She's exhausted. Yet it was another day spent emotionally drained. Another day scratched down with memories she could only wish she could finally start to mourn. The pain still as sharp as a blade, dancing on every surface of her heart, eating up her mind, leaving her restless, almost desperate for that break. Until she starts wishing she would just crumble and end it. She shakes her head, willing herself to think about something else. Keep your head up, your priorities straight. That's her motto. What's keeping her from straying out of shape. Divert her from thinking about the missing piece in her life. She puts the last plate in the dishwasher and turns to put away the last of the cereal bar box she had pulled out in an effort to quell her son's famished stomach while they waited for dinner to finish cooking. She loves being a mother, it brought so much peace, laughter and balance to her life. She loves her son. Her balance in life. The only person that actually keeps her moving. The only person that gives her life meaning, urges her to wake up every morning. Keep up with goals. Keeps her grounded. The equilibrium she was missing. Somewhat of an equilibrium. She's trying to resist the temptation of the green bottle. She's been drowning in her work, she's way ahead than she needs to be but it's her only way of shutting her mind up, especially after she puts her son to bed. She fears the silence, the constant reminder that she's alone now.
Think about the case. Think about the case. But she already had noticed a breach in the contract. A clause that shouldn't be there and screws the other side's claims completely. She had her ideas in place. She just needed to lay them down. And after more than a decade as a lawyer, it was a piece of cake. Not much to keep her distracted enough to think about something else. Anything else but how her life took a turn she never expected it to take. She can remember that day as if it was yesterday, when it actually took place almost three years ago. Two years, eight months and two weeks, to be exact. It's bitter, and deep down she hates herself for keeping the count down, hoping that someday someone will actually tell her it was some sick joke. That he hasn't been ripped from her life so abruptly.
The memories of him are dancing in her head. So vivid sometimes she woke up disappointed feeling the coldness of the other side of the bed. At the void it left so deep, so poignant. Almost three years later, and she still couldn't move on. It was impossible. Try taking her heart out instead. She tried to move on with her life, everyone on both sides of the family meddling in until she agreed to put herself back in the dating market. But no one was him. He had left a print, labels and marked her as his deep within her soul. Sometimes it was almost depressing. Depressing because she couldn't see the bits of him in the faces of potential candidates as she bitterly called them. Depressing that she still looked for similarities in the faces sitting opposite the table. Dates felt like acid washing her whole body, a poison to the soul, and now she was taking a break. A break from everything, thankful she could use the parenting excuse. After all, she was now both a father and a mother to little Ryan. Her baby boy who looked so painfully like his father. The man who damned her soul. Who gave her a taste of what ecstasy tasted like, what loving wholly and completely truly meant. What an earth-shattering love tasted like. Only to have it ripped from her life, so abruptly.
The first few months were hell; she was a sleep-walking zombie. A non-functioning human. Everything was dull, bland, she was in some kind of denial. She would sit in his recliner, that old ugly piece of furniture she hated so much and he loved to death, and stare indefinitely to the front door. As if he would one day open the door and the nightmare would finally stop. Suddenly like it initially started. And they would be back to being a family. The tight-knit bundle of love that they used to be.
The sound of the washing machine starting startles her thoughts. She shakes her head. She grabs the bottle. Tonight will be one of those nights. She grabs the ridiculously big wine glass; her favorite. Her signature glass as they used to joke about it. Except that now, it doesn't feel like something she'd laugh about. She puts everything on the average sized coffee table and as she goes to retrieve her suitcase- first, climbing the stairs she peeks at her son's bedroom, checks to see if he uncovered himself in his sleep before heading back down to the living room. She takes the remote, unmutes the TV and switches to the news, her attempt at some background noise, somewhat of a not-so-useful distraction. An attempt to kill the gnawing feeling of loneliness. She makes herself comfortable in what, ironically, became her favorite seat –the recliner- crossing her legs underneath herself and takes her notepad, and starts to furiously scribble notes, dates, and ideas. She writes the detailed usual steps until her fingers go numb, twirling on the thin paper, until her mind goes on autopilot, like a robot, a vain attempt at numbing the memories that emerge to the surface when she has some alone time. Spare time on her hand is an enemy, teasingly bringing up memories in an attempt to choke the life out of her.
The slight friction noise of feet moving on the staircase carpet suddenly startles her in her thoughts, bringing her back to what reality really looks like, to a house too big, too full of painfully sweet memories and unfinished dreams. She looks up, taking in the striking resemblance between the little boy and his father. It still gets her every time. Meeting the slightly lighter shade of smaller blue orbs is always the hardest. It's what makes her heart ache, clutch so hard as if air judged her unfit to inhale again. But she smiles, forcing some oxygen down her lungs, puts the notepad and glass down and opens her arms, a heartfelt gesture to get some love, grasp the last bit of paradise left within her arm reach. And the little boy curls his body into his mother's, his face in her bosom, ear against her heart, taking comfort in its steady beating. He exhales, more tears streaming down his soft chubby cheeks.
