Disclaimer: The characters, nor the premise upon which they are based, do not belong to me. I am merely using them for personal entertainment (as I await the return of such a fantastic show); no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Prompt - Write something you'd like to see in Season 3.
I know I sound like a horrible person, but I wouldn't mind seeing Angie deal with a suspension of sorts (even if it is simply referenced) in the beginning of Season 3. Since I was asked by a few readers to write something I'd like to see in Season 3, I'll be honest and tell you the various options I had entertained were daunting, exciting, and downright outlandish at times. Finally, I settled on something of a variety.
The title (and I suppose the theme) was inspired by the song "Come Back When You Can" by Barcelona, a beautiful song that's very fitting - please give it a listen. Honestly, I hadn't even heard of the song when I finished my first draft of this story, but immediately knew that it was THE song once I had finished.
Come back when you can
Let go, you'll understand
You've done nothing at all to make me love you less
So come back when you can - Barcelona
"You've reached Angie Flynn. Leave a message and I'll get back to you," came the voice in Oscar's ear once again. Pulling the phone away from his ear, he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the unforgiving surface of the counter in front of him, sighing heavily.
Almost two months.
Fifty-four days.
One thousand ninety-six hours.
Three hundred seventy-eight, now nine, unanswered and subsequently unreturned phone calls. And following each one, he couldn't leave a message, because what do you say when your mind can't be silenced, yet you still can't find the right words.
Not that anyone was keeping track; but this suspension needed to end. Quickly.
Oscar dragged his hands roughly down his face, scratching at his beard in an attempt to refocus. Staring at the small tumbler in front of him, his sleep deprived mind weighed the merits of pouring himself another round of scotch versus another night of tossing and turning. His heavy eyelids blinked in attempt to clear his clouded vision as he began reaching blindly for the bottle a few inches away, cursing loudly as his knuckles knocked against it and sent the container sliding further down the marble surface.
Sighing dejectedly, he clumsily set the glass in the sink and turned toward the living room to stalk over toward the couch. Falling heavily onto the leather couch, he leaned heavily into the cushions and curled around the soft throw pillow clenched tightly within his fists. Maybe if he burrowed deep enough, all of these memories wouldn't be able to reach him, or maybe he could simply disappear.
The tranquility of night used to calm him; a gentle reprieve from the chaos of the day. Now, the dark stillness that enveloped him only intensified his loneliness, monotony broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the ticking from the heating vent. Sporadic dreams were the only place where he could see her face now with the city getting in the way between them. The harder he grasped her memory, the faster she slipped from his mind like clenched fists around the wet sands of the shore down by the coastline. Without warning, she was gone from his life like the headlights of the oncoming traffic outside his window.
Choking back a ragged breath, the beams of light blurred through the moisture pooling in his eyes. His chest ached as he thought about how she had become so imperative to his existence, coursing through him like air he breathed and the blood pulsing through his veins. Her face persistently appeared in his mind as if she were sitting next to him, mocking him. Violently rubbing his eyes and growling in frustration, he found momentary solace as her face was replaced by tiny bursts as white orbs exploded behind his eyelids as he scrubbed.
The combination of exhaustion and alcohol soon began to work their magic over him as he fought to keep his eyelids open. Gently he thumbed the fleece of the blanket on the back of the couch as he thought about its origins. Angie had once complained that she got cold easily and insisted upon purchasing the navy throw for his condo, leaving it in his trusted care for when she occasionally stopped in to visit. Gripping the warm fabric, Oscar carelessly pulled it over his chilled form and snuggled into its warmth as he breathed in deeply.
Staring at the ceiling of her shadowy bedroom, Angie rolled over to face her nightstand as the screen blindly illuminated the dark space. She didn't need to check the screen of the phone as it danced across the hardwood to know that it was Oscar calling once again. The movement stilled a moment later as the call ended; she never answered and he never left a message. Part of her longed to hear his voice, but she knew her heart would break if she allowed herself to hear the soft timbre.
Angie knew he would be there for her if she only said the word, obedient and loyal like man's best friend. No, she thought, he deserved better than what she could offer him. While she had lied and abused his trust, Oscar waited patiently for her to come around; like an iceberg beneath the surface, he believed in something bigger beneath her surface. Unfortunately, those icebergs usually caused more damage than good and she refused to let him be her sinking ship.
Rising from her position, Angie wrapped the fleece throw at the end of her bed around her shoulders to keep the cold night air at bay, pausing briefly to think of its match at a condo across town. Trudging into the kitchen, she pulled a bottle of scotch and glass from the high shelf in the cupboard above the coffee maker. Poised to pour the amber liquid, her motions stilled as she thumbed the bottle's label - the drink leftover from an evening many months ago when her partner had appeared on her doorstep to celebrate her birthday despite her subtle protests.
