Author's Note:
Again, this work is based on an RP with one of my friends here on FF (username: 5423789). This side of the story wasn't explored fully so I wanted to write it out. This is in honor of my friend D (username: distortedme) who asked for this.
The only character I own is Gale.
Gale sat at a bench at the nearby park, watching people and children pass by. It was one of days that she hated cooping herself up in the office. The sun was warm, the breeze was cool and fresh, the sky was impeccably blue, and the sound of children playing was a symphony.
She smiled as she watched a group of children playing hide and seek, already forming in her head where one would hide. The smaller chubby one would probably go hide behind the small bushes by the fountain. The tall gangly one would most definitely climb a tree. The petite girl would race towards the jungle and crawl into one of those large pipes. The one with braces would smartly hide by the group of mothers chatting away at the corner of the park since none of the other kids would dare search near the mothers.
Where would her child go?
Gale hummed as she imagined a small girl with bronze skin, dark, curly hair, and a bright smile. She'll mostly likely get her eyes since she had heard from Nick that hers would be the more dominant one, but she'll forever wish that the child would have Dean's eyes. His wonderful brown eyes would turn light and almost amber in the warm light of the sun would have looked wonderful on her.
And she knew. She would tell her daughter "Wherever the seeker is going, hide somewhere behind him or her". Children chosen as seekers always leave their area too early, eager to find the other children. Her daughter then would giggle, peeking out from behind the tree that she was hiding in, before bounding over to the base, her bright smile challenging the sunlight that shone through the trees around her. And she would win. Oh, her daughter's smile would always win.
The other kids would groan and comment how they always couldn't find her. She would giggle and tell them her mother taught her a secret when playing hide and seek since her mother was the best at it when she was her age.
They would go for two more rounds, and her daughter would win again. She'd smile brightly at her friends, her eyes, though her mother's startling gray, would have the confident and wise look that her father has.
Gale would check the time and notice that it was getting late. She would have called out to her daughter and wave her over to her bench. A smile would easily slip to her face as she would watch her daughter—their daughter—run up to her and give her a big hug, giggling lightly in her ear.
"Did you see me, Mom? Did you see?" she would ask, bouncing in her mother's arms.
Gale would smile and nod her head, undeniable warmth coursing through her veins for her bundle of joy—her one source of peace. "I did. Tres bien, ma petit fleur."
Her daughter would smile, bearing her small and developing teeth at her. Gale would kiss her forehead and stand up, packing away their things in her daughter's small backpack before slinging the strap over her shoulder.
"Aren't we going to wait for Dad?" her daughter would ask. She would wonder why her mother's smile dropped a bit or why her gray eyes, a mirror of her own, dimmed a little. Her mother might think that just because she was young, she wouldn't see. But their daughter could see it well. She could see how her mother's smile…was a lie.
Gale would let out a light laugh, a forced one, and answer, "Dad's…going to be home late."
The two would never say it out loud, but the word "again" was evident in their silence, on tip of their tongue, on the breath that left their lips. Her daughter would simply nod and hold her mother's hand, hold it firmly and tightly, as if any minute her mother might turn to mist, might fade like the smile on her lips or the warmth in her eyes.
As the two would walk to their home, Gale would try to have a light conversation, avoiding the black hole that followed them. Their daughter had just started school. Her teachers were nice. Her classmates were nice. She made a friend named Colette. Next week, they were going to start finger painting.
When they would reach a crossing, the daughter would immediately raise her hand in the air as her mother would push the button on the lamp post to let them cross.
"Mom, you have to raise your hand too," their daughter would insist, raising her hand in the air as high as she could.
"Dad said that we should always be careful when crossing," she would say, tugging on her mother's hand lightly. "Raising your hand would let the drivers see you and stop."
Gale would smile fondly at her child and at the memory. That would be the time that they escorted him to work. Dean raised his hand high as he crossed with their daughter on the street, taking shorter strides so that their daughter would be able to catch up.
With a nod and a smile, Gale would raise her free hand up and cross the street. She would smile down at their daughter, glad to have her in her life. The look of sheer determination on her child's face to keep her hand up would be so endearing and so painfully familiar. It was the same look that Dean had when he would concentrate on his cases before he would lock himself in his study.
Once they would reach home, they would go into their routines. Gale would follow her daughter up to their daughter's room and help her take off her jacket and arrange her things from her bag. Her books from her school would go up on the light blue mini bookshelf at one corner of the room. Her notebooks would be placed on her desk next to her white and pale blue bed, ready for when she has to do her homework. Wrappers for sweets and snacks would then be thrown in her little green trashcan at the very corner of the room.
After helping their daughter take a bath, Gale would lead her to the kitchen where their dinner would be heated. Light conversation would start up again, though the empty chair at the very head of the table would always prove to be the black hole. Their daughter, as animated as ever, would tell Gale all kinds of stories from her school using her hands and, sometimes, her food. She would tell of how this one kid got in trouble for stealing another kid's shoe, how this girl was weird for following this boy around with a "weird expression", how this boy named Mathias got sent to the nurse's office for licking glue, and how their teacher almost slipped on a piece of lettuce that Caleb did not want to eat.