"Bad dream?" she softly asks, running her hand in a pattern that she knows will ease whatever is bothering her son. He nods, clutching his favorite teddy bear tighter in the already limited space between their bodies, hugging some comfort to them, a makeshift security blanket falling over him. "Do you remember what it was about?"
"Not really," the soft innocent voice fills the room, a yawn barely contained but she can tell he won't fall back asleep, not with trouble in his mind. He looks up at her and hesitates for a moment, "Can we look at the album?" The pain is stabbing her in the heart, the blade sliding deeper again and again. But despite every emotion that's killing her, she wouldn't turn him down. She should have expected it; family albums were his source of comfort, her source of pain.
She kisses his temple affectionately, taking a moment just lingering there, seeking some reassurance, she smooth his unruly curls, "Sure. You go grab it?"
He comes back less than two minutes later, both hands supporting the thick black book filled with so many memories, capturing so much love and hopes and dreams. Their love, hopes and dreams. She settles him on her lap, in front of her, gently placing his head back to her chest, combing through his curls, trying pointlessly to tame his front curl, an inheritance from his father. The curl impossible to tame. Ryan opens the thick book, chubby fingers gently fingering his baby bracelet like he's been taught to, she takes his forefinger, tracing his name on the white hospital paper, 'Ryan Thomas Grant'. She can remember how upset she first was when he wanted to stray from the family legacy, he didn't want his son to bear what he doomed as an old-fashioned name, he wanted his son to have a legacy of his own, and a little Gerry just didn't do it. Fitzgerald, she loved the name but she loved the name that bore it even more. So she went with it, they went through baby book after baby book, searching for the name when it actually came to them, one day while shopping at a baby store. She had to admit; she fell in love with it, so did he.
They turn page after page, laying memories after memories each feels like a slap to her face as she recalls each one of them with striking exactitude; a first picture of baby Ryan bundled up in a thick blue blanket on his mother's chest a few minutes after his birth, then a first family picture showing the two proud parents –both looking so enamored and with a sense of pride only a parent could seemingly understand. That picture is probably her favorite even as tired as she looks, even if her hair looks like a mess, her smile and happiness never looked as genuine as they did. She was glowing. The motherly aura as they call it. Then her eyes shift to him- ever the proud daddy. His eyes, the brightest she's ever seen them, a smile stretching his face from ear to ear, as he looks down at his son with a look of adoration that never fails to tuck at her heart. One of his hands splayed over hers holding the newborn while the other is around her shoulder, holding her tightly to him.
The next one is the same fashion, same positions, only they're looking at each other, a look of disbelief traced on their faces as they're finally meeting the little baby they've been waiting for for months. The next few pictures display the first months of their son in various activities, his every firsts, everything. They even have a pile of DVDs, an idea her husband had gotten and she had laughed at it. They captured a little lifetime of happiness, every milestone their son accomplished: first grin, first smile, first laugh, first time standing, and every other first possible. Her head is swimming in movies of what was and what used to be, leaving her empty, forced to be the strong one, deprived from her rock. She couldn't move on, something deep inside her wouldn't let her. The magnet that used to pull them automatically to each other still somehow moving, it was just impossible to turn that page of her life.
Flashback:
She was just finishing changing the baby's diaper, leaning down to kiss his chubby cheek, inhaling the clean baby scent. She opens her eyes, mesmerized at how quickly weeks had gone by. It seemed like only yesterday she had peed on a stick allowing herself to wonder at how she was going to break the news to Fitz.
She wanted to do something fun, take him by surprise only to see how his face would switch from shock to wonder to pure excitement. She knew being a father meant a huge deal to him, hell it meant a lot to her. She wanted this baby; she needed his baby, a small part of them – of him growing in her. And boy was she happy when she looked down at the test. But now, having their son, taking him in her arms, meant the word to her. She felt complete.
The coos from the baby snap her from her thoughts, she makes silly faces at him, trying to get toothless smiles and occasional giggles that for the past three months have filled her days and nights with so much joy she felt like bursting. Her heart kept growing bigger and bigger, and it amazed her how motherhood had affected her, for the best that is. For the most part, Ryan was a happy baby, fussing only when something really bothered him or when he was hungry. She places her hands under his armpits to support him, bringing him to her as close as possible, rubbing his back as she brings his little pants up. She loved little moments like that, bonding with her son, holding him and forgetting about everything else, she was in their small world, never intending on going back. She had been stressed out about being responsible for someone else, even if she wasn't and would never be alone; she had a rock star husband, always putting her and their son first. Making sure their every need was satisfied, and for that she loved him wholly, their relationship as a couple had reached a peak she never knew existed.
"Smile, mommy," she hears the unique baritone say.
She turns, and throws her head back in laughter when she sees him holding the camera, her reaction causing the baby to laugh as well as if he knew how silly his daddy was being as he made his way over towards them, his smile never fading. Sometimes she wonders how his jaw doesn't hurt from smiling so much. But really, she can't argue that point; she couldn't stop the smiling either, their life was a safe heaven.
"What are you doing?" she asks, wondering why he hasn't put the device down yet.
"I'm videotaping," he says shrugging, as if it was totally obvious.
