This is my take on the destruction of Abby's marriage to Richard. From the
fanfics I read, everyone seems to think that they didn't get along from the
start, that it was a marriage of convenience, and that it was destined for
failure. However, from what I've seen, and from the way Abby has spoken, I
don't think that's what happened. This is my version of the downfall of
their marriage. Clearly no spoilers here. Comments, constructive
criticism welcome. If you don't like Abby, I'm really not interested.
And, a second small note, the title, Les Ravages, is French, from the expression faire des ravages which literally means "to cause ravages," but is actually a slang expression for "to break hearts." Interpret as you wish.
TITLE: Les Ravages AUTHOR: Alyssa DATE: January 18th, 2003 SUBJECT: Abby angst SPOILERS: If you've seen "Where the Heart Is," you're fine. Even if you haven't, you're probably still fine. RATING: PG for some sexual innuendo, possibly some language later on DISCLAIMER: They're mine, mine, mine! All mine!! And if you want to sue me, it is clearly very much worth your trouble, because I don't even have enough money to rent a movie at Blockbuster. Why do we bother with these anyway?
Les Ravages
Chapter One: Le Bonheur de Vivre ~*~*~*~*~*~
"Why don't you and I get together and take on the world and be together forever? Heads we will and tails we'll try again, so I say why don't you and I hold each other, and fly to the moon and straight on to heaven. Cause without you they're never gonna let me in." --Chad Kroeger
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Abby," a voice says. "Abby."
"Mmm," I groan, rolling over. Damn. I hug the blanket's warmth to me, as if it will somehow delay the inevitable.
He laughs. "Abby, come on," he says, gently kissing my lips. "It's 7:00."
I open one eye to look at him, nearly blinded by the lamp beside the bed. "What day is it?" I manage groggily, lifting my head weakly.
"Tuesday," he chuckles.
I flop back against the pillow, rubbing my forehead with the heel of my hand. "I have hematology at 8:00."
"I know," he says smiling. I close my eyes again. "Come on, Abby, let's go," he wheedles. "Go get ready; I'm making breakfast."
I sit up very slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm so tired," I sigh, dragging my legs over the side of the bed. I don't move for a long moment, adjusting to the not-so-pleasant feeling of being upright.
"Maybe we shouldn't stay up so late," Richard says, winking mischievously.
I grin, remembering last night. "It was worth it," I assure him confidently.
He nods. "It certainly was." We stand on opposite sides of the room, drinking each other in-me in my flannel pajama pants, disheveled black tank top and messy bed hair, him dressed for work in a neat suit and the tie I got him for Christmas.
He crosses the room and kisses me passionately. I lose myself in his lips, his hands, and for a moment I forget about my hematology class, and the eight hour nursing shift I'll have to work afterwards. I forget about making ends meet and staying sober and quitting smoking and taking care of my mother, and all I can comprehend is his fingers in his hair and his tongue teasing mine and his arms wrapped around my back, holding me, loving me.
A sudden burst of music shatters the silence and we both jump apart. I laugh. "My alarm clock," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "See, you woke me up too early!" I joke, hitting him playfully.
Richard tugs on my long brown hair. "Get dressed," he says, firmly but cheerfully. "Omelets in ten minutes!"
"Oooh, omelets," I tease as he walks out of the room.
I emerge 12 minutes later, having managed to dig up a pair of semi-matching blue jeans and blouse, brush my teeth, and yank my hair into something that resembles a ponytail, to find an omelette and a mug of coffee waiting for me on the table. "God, you're the best," I say happily, sinking into a wooden kitchen chair and digging in. "Hmm, mushrooms!"
He grins, sitting down across from me and neatly chopping his own omelette into small squares. "Well, you're cooking dinner tonight."
Mouth full of eggs, cheese, and mushroom, I manage, "I'm on till eight."
He smiles. "I win," he says, sighing dramatically. "Eight-thirty."
I stick out my tongue, nearly choking on a mushroom in the process. "Be that way."
We eat silently for a moment. "What's your schedule Thursday?" I ask. Our second anniversary.
He sighs, this time unhappily. "I'm on noon till midnight."
