Coding: Eleanor/Carter, Eleanor/Jack
Timeline: Four Corners (Series 8)
A/N: I wrote this years ago but only just got round to posting it here. Big shout out to Robin and Es for encouraging me : )
Ivory Towers (Part One)
When he was a child he could tell when his mother had entered the room. People revered her. Crowds would part for her, like the red sea. She carried herself gallantly and people would stare at her as if she were a drifting shipwreck – amazed that she was still afloat.
When Bobby died, he took her with him. She's hollow inside, that's why she pays such careful attention to surface detail. She lives in a world of social functions and polite conversation because it's safe, because it's time-consuming and because it's all she knows how to do anymore.
Carter hardly sees her, his choice now. He's still so angry with her and doesn't want to see her pain because his own is in the way. He hates that she still has this hold on him but she's his mother, unconditional love is a burden and sometimes he wishes he could be more like her and detach himself.
As the guests begin to leave his grandfathers wake, he watches her drink a glass of Merlot and thinks of all the words he's used to describe her over the years. She's aware that he's watching her but she doesn't alter her movements. He likes that about her; she might be walking around in a bubble of denial but she does it with style.
He can't help but watch her and although she's difficult to be around, although he wants to shake her till the bubble bursts – she fascinates him. Her powers of deniability are awe-inspiring; he thinks she should be studied.
Eleanor makes her way towards him. "John," she says in a baritone devoid of inflection. "It's rude to stare."
"Yes it is but since you were less than welcoming to a good friend of mine earlier, I figured it cancelled out my impoliteness," he replies sharply.
She sips her wine, not looking at him. "Friend?" she asks dubiously.
"Abby."
"Oh, that dishevelled woman who was here earlier?"
"Abby is her name."
"You're being snippy John."
"Well, we've just buried Gramps - we can't all be as contained as you, Mom. Some of us have feelings."
"Yes, some of us do," she retorts, putting her glass down, still not looking at him.
There's a silence. An awful silence filled with painful memories and reasons to stay separate from each other.
"It's just as well your father and I are staying at The Drake if I make you that uncomfortable," now she looks at him, her eyes are like mirrors, reflecting back, preventing him from seeing what lies beneath her words.
He wants to say 'How soon can you leave?' He wants to say 'Please stay, I need you.' But what he actually says is "You don't always have to stay in hotels."
She turns away from him. "It's only for tonight."
He gazes at her back in disbelief. "You're only staying for a night?"
"Your father is staying a week, I have a flight to New York first thing tomorrow morning."
Carter shakes his head, almost smiling as he says. "Of course," and he wants to have a conversation of substance with her but he doesn't think she's earnt it, so he walks away from her.
They drive to the hotel in silence. Eleanor reaches out and covers Jack's hand with hers. He doesn't look at her as he removes his hand from under hers and crosses his arms, staring out the limousine window.
She's always had Jack. Always. Now he's altering the rules, changing their agreement and Eleanor doesn't think she can cope with changes this far past the start mark.
They arrive at The Drake and Jack heads straight in, doesn't even wait for her to step out of the car. She walks into the hotel ten yards behind her husband and smiles at the woman on reception as Jack asks for the keys to their rooms. She tries not to look anxious that he's booked them separate adjoining rooms, again.
But it's his father's funeral and she knows that he's upset, that he's finding it difficult to accept, that he's… in all honesty, she doesn't really know anything about how Jack's feeling; they don't talk anymore.
They get in the elevator, stand side-by-side without touching and he smells of brandy and cigar smoke, she remembers how once that would have turned her on. There's a young couple in the elevator with them, talking and laughing, hand-in-hand gazing lovingly at each other. It's like a slap in the face and Eleanor turns away from them: sometimes it feels like everyone in the world is happy except her.
They get off at the third floor and walk along the corridor. Jack slips the key card through the door and pushes it open. Eleanor follows him into the room.
The curtains are drawn, her suitcase is next to the bed and a lamp casts a soft light on the room. She's used to hotel rooms. They feel like home, but now, she'd give anything to be at the Cape. To be surrounded by familiar objects.
He opens the door to the adjoining room and is about to close it behind him.
"Jack," she calls.
He freezes.
She doesn't know what it is she wants to say; only that she should say something. "He was a good man," she states.
Jack's shoulders tense. "No he wasn't, he wasn't a good man but he was my father and I'd appreciate it if you'd avoid false sentiment, it's easier than listening to your lies."
He shuts the door on her. Eleanor is motionless, her breath catches and she's on the point of hysteria or crying… or something. She leans against the door separating them, presses her palms and forehead against the smooth wood. Once, all of this was so easy.
She moves slowly towards the bed and removes her clothing. She slips her hands down her body, caressing her bare skin - just to make sure she feels, just to make sure that along with her emotions, her senses haven't left her too. Jack hasn't touched her in years, not the way he used to, not with passion. She thinks of all the times he used to grab her, used to waltz her around a room whispering in her ear. Now all he does is pull away from her.
Eleanor finds a nightdress in her suitcase; she slips it on and gets into bed. She turns the light out, folds her arms behind her head and stares at the ceiling. She's getting used to being left. First Bobby, then Jack… even John walked away from her today and, she supposes, she deserves it.
She thinks of Jack in the next room, alone and grieving, and wishes he would let her comfort him: wishes she had the courage to try. Maybe she still loves him… maybe she just can't imagine losing him as well. He swore he'd never leave, no matter how bad things got but that was twenty years ago and everything's changed… and even though they're both miserable, she can't be without him; she hasn't the stamina.