This being the first year in many that she hadn't spent the day with her son, Oscar decided against the fancy dinner and treated her to a quiet evening in with her favorite takeout and a rare, exquisite brand of liquid courage. The pair spent the evening, and into the early morning, enjoying each other's company and swapping horrible, embarrassing tales from their respective pasts. Exhaustion had overcome both of them by sunrise as his cheek rested upon the crown of her head as she fell asleep against his soft shoulder, but Angie still awoke in the late morning draped with the her favorite fleece throw and a hand scrawled note from him thanking her for the good time, promising her a fancy dinner when she was ready and willing.
Smiling ruefully at the memory, Angie returned the unused items to their proper resting place and pulled the blanket tighter around her petite frame. The good memories hurt worse than the bad; bad memories would sting for a moment and then make you angry. It was the good memories that ached so deep as you caught yourself smiling, but then quickly on the verge of tears as you remembered what you had lost and could never get back. Moving back toward the bedroom, she reached for her phone as she sat up against her headboard with knees pulled to her chest. Resting her chin on the soft flannel covering her knees, she flicked through the phone until her thumb hovered over her partner's name. She needed to get back.
Before she could second guess herself, she punched the CALL button and nearly dropped the phone upon making contact. Quickly gripping the object tighter, she nervously held her breath as she waited for him to answer. As the phone continued to ring in her ear, her eyebrows furrowed as her shoulders slumped in disappointment; coming to terms with his rejection, she forced her eyes closed to keep the tears from falling.
A distant groan startled her, sending her eyes flying open.
"Ow, damnit! An - Angie?" came a muffled voice from the other end.
"...Hi," she spoke nervously. "Are you - um - are you okay?" she asked.
"Uh - yeah, I'm okay," Oscar replied, still somewhat muffled, sounding surprised by the voice on the other end.
Face screwed in confusion, Angie listened to some soft thuds for a moment more before voicing her question. "Oscar? What on earth are you doing?"
On the other end, Oscar held a small bag of frozen vegetables up to his eyebrow as he debated whether or not to tell her his predicament. "I'm - um - cooking?" he replied uncertainly.
"Are you asking me or telling me?" Angie asked curiously.
"Telling...I think," he replied nervously, walking back to the couch and covering himself with the blanket once more. "I was a little hungry, so I thought about cooking some frozen...beans," he said as he frowned at the package in his hands that he had pulled away from his face. Wincing, he brought the bag back up to rest gently against his face.
A small laugh brought his attention back to the woman on the other end of the phone. "Oscar, hun, I know you're a health nut, but beans for your midnight munchies? You've really gotta learn to live a little," came the jovial reply, as if she had just spent the day with him as usual.
At first, he was startled by the familiarity after such a long separation. Seizing a small window of opportunity, Oscar bravely - and possibly with the aid of the alcohol still in his system - leapt at the chance. "I think I might need you to teach me," he tested the waters, holding his breath nervously.
Silence met him on the other end followed by a small voice coming through the line. "I don't know...I might teach you some unhealthy habits. Some that could do some real damage," she replied after a moment. As two intelligent adults, both were able to ascertain the double meaning behind her concerns.
Closing his eyes at the sound of her voice, Oscar sighed deeply as he let it wash over him. "I'm willing to risk it," he muttered quietly. Quietly portraying an air of confidence, his stomach twisted in knots as he wrestled with the bundle of nerves deep inside as they struggled to emerge.
"Are you sure?" Angie asked.
"Positive," he replied. "I think it's time I tried something new."
After a long stretch of silence, he pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure they hadn't been disconnected; "Angie?" he asked.
Suddenly, he heard the creak of her wooden bed beneath her weight and unfamiliar muffled sounds in his ear as if the simple utterance of her name spurred her to move. Just as he was about to ask what she was doing, he heard the distinctive sound of metal keys jingling in the distance and a distinctive slam. "Jesus, it's cold out here," she muttered as a car door slammed. Oscar listened closely as the engine revved in the evening chill.
"...'What on earth are you doing?'" he threw her words back at her, equally nervous and excited.
A quiet moment passed between them, both unsure of the course that laid out before them. "I think I'm going to try something new," she replied and quickly ended the phone call before he had a chance to respond.
Momentarily dazed, Oscar stared dumbly at his phone for a moment before launching off the couch. Tripping over the blanket, his legs tangled in the fabric, he reached over to snatch the thawing bag of produce to return it to the freezer. Haphazardly folding the fabric, he frantically looked around the room before heading toward his bathroom quickly. Catching his reflection in the mirror, Oscar released a defeated sigh before settling back onto the closed lid of the toilet seat and hung his head.
Minutes later, which passed suspiciously like seconds in his exhausted mind, a small knock came at the front door as he wondered whether sleep deprivation infused with gross amounts of alcohol had been playing tricks on him. Before Oscar had the chance to reconsider the possibility, the muted slam of his front door followed by hesitant footsteps echoed through the quiet apartment to come to a stop just outside of the small bathroom. His gaze climbed upward, taking mental inventory of the untied sneakers to where the dark grays and blues of the flannel pajama bottoms met the worn hem of an old academy sweatshirt.
