Title: Silent Understanding.
Author: Caia
Rating: PG
Characters: Abigail and Marshall. Mary as secondary.
Summary: They needed to have a serious conversation. Or maybe they had already said everything there was to say.
Spoilers: Season 4 episodes, specifically the finale.
AN: Inspired by the Abigail/Marshall hallway scene. Not betaed, mistakes are mine. And IPS is very obviously not.
Bullets and shattered glass had started flying and they had hit the floor, fast. And in a split second it had taken them all to duck, she had gone from confused to scared, to surprised, to angry, to jealous, and everything in between.
If Marshall had just ducked, or just happened to fall on top of Mary... Abigail shook her head. That had not been the case. He had ducked, thencrawled hurriedly to cover Mary's body with his own.
She had been just as close to him, and just as exposed as her. Granted, she was not eight months pregnant. But still, he had barely glanced her way. It hurt.
After the storm, the sky had cleared and she could see through the fog, a fog she hadn't even been aware of before. Like someone who thinks they have perfect eyesight, until they try a pair of glasses and realize they hadn't been seeing that well at all… that they'd been missing details… the trees that from the distance looked like a hazy mass of green actually had leaves… and there were countless stars in the night sky, not just a handful of them. The world was just brighter with glasses.
Abigail's world had not become exactly brighter, but clearer maybe.
She had approached him in that hallway and told him the bodies and flying bullets were part of the job description, and that he'd throw himself on top of Mary. The characteristic smile that would normally accompany such a comment had been missing. "I get it, I do," she had told him. And she had meant it. But her tone had been off.
When you have a realization, you can't go back. Like the kid who accidentally finds the Christmas presents in the guest room under the bed, wrapped up and signed "From Santa" or sees his father changing into a Santa costume just before midnight realizes that Santa does not exist. Even when his parents take him to the mall to see Santa, and he's told "You see, Santa's there and Daddy's right here," the kid just knows that thatguy with the white beard and the red outfit is just someone else's father. Perfectly clear.
They had stared into each others' eyes… both knowing the truth, both pretending they didn't… both willing to make the illusion last just a little bit longer, neither quite ready to let go of the beautiful lie they had fallen into. Not the time. Not the place. Too soon.
But sometimes the kid pretends he doesn't know. He goes along with it for his younger siblings, who still believe (really, I mean, how can they not see that when Santa comes by, Daddy is suddenly missing!), or for his parents who put a lot of effort into the show of Santa visiting and drinking the milk and eating the cookies, and leaving the presents under the tree… but it's just pretending. He will never reallybelieve in Santa again. There's no going back. No way to un-discover or un-know a truth.
Not much had been spoken after that. Let me clean that up a bit. I think I got it all. Thank you.What was there to say? It seemed like any other word spoken about the subject would break the spell. The more they spent without talking about it, as they started to get used to the reality they would eventually have to face, as they started to come to terms with the inevitable conclusion, the less it hurt. Acceptance grew.
Silence had extended from the courthouse to their house, that house they had just moved into, together. It had extended to the shower, the last shower they would share, they both knew. Silence had extended to the car as they drove to the wedding… They weren't ready. It was time, but they weren't ready. After the day they had had, shootouts and personal discoveries, having thatconversation was just too much to bear.
She had been in his shoes once upon a time, and she did get it. She had already forgiven him. Well, she wasn't sure there was anything to forgive. It wasn't like he was trying to hurt her or himself, in fact he had tried, hard, to make her happy, and to be happy (and not just convince himself he was happy). She knew he cared deeply for her, deeply enough that they could have a life together and be okay. They would both try their best, but their best would never be good enough. They could never be truly happy, knowing that they had stayed in a relationship because they had been comfortable and easy, even, rather than in love. Being okay was not enough: not for her, not for him, not for anybody. They deservedbetter than okay, they deserved better than a lifetime of wondering what might have happened if only one of them had been brave enough to tell the truth.
She had seen them sitting close together, talking, had called his name with as much cheer as she could muster, and noticed a second too late that she had interrupted something. Seeing them sitting on the steps, she had realized they really couldn't drag things any further. As long as she and Marshall were together, everyone would be stuck. She didn't want to be stuck. She didn't want Marshall to be stuck. Not if she could do something about it. She had shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looked down to the floor and tried to think what she would say once he finally came to stand by her side. She imagined running her hand from his shoulder to his hand, squeezing gently. All she could think of was that he was in love with Mary. And it wasn't accusatory, it was explanatory. And quite simple: she wanted to be with someone who could give himself to her completely, and he couldn't do that. Not because he didn't want to, and not because he didn't try. Mary was his partner. She had taken a deep breath and plastered a small smile on her face. She could do this. She was brave enough.
He had been walking towards her at a steady pace when Mary had cried out in pain and called his name.
If you walk with conviction, people will assume you know where you're going, that you have somewhere to be, that you're busy… It doesn't matter if youknow where you're going or not, it only matters how it looks.
The look he had given him when he had handed her his phone for her to call an ambulance had said much more than any conversation they could have had about their… situation. I'm sorry. I know we should have this conversation, but it'll have to wait a little longer. We both know what's coming, anyway.
Abigail found Marshall outside the nursery, staring at the sleeping baby through the glass. Soft tones and whispers filled with weariness. Some small talk, delaying. Silence. Then, an attempt at an apology. A tint of sadness and regret in his voice. I wasn't fair to you, I just… I should have… I never meant… I didn't think it-. Blue eyes getting teary. Understanding. Reassurance. I know. Brown eyes soft. A pause. I'm sorry.A small smile, small but real. An extension of friendship. Yeah.
The conversation didn't need to happen, after all. In that hallway, they had already said everything there wasto say, and they had avoided saying what they both already knew.
"So… does she have a name yet?"