I nod, unsurprised. Being a surgical intern sucks. "That really kills the day, doesn't it?"
"Brunch, maybe?" he offers.
I shake my head. "Hematology at eight, internal med at ten, neurobiology at four, and my study group's supposed to be meeting sometime in between."
"That's right," he says contemplatively. He thinks for a moment. "Saturday?" he says suggestively. "I'm off."
I consider this. "Me too," I say, smiling.
He raises his eyebrows. "Wow. First time that's happened in a while, huh?"
I purse my lips and consider this. "Yeah," I giggle. "I don't even remember the last time."
"Yeah, it was probably last summer," Richard jokes. "So, what shall we do?"
I smile. "Surprise me," I offer.
"I like that idea," he says. Our smiles fade.
I take another bite of my omelette. "It's only going to be a couple years," I sigh.
"I know," he says, grinning weakly. "And it'll be worth it."
"Yeah," I say, beaming. "We'll open up our own practice."
We both get lost in the dream we've shared since I announced my intention to go to medical school. The moment is destroyed when I glance at my watch. "Shit!" I cry. "I'm gonna be late."
I run to the bedroom. "Bag," I say to myself. "Bag, bag, bag."
"Couch!" Richard calls.
"Right!" I say, running to the couch and grabbing my black bag, slinging it haphazardly over my shoulder. "Books.Where did I leave those?"
"Desk!" Richard says. I swear he finds this funny.
"Why are you so organized?" I yell, grabbing the small stack of textbooks and notebooks from the desk in the living room.
"Have a good day!" Richard calls as I make it halfway out the door.
I run back inside, my books nearly falling out of my arms. "Love you!" I say, pecking his lips and turning back toward the door.
"Love you, too!" he shouts after me, laughter ringing in his voice.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Happiness is like Coke-something you get as a byproduct in the process of making something else." --Aldous Huxley
~*~*~*~*~*~
I find it mildly amusing that the first thing we want to do on our only day off together is sleep. For hours and hours and hours. Long weeks-or maybe it's months; I've lost track-of working 16 to 20 hour days have that effect. When I finally open my eyes at 11:30 I'm almost surprised that the sun is peeking through the gold and teal curtains Maggie made us as a wedding gift.
Lying in the quiet of our bedroom, with Richard breathing evenly beside me, I let my mind drift back to our wedding day, two years and two days ago. It had been a beautiful April day, the sun shining brightly, the air warm and summery. We'd been married by a justice of the peace in the backyard of Richard's family home outside of Chicago. When I think of that day, I think of the smell of roses-there were so many of them surrounding us, white and pink and red and yellow. Maggie was there, on her medication consistently for the first time in years, although it didn't last long after that. She'd made my dress, and it was gorgeous-long, flowing white silk, with detailed embroidery. I'd never owned anything so pretty.
It was just us there, in that beautiful garden-Richard and I, Maggie, Eric, Richard's parents, three younger sisters and grandmother. Richard and I had kissed for the first time as husband and wife in the sun-dappled morning, then run out of the backyard as his shrieking sisters threw rice over us to a waiting car, and a vacation to St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands, the first and only time I'd ever been to the Caribbean. We're planning to go back soon, though-as soon as I'm a doctor, and Richard's finished his internship, and we don't have to worry about money.
Richard's breath on my neck brings me back to reality, and I smile, turning my head to meet his lips. "Happy anniversary," he whispers huskily.
His hand trails seductively down my side. "It's not our anniversary," I say breathlessly.
"It is this year."
He rolls over onto me, his eyes glowing with desire. "Rich."
~*~*~*~*~*~
We have a picnic lunch at the lake, lying on a blanket together in a sea of emerald grass eating turkey sandwiches and sipping sparkling apple cider, talking about everything and nothing. It's very romantic, really-well, in the grand scheme of things.
"I'm proud of you, Abby," Richard says, lifting his champagne flute in a toast and indicating the bottle with his other hand.
I smile happily, clinking glasses with him and taking a sip. "Thank you," I say. I turn toward the sky, watching a bird fly lazily overhead. "I am too."
He touches my cheek affectionately. "Good." He swirls his sparkling cider thoughtfully. "Is it getting easier?" he asks seriously.
