Disclaimer: I do not own the Undertaker. All other characters are mine.
Author's note: This story has been my "infatuation of the week" (literally, written in just under a week), so I'll post it fast. It's AU. Oh, and I'm still not a native speaker. Or living in the South. I am married to a Southerner, though, so I hope that counts!
Thursday
„Run along, help him. " She gave her son a little push, even though he didn't need it.
He sprinted down the porch stairs towards the car. "Hi Dad!"
Being too old already for hugs but still wanting one, he fidgeted awkwardly for a moment before deciding that the hug was more important than his teenage pride. He threw his arms around his father but let go again so quickly that Mark didn't even have time to hug him back. Then he grabbed Mark's bag and carried it back.
"I'm taking it to the guest room."
"Alright", she nodded.
Mark followed him slowly. He was limping and in quite some pain by the look of it. She forbade her heart the little pang of worry.
"Hi Mark", she said when he had made it up the few steps to the porch. A simple hello that didn't do any of her feelings justice.
"Hi Liz."
He stopped beside her and when she had thought her son was awkward, she was no better. She hid her hands deep in her pockets.
The frown on his face deepened. "You sure this is ok for you? I don't have to stay."
She shook her head: "You came out all the way to see him play. And it's really important to him."
To her son's and her surprise, David had made it into his high-school's varsity basketball team in his freshman year. And tomorrow was the first actual game he was playing. She hadn't found the strength in her heart to put a dampener on his enthusiasm.
"Didn't really think you'd actually come." She had mentally prepared herself for comforting her son up until the very moment Mark's car had shown up in her driveway. But then, maybe she had just transferred her own mindset to him. Mark usually kept his promises to their son. Liz herself was the one would have liked to bail out of this.
"Is that why you agreed?" His laughter sounded forced.
She shrugged. "Is that important?"
"Well, I remember distinctly that you told me you'd call the police if I ever set foot in the house again."
"That was a decade ago." Though in truth, that wasn't enough time. A life-time was barely going to cut it. She sighed. "Not calling the police now. So come on in."
She held the door open for him.
He hesitated but then he followed. His limp was severe enough that he should probably be on crutches. But of course he wouldn't do that. Male pride in the way as usual.
"Nice." He looked around the open ground floor space.
"We like it well enough." It probably wasn't much in terms of what he was used to. Still, his alimony had helped to pay for it.
"Up here, Dad."
Mark looked at her.
"Go up. He wants to show you his room."
"You coming?"
She shook her head.
Slowly, he made his way up the stairs. She wondered how many pain pills it took for him these days to be even halfway pain-free. More than was good for him, she wagered.
A moment later she heard her son's excited voice from upstairs, obviously trying to explain every item in every room to his father. It made her smile. She was doing the right thing, despite her own feelings.
She started to prepare dinner. That gave the two of them time to catch up on everything that had happened since David had last visited Mark. She was grateful that it was basketball that David had chosen and none of his father's other passions. She wasn't sure she could have coped with her son expressing interest in wrestling or ultimate fighting.
It occurred to her that her son probably knew this. Maybe basketball was his way of finding a compromise that satisfied both his parents.
"Mom!" He ran down the stairs taking two at a time and jumping the last four of them altogether.
"Be careful, you're going to break your neck!"
"Are you coming to the game, too?" He opened the cupboard and started to set the table. Even now that he had entered his teenage years, he still automatically did what he had always done and helped her out as much as he could.
"I was planning on it. But if you want to go alone with your Dad, it's fine."
"No, no", he immediately exclaimed. "I want you both to come!"
"Alright then. Here", she gave him the bowl of salad. "Set that on the table if you please. Is your father coming down for dinner?"
"Dad, dinner is ready!"
That was almost creeping her out. It sounded too normal.
But Mark came down the stairs; slower still than he had walked up if that was possible. Of course, the impact on the knees was higher on the way down.
"You ok, Mark?"
"Yeah. The knee is shot. Last match really aggravated it. It'll get better in a few days."
