A/N: A quick one-shot inspired by Oliver's scene on Thursday. Would love to know what you think.
Time and Space.
He remembers the last time he was here. It was merely a small café nestled upon the sand before it became known as 'Sugar Beach', now ridden with parasol umbrellas, middle-age couples regaining their youth and teenagers dressed as pigs.
His youngest daughter had been a mere three months old when Zoe had decided that it was time for a family day. An hour later found the family of five resting upon a well-used plaid picnic basket, surrounded by buckets, spades, sun tan lotion and the fresh sea air. He had eased himself away from the scorching sun with the excuse of getting some drinks from the nearby café, earning himself a seconds rest he had placed himself on one of the outdoor benches. His eyes had scanned the beach for his family before finally finding them, smiling to himself as Zoe shuffled baby Charlotte on her lap whilst pushing errant curls of out of Hannah's eyes and making sure that their oldest, Izzy, refrained from throwing sand to the wind. He had chuckled to himself as he caught a glimpse of the chaotic scene, marvelling in the fact that that was his family.
His heart drops as he's brought back to the present; his hands draping over the steering wheel of the car, a sigh of desperation escaping his lips. His eyes scan the barely-lit beach for the scene again but he knows that it isn't there, it's empty. He can hardly believe that it's been three years since they had visited here as a family, they had come nearly every weekend that Oliver had managed to get off before Charlotte had been born. Now, he wonders if the lack of the 'family days' should have been a sign that something was changing.
She'd asked for space. Time and space. He couldn't refuse her; he cherished her enough to grant her the space she claimed she desperately needed. But he hadn't expected time and space to last as long as this. Three weeks. She had been gone for three weeks, taking his girls with him. She had told him on the Wednesday evening and by the time he had returned from his Thursday morning shift the house was empty - their holiday suitcases absent, the girls' uniform gone, toys and books missing.
He'd never forget that initial feeling of sheer loss in those first few seconds. The eerie silence of the large home had consumed him within minutes, forcing him out too. He had found himself back at the penny, greeted curiously by Sam and Jerry. He had thought about telling them right there and then, just like he had numerous times over the past three weeks, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Telling them would make it official, he would be admitting defeat. So he shrugged it off, making something up along the lines of Zoe having a book club meeting at the house. Then he had returned to the empty home, sweeping through each of the girls' room just as he would every night before finally reaching their room.
Then it became too much. Their marital bed lay empty, her bedside table vacant. He couldn't face it that night; he had merely retrieved his pyjama bottoms from beneath the pillow on his side of the bed before making his way to the couch. He had slept on the uncomfortable and squeaky leather couch for the past three weeks now, his aching back begging him to return to the comfort of his bed only to be met with his own refusal. The bed was made for both of them and he refuses to return to its comfort until his wife is nestled into his side.
He couldn't face neither the penny nor his home tonight. Dov had almost broken him today. Oliver had always known he was blessed. Lucky to have found a wife who understood the long hours, accepted the bad moods and sleepless nights the job brought. He'd always seen her as completely out his league, extremely intelligent and utterly intimidating. He remembers trying to show off the badge in an attempt to get her number the first time he saw her, he remembers the extravagant tales of being on the job he would tell her in those first few months of dating. Then she had told him that she didn't love him because he was a good cop, she loved him because he was a good man. It nearly slayed him to repeat those words to Dov today, and now all he can think is what had changed. He's forced to question when he stopped being 'a good man', when his useless jokes or incessant eating had become too much.
Those three words keep replaying in his head.
Time and space.
Time and space.
Time and space.
He remembers overhearing a conversation between Sam and Andy before. 'Time and space McNally, you said it none of us were experts'. He had chuckled outside of the locker room upon hearing Sam utter the words, there was something so utterly ironic about a hearing a man who barely spoke uttering something so meaningful.
But he was right, time and space – it's tougher than rocket science.
He counts the days now. A mark on the calendar on how long he's suffered the silence, how long he has until the weekend – until he sees his girls. He tries to keep it normal for them, picks them up with a smile on his face and a wave to his wife at the front door.
But it's too much. Too much time away from them, too much space between them.
He runs his hands over his balding head, sighing into the car seat. He knows he has to go back soon, back to the silence, back to the loneliness. But I have time, he thinks, and space. Time to relive the good memories he had here, and he's so consumed by these memories that he fails to notice his fellow officers embracing a mere fifteen yards away from him or the three teenagers heaving a red umbrella out of the vicinity.