I consider that for a long moment. When I'd first quit drinking, more than two years earlier, it had been nearly impossible to resist the temptation to hit a bar and drown my sorrows in tequila. As luck would have it, I'd picked a particularly bad time to quit. Two weeks into my life of sobriety, my mother had shown up at my doorstep-well, our doorstep, really, as Richard and I had been living together since my graduation-raving drunk and clearly at the height of mania. It was a stressful, exceedingly difficult experience that, as usual, culminated in Maggie refusing to take her meds and running away.
I'd wanted a drink. I'd wanted it so badly I thought I might die if I didn't get one. So badly that a month after my last drink, I nearly went into physical alcohol withdrawal.
And Richard held me.
Through several long, feverish days and nights, he held me, whispering soothingly unintelligible sounds and promising-promising-that everything would be okay.
And it was.
"Yeah," I say finally. "It is." I search his eyes. "I don't need it anymore," I say confidently. "I have you."
He nods, his brown eyes shining with happiness. He searches for words, then seems to change his mind and nods again.
I swallow the last of my cider and roll onto my back, watching as the puffy white clouds scroll across the cobalt blue afternoon sky. A plane flies over, heading for destinations unknown. "Do you ever wonder where people are going?" I ask.
He leans his head against mine, and together we watch the plane disappear into the blueness. "I don't know," he admits.
"I do," I say, my voice far away. "I imagine it. While I'm working, or walking home. I think that maybe they're going to Paris, or London. Or maybe Tokyo. And then I wonder if they're going on vacation, or on a business trip, or if they're going home."
"Why Paris or Tokyo?" Richard asks curiously. "Why not Philadelphia, or Minneapolis?"
I shrug my eyebrows. "They don't have the same.mystique. And it's harder for your problems to follow you over water than land." I close my eyes, picturing. "I used to pretend I was Madeline. Walking through Paris in a straight line and always getting into trouble." I laugh at the memory. "I took French in high school just so that when I inevitably moved to Paris, I'd be able to fit right in. Seemed like the only place I would fit right in." I shake my head slightly. "Inevitable, huh?"
"I didn't know you wanted to travel."
"Not around here," I say deprecatingly. "To Europe though, and Asia. I used to dream about living abroad when I was little. Someplace Maggie couldn't follow."
There's a long, painful silence. "When you graduate med school we'll go to Paris," Richard says suddenly.
I turn my head to look at him, surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah," he says, turning his face to meet mine. "You and me on top of the Eiffel Tower? Eating escargots in bistros on the Champs Elysées?"
I scrunch up my nose. "Escargots?"
"Or croissants," he laughs. "Or pastries."
"Pastries is more like it." I kiss his cheek. "So, in the more immediate future, what are we doing tonight?"
Richard rolls over onto his stomach, looking at me playfully. "That's for me to know, and you to find out," he says childishly.
I roll my eyes in jest. "Grow up."
"I will," he says seriously, his eyes watching me intensely. "Tonight."
~*~*~*~*~*~
"The heart may freeze, or it can burn. The pain will ease if I can learn there is no future, there is no past-I live this moment as my last. There's only us, there's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way, no day but today." --Jonathan Larson
~*~*~*~*~*~
"That was amazing," I sigh, as Richard unlocks the door to our apartment. "I wish I could sing."
"I don't," he jokes.
Richard's surprise evening consisted of sushi at my favorite Japanese restaurant and third row seats to Rent. "How did you get those tickets?" I marvel again, flopping onto the worn-out couch and leafing through the playbill.
"I have my ways," he says mysteriously. I frown at him, but he grins impishly, and I can't help smiling.
"Why am I so lucky?" I wonder out loud.
He laughs. "Lucky that you married a man with such excellent connections, or lucky that you married me."
I find myself lost in his eyes again. "Lucky that I married you," I say, my voice serious.
He leans down to kiss me, our lips melting into one as if they belong that way. He slides his hands under my back and knees, lifting me into his arms. "Rich!" I shriek, as he carries me toward the bedroom.
He nibbles at my neck. "Shh," he says, between kisses. "You'll wake the neighbors."
