared to have been borrowed from her mother's closet. She had a stack of papers in one hand. "Have a seat," she said coldly to her father, "this is going to take a while."
When he was safely settled on the couch she handed him the papers. "What's this?" he asked.
"I've decided to renegotiate the terms of the custody agreement," she explained. She had typed it up and tried to make it sound as official as possible. It would have been more convincing if the spelling had been accurate.
"Look on the bright side," Natalie said grimly, "she already has a promising future as a lawyer."
John scoffed. "No daughter of mine."
"All right, Dad," Kayla said turning to him, "I don't want to hurt your feelings. You know I love spending time with you and everything."
"But-?" he asked.
"But it's boring at your place," she groaned. "I don't know anyone and there's nothing to do and it's seriously damaging my social life. It feels like being grounded, and you don't want me associating your house with punishment, do you?"
"Point of order," Natalie said raising her hand, "your father actually lives in an apartment, not a house."
Kayla let out an exaggerated groan, "Irrelevant."
"If you say so," Natalie said quickly.
"So you're saying you don't want to spend weekends at my place anymore?" John asked trying not to let it show how hurt he was.
"Not exactly," she said with a sly smile he'd seen out of her mother one too many times.
"What are you saying then?" he asked.
"I think you should move to Llanview," she said, "that way, I can stay with you on the weekends, but I can still see my friends."
He was surprised by her suggestion and even more surprised at how tempting it was. Before he could say anything thing though Natalie spoke up again.
"Okay Miss Legal Prodigy," Natalie said turning back to Kayla, "why don't you go upstairs and take off Mommy's clothes while we look over these papers you've drawn up."
"So you'll think about it," Kayla asked hopefully.
"Kayla Aileen," she said in a warning tone pointing to the stairs. Kayla groaned in frustration as she slunk her way up the stairs. As soon as she was out of earshot Natalie turned to John and said, "Don't even think about it."
"How did you know I was thinking about it?" he asked defensively.
"I know you," she said with a smile as she walked into the kitchen. He stood to follow her.
"Is the thought of having me back in town that bad?" he asked. They still hadn't really talked about the 'incident' following Kayla's birthday party about a month ago. If anything was going to happen between them if would be much easier if they lived in the same town, but maybe they weren't ready for a step that big.
"What's bad is letting an eight-year-old think she can run her parents' lives," she explained.
"I guess I wasn't looking at it that way," he said, "So what do we do?"
Natalie sighed. "We knew this would get harder as she got older."
"Every other weekend?" he suggested.
"I hate to ask you to give up your time," she said.
He shrugged, "Well I can always come visit on my weekends off. If I wouldn't be imposing."
She smiled shyly. "No. You wouldn't." Just as he thought they might address whatever had been happening between them she broke eye contact and said, "She might be a while so if you want anything to drink or anything help yourself."
As he moved to the refrigerator he noticed an appointment card from Natalie's oncologist with an appointment listed for the coming Tuesday. "Everything okay?" he asked motioning towards it.
"Yeah," she said, "just a check up."
"I thought your check-up was two weeks ago?" he said.
She hesitated for a moment as if she were formulating a response then she sighed and said, "It was. They didn't like some of the test results. Nothing major they just want to run a few more tests. Make sure everything's okay."
He looked at her, trying not to let it show how much that news scared him. "Let me know when you find out anything."
"And if you keep pushing her she's gonna push back," Rex finished.
"So what am I supposed to do?" John asked.
"Go get some sleep," Rex said, "I'll talk to her and give you a call tomorrow morning. Let you know where to meet us and when."
John knew from experience that arguing with Rex or Kayla wasn't going to do any good, so he stormed out of the apartment building.
He didn't go right to the hotel; he was too keyed up to sleep. He made his way to the cemetery. It was a little late to be there; if he'd caught Kayla there at that hour he'd have lectured her on how unsafe it was. But he always liked to come there alone, and at that time of night he could be reasonably certain no one else would be there.
One Halloween—damn that was a long time ago—he'd found Natalie here, scared, confused, blood streaming down her face. But she wasn't here anymore. The black granite marker sure…
Natalie rolled her eyes as her brother left the room. "Rex is just mad at me because I told him I thought I should be cremated."
Unbidden the image jumped into his mind. Years ago, Natalie dressed in some grotesque cheerleader's outfit, bound to a basketball pole with flames licking at her skin. Fighting the urge to retch he rubbed his eyes as though that would remove the image.
"I take it you don't like the idea either," she said giving him a sideways look.
"Not especially," he said.
"I'm not letting them put me in the Lord family mausoleum," she said. "Place creeps me out and if I'm there inevitably someone's gonna insist on dragging Kayla there and-"
"Do we have to talk about this now?" he said as appalled by her casual manner as by the subject matter.
"Well we can't very well talk about it after I die."
Once he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of her here—at her mother's burial. Everyone said Viki's heart had been broken by Natalie's death and less than six months later it had finally given out. The family had gathered together for the second time that year in this cemetery; in the end Viki chose to be buried with her daughter rather than her father. During the prayer he'd looked up and seen a flash of red hair just behind the rest of the group and knew it was her. He'd seen Natalie on this very spot. But she'd never come back here after that. This wasn't the kind of place where she'd stay forever.