She nodded. What was there to say?
Instead she filled the plates and gave them to David to bring them to the table. "It's just pasta, hope that's ok."
"Mom makes the best pasta in the whole world!"
"Pretty sure the Italians claim that trophy, honey."
"Not true. Yours is the best!"
She smiled. She loved her son to bits.
They sat down, everyone kind of waiting for the others to start.
Mark cleared his throat: "So, are you saying prayers before dinner or something?"
"Not normally, no. Do you want to say something?"
"I…" His eyes caught hers for a split-second before he looked away. "I'm not good at prayers but I guess what I'd want to say is that I'm thankful to be here and be able to see the game tomorrow."
Her son beamed.
It warmed Liz's heart. That was Mark's one redeeming quality. In his own way, he was a good father.
David chatted through dinner, telling his Dad all about the team, about last year's place in the standings, about this year's prospects.
She kept her quiet for the most part. But when they were finished, she said: "Why don't you go out and show your Dad your basketball skills? Maybe he has a few tips for you for tomorrow."
"Oh, that would be so cool! Can we do that?"
Mark nodded: "Sure. As long as I don't have to play. Much as I'd want to, the knee is not going to comply."
She got up and started stacking the plates. David got up, too, and carried the glasses over to the sink.
"It's alright. Go out with your Dad. No chores while he's here."
That got her a hug from her son before he ran upstairs to retrieve his basketball from his room.
"You're a pretty cool mom."
Of course, he'd never actually seen her mommy-ing. Usually, she put her son on a plane on one side of the country and he arranged to have him picked up on the other.
"He's making it rather easy for me." She sometimes wondered whether that was a good sign. He tried to fill the position of the man in the house when he was too young for it really.
"Come on, Dad." He came running back down the stairs, jumping the last few as usual.
She shook her head but didn't comment on it this time.
After she'd done the dishes, she went outside and sat down in the rocking chair on the porch to watch them for a while.
No matter how he had protested that his knee was not up for it, Mark of course hadn't been able to resist to at least showing David how the moves were supposed to go. David did his best to copy his Dad's moves and more often than not he succeeded. Even with his lanky teenage body, it was clear that he had inherited his father's talents for sports.
"Mom, look!" David shouted when he had made a particularly difficult shot.
"Looking great!"
They played for another half an hour. It started to get dark.
"David! You gotta go shower and pack your stuff for school!"
"Just one more shot!"
"One more shot", she agreed.
It turned into ten minutes but then Mark firmly pressed the basketball into David's hands, indicating the end of the training session.
David raced into the house, his energy levels as usual not depleted in the slightest.
Mark came up the porch stairs. For a moment, he looked unsure of what to do. Then he just sat down on the top step. "He's a good player. If he plays well on a team, he can make something out of that."
"His coach tells me the same."
For a while, they were both quiet.
"How's the family?" She finally asked and tried to ignore the stab it gave her heart.
He avoided her eyes. "I don't know."
It didn't take a scientist to figure that one out. "I'm sorry", she said and even meant it.
"You don't have to."
"What?"
"Be nice about it."
She shrugged: "Who says I was? You're leaving another wife heartbroken and two more kids without a father. I feel sorry for that."
He just stared off into the distance.
"Is that why you came?" she finally asked. "To get comfort from the other family?"
He turned around to her: "Do you honestly think I'd come to you for comfort? Not even I am that stupid."
For some reason that hurt her. "You could come for punishment, I can oblige with that."
He chuckled without mirth: "Thanks. I think I'll decline."
It was weird, the knowledge that his second marriage had failed, too. She didn't know what to make of that. "Is it public yet?"
He shook his head. "But the papers have been served."
She didn't ask who had served whom. It made little difference in the end. And it was no indication of whose heart was broken and whose wasn't. She had learned that one the hard way.
"I'm sorry", she repeated.
"Be careful, I might mistake your meaning for trying to comfort me after all."