"I don't care," I laugh, as he lays me down on the bed, and moves to fumble with the buttons on my blouse.
"Good," he says, kissing gently down my chest. "Neither do I."
~*~*~*~*~*~
...to be continued
And, a second small note, the title, Les Ravages, is French, from the expression faire des ravages which literally means "to cause ravages," but is actually a slang expression for "to break hearts." Interpret as you wish.
TITLE: Les Ravages AUTHOR: Alyssa DATE: January 18th, 2003 SUBJECT: Abby angst SPOILERS: If you've seen "Where the Heart Is," you're fine. Even if you haven't, you're probably still fine. RATING: PG for some sexual innuendo, possibly some language later on DISCLAIMER: They're mine, mine, mine! All mine!! And if you want to sue me, it is clearly very much worth your trouble, because I don't even have enough money to rent a movie at Blockbuster. Why do we bother with these anyway?
Les Ravages
Chapter One: Le Bonheur de Vivre ~*~*~*~*~*~
"Why don't you and I get together and take on the world and be together forever? Heads we will and tails we'll try again, so I say why don't you and I hold each other, and fly to the moon and straight on to heaven. Cause without you they're never gonna let me in." --Chad Kroeger
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Abby," a voice says. "Abby."
"Mmm," I groan, rolling over. Damn. I hug the blanket's warmth to me, as if it will somehow delay the inevitable.
He laughs. "Abby, come on," he says, gently kissing my lips. "It's 7:00."
I open one eye to look at him, nearly blinded by the lamp beside the bed. "What day is it?" I manage groggily, lifting my head weakly.
"Tuesday," he chuckles.
I flop back against the pillow, rubbing my forehead with the heel of my hand. "I have hematology at 8:00."
"I know," he says smiling. I close my eyes again. "Come on, Abby, let's go," he wheedles. "Go get ready; I'm making breakfast."
I sit up very slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm so tired," I sigh, dragging my legs over the side of the bed. I don't move for a long moment, adjusting to the not-so-pleasant feeling of being upright.
"Maybe we shouldn't stay up so late," Richard says, winking mischievously.
I grin, remembering last night. "It was worth it," I assure him confidently.
He nods. "It certainly was." We stand on opposite sides of the room, drinking each other in-me in my flannel pajama pants, disheveled black tank top and messy bed hair, him dressed for work in a neat suit and the tie I got him for Christmas.
He crosses the room and kisses me passionately. I lose myself in his lips, his hands, and for a moment I forget about my hematology class, and the eight hour nursing shift I'll have to work afterwards. I forget about making ends meet and staying sober and quitting smoking and taking care of my mother, and all I can comprehend is his fingers in his hair and his tongue teasing mine and his arms wrapped around my back, holding me, loving me.
A sudden burst of music shatters the silence and we both jump apart. I laugh. "My alarm clock," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "See, you woke me up too early!" I joke, hitting him playfully.
Richard tugs on my long brown hair. "Get dressed," he says, firmly but cheerfully. "Omelets in ten minutes!"
"Oooh, omelets," I tease as he walks out of the room.
I emerge 12 minutes later, having managed to dig up a pair of semi-matching blue jeans and blouse, brush my teeth, and yank my hair into something that resembles a ponytail, to find an omelette and a mug of coffee waiting for me on the table. "God, you're the best," I say happily, sinking into a wooden kitchen chair and digging in. "Hmm, mushrooms!"
He grins, sitting down across from me and neatly chopping his own omelette into small squares. "Well, you're cooking dinner tonight."
Mouth full of eggs, cheese, and mushroom, I manage, "I'm on till eight."
He smiles. "I win," he says, sighing dramatically. "Eight-thirty."
I stick out my tongue, nearly choking on a mushroom in the process. "Be that way."
We eat silently for a moment. "What's your schedule Thursday?" I ask. Our second anniversary.
He sighs, this time unhappily. "I'm on noon till midnight."
I nod, unsurprised. Being a surgical intern sucks. "That really kills the day, doesn't it?"
"Brunch, maybe?" he offers.
I shake my head. "Hematology at eight, internal med at ten, neurobiology at four, and my study group's supposed to be meeting sometime in between."