He knelt down and ran his fingers over the words etched on the stone; even in the chill night air it still retained some of the warmth of the day. As if some small part of Natalie's fire lingered in her tombstone. The grave was well tended—it always was. Jessica had hired a service to come out weekly and make sure it was clean and that there were always fresh flowers, but there was a second floral arrangement that wasn't sedate and elegant enough to have come from the Buchanans. Was it Rex? Roxy? He wondered how many people in this town still loved her enough to bring her flowers.
"I'm sorry Natalie," he said staring hard at the letters that were painfully visible in the moonlight. "I tried. I tried so hard but I still let her down somehow. I let you down again. Least it's par for the course, I guess." He shut his eyes, unable to look at the marble and flowers anymore. "God, I need you," he said as a lump began forming in his throat, "I need you to tell me what to do. How do I get through to her?"
He stopped talking and listened as though he could honestly hope for an answer. But there was nothing more than the sound of crickets and a faint rustle of wind in the leaves.
Part of him had always worried that with time he would forget the sound of her voice, the gleam of her eyes, the smell of her hair. And part of him wished he could drive it all from his memory. Because he couldn't remember the smile on her face at their wedding without also seeing her body crumple to the ground that day in the hospital. The disgust on Michael's face as he scowled at him over Natalie's sobbing figure. And the sound of her pleading, shouting his name as he walked away drowned out every giggle, every soft word ever spoken between them.
After a long moment he stood and left. What had he expected anyway? Even if Natalie could talk to him, would she have anything to say to him? Truth be told she was probably no more willing to speak to him than Kayla.
As he drove to the hotel and made his way up to his room he wondered when Kayla had really stopped talking to him. When had she stopped telling him how she felt about things, what was really going on in her life and started telling him just what she wanted him to know? When had that little girl he'd sat down at tea parties with become such a stranger?
He collapsed on the bed and realized for the first time that he hadn't packed anything. When he'd hung up with Rex he had no intention of staying overnight, he'd thought only of how much he needed to see with his own eyes that Kayla was okay. Shopping would have to wait till morning, he didn't think he could summon the energy even to run to the drugstore across the street to buy a razor and some soap.
Staring up at the ceiling he realized suddenly that this was the same room they'd lived in all those years ago when they were first together. He wondered if Rex had arranged that on purpose and if so was out of an urge to make him feel better or worse? The walls had been repainted and the mattress was new, but the memories were strong. Her presence was strong. He could still see her standing there with that ironic grin on her face.
"Well you sure managed to make a mess of things," she said flopping down on the bed next to him.
"You're not making me feel better about this," he groaned.
"Sorry," she said sounding as though she wasn't, "but I'm not really here to make you feel better."
"You're not really here," he pointed out.
She shrugged. "Touché." They lay there in silence for a moment before she spoke again, "You went to the cemetery."
"Yeah," he said.
"Why?" she asked.
She knew why, why did she have to ask? "I was looking for you."
"Funny," she said with a hint of a laugh, "there was a time when you were always the person who knew where to find me. Not anymore apparently."
"Sounds like you were there," he said bitterly, "you saw."
"I see pretty much everything these days," she said with the sort of tone you'd use on a young child. "I saw that you went by my grave, but you didn't go by his. You never do. Why?"
"No clue what to say to him," he said.
"Ah," she said as she seemed to process this information. "And what about Kayla? You have anything to say to her?"
"She needs you," he said, "She needs her mother."
"She needs her father," Natalie countered.
"She has a father," he said.
"Does she?" she asked sitting up and looking down at him, "Have any of us ever really had you?"
"Look," he said shutting his eyes, "if you're gonna show up like this could you at least not talk in riddles?"
"Well I got one more for you," she said, "why are you more comfortable talking to a dead woman than your own daughter?"
The phone woke him up. He looked over at the clock beside the bed—6:52. Early morning phone calls were never good.
He was so disoriented when the phone rang that he thought it was the alarm clock at first. He turned off the alarm and looked at it in confusion when it didn't stop. It was only 2:51 a.m.—he hadn't set the alarm that early. Finally he picked up the phone and managed a "Hello?"
"John?" said the female voice on the other end, "it's Jessica."
Dread smacked him suddenly on the side of the head; he knew why she was calling. "It's over?" he asked before she could say anything.
"It's over," she confirmed softly. He must have hung up the phone because at some point he realized that it wasn't in his hand anymore. Kayla had sat up in her bed and was rubbing her eyes groggily, looking at him in confusion. He remembered noticing how dark it was outside and wondering if it was possible that the sun was going to rise that day. And then looking at his daughter and wondering how he was going to tell her that her mother was gone.
"McBain?" the cranky voice on the other end demanded for the second time as he reminded himself that it was four years later. He was in a different room and there was no eleven-year-old in the next bed begging him to tell her that it would be okay. She'd turned into a fifteen-year-old who was across town hating him.
"Yeah?" he said.
"I convinced her to talk to you," Rex said.
"Okay," he said expecting him to put her on the line.
Apparently that wasn't the plan, "Meet us at the diner in Angel Square in an hour."
"All right," he said as Rex hung up the phone.
To be continued.