As if he were being introduced to the soft warmth of the sun as it emerged into dawn from the cool darkness of evening, Oscar squinted to see the tired, yet radiant face of his partner surrounded by golden curls. He blinked heavily to dispel any possibility of a hallucination, opening his eyes again just in time to watch her step closer and withdraw her petite hands from their haven in the sweatshirt pocket. Hesitating briefly, she stepped forward once more to place her hands upon his shoulders to trace the cutting ridges of his collarbones.
Lifting her palms to his face, thumbs tracing along the darkened and sunken hollows beneath his eyes, her left thumb ghosted around the corner of his eye to brush lightly across the rapidly swelling bump peeking out of his eyebrow. "Cooking accident?" she asked jokingly, but never fully masking her genuine concern.
"Something like that," he muttered quietly, closing his eyelids once more as he allowed himself to be comforted by her gentle ministrations. Stepping further into his personal space, he felt her wrap herself around him and hug him gently to her abdomen as he burrowed his face in the soft fabric of her sweatshirt, inhaling deeply and gripping tightly as if she were a life preserver. A heavy, yet comfortable silence blanketed them before she moved again.
Running her hands along the length of his collarbones once more, she pulled away from him and frowned. Angie squatted down low to meet his eyes; arms wrapped tightly around him, and proceeded to tug him up with her as the tips of her fingers ghosted across his ribs. Unlooping her arms, she pulled gently on his calloused hands as she lead him out of the small space, as the two made their way back into the living room and stood before the couch where she traced a light fingertip over the well-worn fleece.
As she turned around to face him once again, she startled him by wrapping herself around him, tightly clenching the fabric of the faded sweater between her fingers. He returned the embrace as he held tight and thought about the sands of the coast; she was here, real and in front of him, and he'd be damned if he was going to let her slip through his fingertips again. Initially caught off guard by her sudden contact, he melted into her warmth and comfort as he was overcome by the relentless desire to never let go.
With a quiet sniffle, Angie withdrew from his chest until she could meet his tired eyes, and then pulled them both onto the cushions and tucked herself into him once more. "I never meant to hurt you," she whispered into the quiet darkness, as she stared ahead blindly. "This mess I made; I spent months, years, telling myself to push you away because I didn't think you should have to help me fix this - this unfinished, broken, chaos I call my life."
"I never wanted to fix you," Oscar breathed across the crown of her head, blond curls flitting in the soft breeze as his eyelids began to drop closed.
And in that moment, Angie realized that his words provided a better reflection of him than it would ever be of her. She suddenly understood that despite her misgivings, he was willing to meet her vulnerabilities head on. Oscar didn't have grand illusions about her being some project, or see her as someone to fix, rather he took her at face value and still accepted, respected, maybe even loved her for who she already was.
As the golden pink hue of sunrise painted the far wall in warm tones, Angie slowly awoke and carefully rolled over in the inviting cocoon of comfort that she had found in her best friend's embrace. Resting her head where his shoulder met his chest, she stared up at the slopes and angles of his profile. As he rested, she could take her time to observe the slight crevices that had been carved deeper by the abuse he'd inflicted upon his body. It hadn't taken her but a moment to notice the subtle changes in his frame from skipping meals and sleepless nights; she only now realized how while she used to firmly believe that he helped take care of her, she had somehow never noticed how much he depended upon her, too.
"It's rude to stare," Oscar muttered with his eyes closed, breaking through her quiet thoughts.
"Sorry," she whispered softly against his neck. She lifted her head momentarily to drop a feathery kiss across the angry red bump that had emerged on his forehead overnight before settling in once again as she drew the cozy blanket up to her chin.
He rolled them over from his side gently as he found a new position on his back, sending Angie half sprawling across his chest. Rather than balk at the new position, she simply snuggled in deeper against his worn out sweater. Through the fabric, he could just barely make out her thumb as it traced over his protruding rib cage.
"You haven't been taking care of yourself; you're getting too thin," she whispered sleepily.
Nodding quietly, he blinked thickly as he felt her wrap herself tighter around him. As she was slipping her cold toes between his calves, he tightened his grip around her shoulders. "I've been a little distracted, but I'll work on it," he promised, smiling to himself when he was answered by the soft breathing of his best friend blowing across his neck.
Relaxing back into Angie, Oscar succumbed to the perpetual exhaustion that had plagued him for the last few months; chaos of the day and loneliness of the night forgotten behind him. He knew the situation was far from perfect, and they had a long way to go, but the revelations had been a long time coming.
There you go, folks, and I really hope you enjoyed it. You are all fantastic for sticking around, and please encourage your friends to read/write/review.
Comments/Questions/Suggestions - you know where to find me.
I am attempting to keep working on a couple other pieces right now, so I will try to get those up as soon as I possibly can.
P.S. - Yo! Skylarcat! I hope this helps hold you over a little bit longer - but you need to publish, too!