"Videotaping? Why?" and she can't hold her laughter any longer, throwing her face back in a careless manner again, her eyes tightly closing, in that way that leaves him speechless of her beauty. And he can't imagine his life being any different. Here she is, standing by their bed next to the window from which sunrays grace her face in the most exquisite manner, holding their son. The baby boy who had him completely at his mercy. He never doubted her as a mother, he knew she would be perfect, but actually seeing it, he can only count his lucky stars for putting her his way.
"Because I have this gorgeous wife that's holding our son, the most perfect baby in the word," he replies, shutting the device and putting it on the bed as he closes the distance until he's standing right in front of her. Pearly smiles and shiny eyes never leaving. He pulls her to him, until the baby is sandwiched between his parents and gently starts rocking them as she hums. He takes his son, settling him securely on one hand holding him to his chest as he brings her closer; swaying to the sweet lullaby she's singing. He lays a kiss on her forehead as they continue their imaginary dance.
The steady rise and fall as well as the slight snoring greet her when she comes back from memory land, a bittersweet taste lingering on her tongue as she closes the heavy photo album and starts rocking him to a deep untroubled sleep, just like she did when he was a newborn and would wake up at night. She lays a kiss to his temple, "It's you and me buddy, just us. Everything will be just fine."
When she got the call, that night, she was just putting him to bed. They had gotten home late and she just wanted to sink into a hot bath and call him for their daily night call. She missed him but she understood that the situation was just temporary. They loved their country and serving it even if it meant him being deployed for six months wasn't exactly a bother. He had done it before and it was his last mission. One last mission and the travels and long distances would stop. She was willing to do the sacrifice; lack of sleep, a full time job she loved and taking care of their son alone for a few months didn't scare her. He had waited until she had settled in her career to start a family, now it was her turn. Compromise. But never in a thousand years did the thought of him never coming back home cross her mind. She still couldn't utter the D word aloud. It would be adding salt to injury. She knew he could be injured but the job never really had him going on the field anymore, he was mainly there for supervising. Rarely did he fly again since Ryan was born. Plus he had the grad. He could afford it. They had their plans; he would step down after his last mission and finally put his law degree to use. He loved the law, and he loved teaching.
Obviously, life had other plans.
When she got the call, the tone of the agent talking to her immediately raised flags. What the hell happened? Where was her husband? He swore he would never leave her, leave their family. It almost felt like betrayal. She could still feel the chills and shivers running through her body, making her shake so much her body gave up on her. Next thing she knew, she felt the cold floor hugging her cheeks and arms as words swam in her head, making it impossible for her to think, her entire being was frozen. Lost in gravity. She felt like she was floating, completely paralyzed. Cold was gaining her slowly; her palms and forehead were clammy, and only after what seemed like an eternity did sobs shake her body. Remembering the sleeping child down the hall, she forced herself quiet until she was able to grab a pillow and screamed in it with all she had, praying no one could hear her despair as salty tears cascaded down her cheeks. She was drained, no energy was left in her, and her body was lifeless. She wondered if that was what dying inside felt like. She closed her eyes, praying that she had imagined it all as sleep finally won her over.
There was no body, they couldn't find any. He had gone on some special mission with two other men and no one's body was found. They had combed the entire perimeter all the way to the base, and nothing. Not one clue. And after a month of very active search day in and day out, political threats did nothing to bring up any vital information. They had been declared as dead. She had had to bury an empty casket, a shiny expensive wooden box that took her heart, hope and dreams with it as it sunk to the ground. She was barely standing when the service was done. Actually she didn't give it a second in her mind, useless apologies wouldn't bring back the husband she lost, the lover she shared her life with and the best friend she had. She was as they called her in a deep shock. If she didn't have a little boy depending solely on her now, God knew what she would have become.
She shakes her head again, summoning her mind and thoughts to the present moment. It had taken her time, a lot of time, but she somewhat embraced the daily life of a single, widowed whatever her situation was called mom as best as she could. Deep down, she knew she had to. A part of him was still living within her baby, the little boy she clung desperately to.
He was her lifeline now. She wouldn't screw it up.
She lifts her son in her arms, taking his sleeping body back to bed and tucking him in. Hoping he would settle for the night for her to finish her papers before calling it a night. Barely had she sat down again, her phone started ringing, the gnawing unwanted feeling feasting on her again, it felt like nearly three years ago. A sudden panic taking over her as she stared at an unknown phone number, praying with all she had left in her that whatever it was wouldn't finish her right there and then. The room felt too small although normally too big for a family of two. A trembling thumb swept across the screen to accept the call when she somewhat got her breathing back to normal.
Mrs. Grant. Ma'am, we need you to come to a secured location now. Your husband is alive.
The last thing I should be doing is starting this but I just couldn't stop myself, typical me!
This idea wouldn't stop eating my brain so I thought I would share it with you guys. I hope this wasn't too confusing, I tried making it as clear as I pictured it. I took a few liberties writing this since I don't know much about the Navy or protocol or anything like that but I really hope you won't mind and would you want to read more of this. More about them should come just let me know!
The chapter for Love at Second Sight is still in progress since I've been working on setting this but it should be up soon :)