"That's right," he says contemplatively. He thinks for a moment. "Saturday?" he says suggestively. "I'm off."
I consider this. "Me too," I say, smiling.
He raises his eyebrows. "Wow. First time that's happened in a while, huh?"
I purse my lips and consider this. "Yeah," I giggle. "I don't even remember the last time."
"Yeah, it was probably last summer," Richard jokes. "So, what shall we do?"
I smile. "Surprise me," I offer.
"I like that idea," he says. Our smiles fade.
I take another bite of my omelette. "It's only going to be a couple years," I sigh.
"I know," he says, grinning weakly. "And it'll be worth it."
"Yeah," I say, beaming. "We'll open up our own practice."
We both get lost in the dream we've shared since I announced my intention to go to medical school. The moment is destroyed when I glance at my watch. "Shit!" I cry. "I'm gonna be late."
I run to the bedroom. "Bag," I say to myself. "Bag, bag, bag."
"Couch!" Richard calls.
"Right!" I say, running to the couch and grabbing my black bag, slinging it haphazardly over my shoulder. "Books.Where did I leave those?"
"Desk!" Richard says. I swear he finds this funny.
"Why are you so organized?" I yell, grabbing the small stack of textbooks and notebooks from the desk in the living room.
"Have a good day!" Richard calls as I make it halfway out the door.
I run back inside, my books nearly falling out of my arms. "Love you!" I say, pecking his lips and turning back toward the door.
"Love you, too!" he shouts after me, laughter ringing in his voice.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Happiness is like Coke-something you get as a byproduct in the process of making something else." --Aldous Huxley
~*~*~*~*~*~
I find it mildly amusing that the first thing we want to do on our only day off together is sleep. For hours and hours and hours. Long weeks-or maybe it's months; I've lost track-of working 16 to 20 hour days have that effect. When I finally open my eyes at 11:30 I'm almost surprised that the sun is peeking through the gold and teal curtains Maggie made us as a wedding gift.
Lying in the quiet of our bedroom, with Richard breathing evenly beside me, I let my mind drift back to our wedding day, two years and two days ago. It had been a beautiful April day, the sun shining brightly, the air warm and summery. We'd been married by a justice of the peace in the backyard of Richard's family home outside of Chicago. When I think of that day, I think of the smell of roses-there were so many of them surrounding us, white and pink and red and yellow. Maggie was there, on her medication consistently for the first time in years, although it didn't last long after that. She'd made my dress, and it was gorgeous-long, flowing white silk, with detailed embroidery. I'd never owned anything so pretty.
It was just us there, in that beautiful garden-Richard and I, Maggie, Eric, Richard's parents, three younger sisters and grandmother. Richard and I had kissed for the first time as husband and wife in the sun-dappled morning, then run out of the backyard as his shrieking sisters threw rice over us to a waiting car, and a vacation to St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands, the first and only time I'd ever been to the Caribbean. We're planning to go back soon, though-as soon as I'm a doctor, and Richard's finished his internship, and we don't have to worry about money.
Richard's breath on my neck brings me back to reality, and I smile, turning my head to meet his lips. "Happy anniversary," he whispers huskily.
His hand trails seductively down my side. "It's not our anniversary," I say breathlessly.
"It is this year."
He rolls over onto me, his eyes glowing with desire. "Rich."
~*~*~*~*~*~
We have a picnic lunch at the lake, lying on a blanket together in a sea of emerald grass eating turkey sandwiches and sipping sparkling apple cider, talking about everything and nothing. It's very romantic, really-well, in the grand scheme of things.
"I'm proud of you, Abby," Richard says, lifting his champagne flute in a toast and indicating the bottle with his other hand.
I smile happily, clinking glasses with him and taking a sip. "Thank you," I say. I turn toward the sky, watching a bird fly lazily overhead. "I am too."
He touches my cheek affectionately. "Good." He swirls his sparkling cider thoughtfully. "Is it getting easier?" he asks seriously.