Of course, Gale would listen to every single word that their daughter said. The enthusiastic and energized tone from their daughter would make up for all of those years with dinners alone. She would be so thankful for that. Again, their daughter would provide her peace.
It was only when they had finished eating, when the dishes were washed, when their daughter was put to bed, and when Gale sat at the dinner table once more with Dean's dinner would everything crash down on her again. She was back to all of those earlier years. She would constantly reheat Dean's dinners as she would hold back on her tears and watch the hands on the clock run their course.
From eight to nine, nine to ten, ten to eleven, she would wait and wait and wait. Every hour, she would reheat the dinner as she strained to hear the jingle of the keys, the click of the lock, and the gentle call of her name. She would wait for arms to wrap around her shoulders and the sharp smell of winter and soap to fill her senses. She would imagine a time where the latest would be nine in the evening.
Gale would wait and wait and wait until it would be almost midnight and the tears that she held back would break down each of her walls and sear down her cheeks. Her eyes would be trained on the dinner that was slowly turning cold as she felt the bite of pain and longing infiltrate her mind and heart. And worse of all, she would know that this was still part of the routine.
"Mommy? Why are you crying?" a gentle and sleepy voice would ask.
Gale would let out a gentle gasp and snap her head towards their daughter, the little girl still clad in her pajamas and slowly rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"What's wrong, Mommy? Why are you crying over Dad's dinner?"
The bite would turn to a violent tear as she would start to swipe at her eyes, ashamed that their daughter caught her in that condition.
With shaky hands and a shaky smile, she would answer, "It's nothing, ma petit fleur. You have nothing to worry about. I'm just…tearing up from joy and…love for your Dad."
Their daughter would pad towards her mother and wrap her arms around her mother's leg, clinging on to it as she pressed her cheek to her knee. Gale's heart would become warm once more as her mind would become quite. Carefully, she would lift their daughter on to her lap and hug all of her pain and longing away.
Their daughter's arms would try to go around her mother's middle, though they were still too short to do so. Burying her head in her mother's shoulder and sweet-smelling hair, she would say, "Should I cry for Daddy too?"
There would be a sharp intake of breath as Gale would slowly pull away, her puffy eyes staring right at the gray that mirrored hers.
"Jane Althaea Thomas," she would say softly, fighting the urge to break out into another wave of tears, "Never show your father your tears. I simply forbid it."
"Why not?" their daughter would ask curiously, tilting her head slightly. "I'm really happy, and I love Daddy too."
Gale would shake her head, pressing her lips together as she would fight back a sob. "Only your Mommy can cry for him right now. You can…do other things to show your Dad that you love him. What about making a finger painting for him tomorrow, yes?"
Their daughter would smile and nod enthusiastically before letting out a yawn. Her eyelids would slowly flutter open and close, the long lashes fanning her cheeks.
"I think," Gale would start gently, pulling their daughter close and rubbing the child's back soothingly, "you should head up and get some rest. We want to wake up and create a great picture for Dad, yes?"
Their daughter would nod slowly, or perhaps that was just her trying to fight off the exhaustion.
"You should go to sleep too, Mom," she would say, yawning right in the middle of her sentence.
Gale would look at the dinner on the table, a light frown on her face.
"I have to wait for your Dad," she would want to say but would think better of it for the sake of their daughter.
Instead, Gale would answer in a quiet voice, "All right. You go up the stairs, and I'll get some rest too. Can Mommy stay with you tonight?"
Their daughter would nod and slide off her mother's lap, walking back towards her room in sleepy excitement at the thought of having her mother sleep over.
When she would hear the soft click of her daughter's bedroom door, Gale would take the Dean's dinner and reheat it one last time, straining her ears for the musical sounds of his arrival before hearing the beep of the microwave cutting through the silence. She would place the meal under a metal lid and stare at the table one last time before she would head up.
Her sigh would tumble into a sob as tears would freely run down her face and—Oh.
Gale looked down at her hands on her lap, finding drops of water there. Turning to the sky, she tried to search for any rain clouds and tried to search for any sprinklers nearby. But the sky was clear and blue, and the sprinklers were on the other side of the park.
Her sigh turned into a sob, and that's when she realized what had happened. Reaching up slowly, she felt moisture on her cheeks. Of all the times that she would cry, it just had to be in the middle of the park in a sunny and nice day on her lunch break.
Gale hastily wiped her tears and her eyes dry, the sounds of the children laughing as they ran for the base suddenly turning grating to her ears. It twisted and tore at her heart.
She could never have that. And it wasn't because she was infertile.
Gale would never forgive herself for making a child see her that way—for making a child see Dean that way.
The clear sky and fresh breeze didn't make her feel better as she slowly packed away her untouched lunch and went to work, steering clear of the path that most children took and listening to some music to drown out her pain, longing, and the sound of her heart breaking.