"I assure you that that wasn't my intention." But then she added: "I know that you're trying, Mark. Your track record isn't very good, but it doesn't mean you aren't trying."
That was the nicest thing she had said to him since she had discovered that he was cheating on her 12 years ago.
He knew it, too. She could see the guilt on his face.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Liz."
"It makes no difference." She got up. She wasn't going to have this discussion with him.
"Please stay."
She shook her head: "You're a good father. Our son adores you. That's why you're here. But you have no right to talk to me about us. You haven't had this right in a long time."
"Ok."
She sat back down. She didn't even want to admit to herself how much she was still hurting after all these years.
"Can I ask you about the present at least?"
"About the present?"
"Whether you've got someone?"
"A boyfriend, you mean?"
"Yeah."
She wanted to tell him that it was none of his business. But he had asked nicely. "No, I don't."
"Why not?"
Now that was really none of his business. "Why did you cheat on her?"
His face contorted as if she had punched him.
"Don't worry, I don't actually want an answer. Just proving my point."
He rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry, Liz, I can't do this today. I might deserve every bit of your scorn, but I'm hurting too much for this."
When he tried to shift position to stretch out his knee, she noticed for the first time that he was still sitting on the stairs.
"Here," she got up. "Take the rocking chair."
She hopped up on the porch railing.
He didn't even pretend not to want the chair. And he moved so slowly. How long had the pain been this clear on his face? Or did the pain over the second divorce mix with the pain from his maltreated body to stand out like this?
"How long do you have until you have to get back in the ring?"
He sighed when he sat down in the rocking chair. "Now that's something that makes no difference for me anymore. No matter how long, it is never enough time."
"Why do you go back?"
He shrugged: "There's nothing else I'm good at."
Even a decade ago that hadn't been true. "Oh Mark."
"You of all people know that the only thing that's reliable about me is that I'm not reliable. That's not a good start to get any job apart from the one that I have."
She raised her eyebrows: "Is that why you haven't missed a single appointed weekend with your son in the past five years?"
"That's different. It is the bare minimum criteria for being a father. And I don't even mean being a good father."
"And still. You're reliable where it concerns him. You don't miss your appointments. You don't miss your alimony payments. You don't miss his birthdays. You came here today, even though you probably had other things on your mind."
"Alright, so I'm good at alimony payments and showing up every few weeks or months. What does that help?"
"It helps us."
When all he answered was a dismissive snort, she couldn't help herself: "I'm not implying that you're a good person, Mark. I've had a decade to harbor my resentments. But there are things that you're doing right. So give yourself some credit for them."
He looked up at her: "You have to watch that."
"What?"
"You're saying things that almost make me believe you still like me."
"A well-guarded part of my heart. Under layers of hatred." And that wasn't even too far off from the truth.
"Any chance of rediscovering that part?"
"I thought you were a wrestler and not an archeologist."
"I'd be willing to give it a try."
She gave him a good long stare before asking: "What is it you want? Do you want forgiveness? Do you want a rebound after your wife left you? Why are you doing this?"
"I forgot that you were this blunt."
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Mark."
"I'm not trying to. Honestly, Liz. But – we've loved each other once. And I haven't seen you in years. Is it so bad of me that I – that I want…" But he broke off.
"And that's just it. That's the emotional capacity you have before you run."
Her son chose this moment to show up. He bit his lip. He had obviously overheard at least the last part of the conversation. "I wanted to say good night."
"Need someone to tug you in?"
"No!"
"Didn't think you did. Your Dad would still come and amuse you with a story about his glorious basketball past if you asked him."
He shook his head: "No, it's ok."
"Can I hug you then at least?"
He let himself be hugged but his body stayed tense. He was unhappy.
"Sleep tight, honey."
He nodded. "Night, Mom. Night, Dad."
She watched him go with a worry. Her bubbly child was rarely this quiet. Their argument, harmless as it was in terms of what they'd had before had disturbed his equilibrium. "Let's try not to fight in front of him, ok?"