I consider that for a long moment. When I'd first quit drinking, more than two years earlier, it had been nearly impossible to resist the temptation to hit a bar and drown my sorrows in tequila. As luck would have it, I'd picked a particularly bad time to quit. Two weeks into my life of sobriety, my mother had shown up at my doorstep-well, our doorstep, really, as Richard and I had been living together since my graduation-raving drunk and clearly at the height of mania. It was a stressful, exceedingly difficult experience that, as usual, culminated in Maggie refusing to take her meds and running away.
I'd wanted a drink. I'd wanted it so badly I thought I might die if I didn't get one. So badly that a month after my last drink, I nearly went into physical alcohol withdrawal.
And Richard held me.
Through several long, feverish days and nights, he held me, whispering soothingly unintelligible sounds and promising-promising-that everything would be okay.
And it was.
"Yeah," I say finally. "It is." I search his eyes. "I don't need it anymore," I say confidently. "I have you."
He nods, his brown eyes shining with happiness. He searches for words, then seems to change his mind and nods again.
I swallow the last of my cider and roll onto my back, watching as the puffy white clouds scroll across the cobalt blue afternoon sky. A plane flies over, heading for destinations unknown. "Do you ever wonder where people are going?" I ask.
He leans his head against mine, and together we watch the plane disappear into the blueness. "I don't know," he admits.
"I do," I say, my voice far away. "I imagine it. While I'm working, or walking home. I think that maybe they're going to Paris, or London. Or maybe Tokyo. And then I wonder if they're going on vacation, or on a business trip, or if they're going home."
"Why Paris or Tokyo?" Richard asks curiously. "Why not Philadelphia, or Minneapolis?"
I shrug my eyebrows. "They don't have the same.mystique. And it's harder for your problems to follow you over water than land." I close my eyes, picturing. "I used to pretend I was Madeline. Walking through Paris in a straight line and always getting into trouble." I laugh at the memory. "I took French in high school just so that when I inevitably moved to Paris, I'd be able to fit right in. Seemed like the only place I would fit right in." I shake my head slightly. "Inevitable, huh?"
"I didn't know you wanted to travel."
"Not around here," I say deprecatingly. "To Europe though, and Asia. I used to dream about living abroad when I was little. Someplace Maggie couldn't follow."
There's a long, painful silence. "When you graduate med school we'll go to Paris," Richard says suddenly.
I turn my head to look at him, surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah," he says, turning his face to meet mine. "You and me on top of the Eiffel Tower? Eating escargots in bistros on the Champs Elysées?"
I scrunch up my nose. "Escargots?"
"Or croissants," he laughs. "Or pastries."
"Pastries is more like it." I kiss his cheek. "So, in the more immediate future, what are we doing tonight?"
Richard rolls over onto his stomach, looking at me playfully. "That's for me to know, and you to find out," he says childishly.
I roll my eyes in jest. "Grow up."
"I will," he says seriously, his eyes watching me intensely. "Tonight."
~*~*~*~*~*~
"The heart may freeze, or it can burn. The pain will ease if I can learn there is no future, there is no past-I live this moment as my last. There's only us, there's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way, no day but today." --Jonathan Larson
~*~*~*~*~*~
"That was amazing," I sigh, as Richard unlocks the door to our apartment. "I wish I could sing."
"I don't," he jokes.
Richard's surprise evening consisted of sushi at my favorite Japanese restaurant and third row seats to Rent. "How did you get those tickets?" I marvel again, flopping onto the worn-out couch and leafing through the playbill.
"I have my ways," he says mysteriously. I frown at him, but he grins impishly, and I can't help smiling.
"Why am I so lucky?" I wonder out loud.
He laughs. "Lucky that you married a man with such excellent connections, or lucky that you married me."
I find myself lost in his eyes again. "Lucky that I married you," I say, my voice serious.
He leans down to kiss me, our lips melting into one as if they belong that way. He slides his hands under my back and knees, lifting me into his arms. "Rich!" I shriek, as he carries me toward the bedroom.
He nibbles at my neck. "Shh," he says, between kisses. "You'll wake the neighbors."
"I don't care," I laugh, as he lays me down on the bed, and moves to fumble with the buttons on my blouse.
"Good," he says, kissing gently down my chest. "Neither do I."
~*~*~*~*~*~
...to be continued