"Well, since apparently I have the emotional capacity of a vegetable, I can't promise anything."
She closed her eyes for a second and let the anger wash over her. They'd had this fight before. Before they had ever divorced, actually. But that was then, this was now. "I'm sorry. I was out of line. It isn't my place to judge you."
"Could you make that sound any more arrogant?"
"Probably." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "But I won't. Because I've got layers of hatred, but your son does not. And I'd like to keep it that way."
"You never told him." It was a statement, not a question.
"Why we divorced? No. You can tell him yourself when he's grown-up and asks you."
"Why didn't you?" Resentment had been replaced with puzzlement.
"It's hard enough for him. Being the only man in the house. At least this way he has a Dad to look up to. It's all I can do for him."
"You're a better person than me."
"Because I'm not vindictive? Because I didn't go ahead and poison your son against you?" Her mouth curved into an ironic smile: "It's the bare minimum criteria for being a good Mom."
"You are. A good mom."
"Thank you." And she meant that.
Saying good night was as awkward as saying hello had been. Their bodies had memories of their own. Memories that got activated without any prompting from their brains.
Instead of complying with what her body thought was a good idea, she stuffed her hands deep into her pockets again. At least this way she couldn't do something stupid like hugging him.
They were in front of the guest-room.
"Well, that's your stop. I trust that David showed you were everything is? Bathroom, towels?"
"Yeah, he did."
"Ok then. Well, good night, Mark."
He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.
"Good night, Liz", he answered softly.
When she had closed the bed-room door behind her, she let out a deep breath.
12 years. 12 fucking years she had avoided this. She had talked to him, of course. To settle weekends and vacations. To give her son the best chance she could at having a father. But it had been years since she'd last seen Mark in person. And then it had been a short and impersonal meeting in a parking lot after a weekend he'd spend with his son.
David had been her main source of information. She had heard from him when Mark got engaged again. She had bought him a suit for his father's wedding. She had even done her best not to cry on the day of the wedding, even though she was alone at home and no one would know. She had looked at the pictures her son had taken of the newly-weds. She had looked at the happy gleam in the bride's eyes and had still somehow managed to wrap her feelings into a hard little ball inside herself and not let them show.
Then her son had brought home the news that the new wife was pregnant. And soon enough Mark had a daughter. And then another one. Lovely kids, by the pictures she'd seen. But for David, things had gotten more difficult. He was growing up fast and the girls took away from the little time he got to spend with his Dad. So Mark had started taking him on tour instead.
Liz hadn't been happy about that. She didn't think that the show was the right environment for a kid. But Mark had promised to take good care of his son and not let him see or do stuff that was unhealthy. So she had agreed. And secretly, she was glad that the stream of information she got now was about wrestlers and wrestling moves and new cities instead of blonde wife and blonde daughters.
12 long years she'd managed to avoid Mark. 12 long years they'd not slept under the same roof even once. 12 long years she'd cursed him in every lonely night. 12 long years she'd longed for him in every lonely night.
And there it was, the heart of her problem. 12 long years she knew that she had had to leave him when she did. But 12 long years she'd never quite been able to stop loving him.
Every phone call, every picture stabbed her heart. Every proof that he was re-building his life without her killed her a little inside. But she'd kept herself together. Because her son needed her more than she needed Mark.
But now, without bad will, her son had backstabbed her. Proud as he was to be on the team as one of the youngest players, he had invited Mark to the game before ever talking to her. Only after Mark had accepted had he told her.
She sighed. She was aware that she had gotten played. That her son had chosen the one way that had a chance of succeeding. It didn't change a thing. She couldn't break his heart and tell him no.
But she had wondered. Why Mark had said yes. Why he would come and stay with them. Why his wife didn't veto that. Well, now she knew that part at least.
She just had to keep telling herself that trying to change the past didn't do any good. She'd loved Mark more than anyone ever before. But she loved David even more than that. And so far, living with this in mind had proven to be a successful strategy.