Disclaimer: Because the writers want us to believe in a world where Tom actually cheated on Lynette, and I always have to make sense of the most illogical truths. In other words, Desperate Housewives is not mine.
Story Summary: Tom and Lynette fall apart and find each other again. Five different moments that explain the "affair." Pre-series.
Look in the Cracks and Find Forever
A story by Ryeloza
I.
"I can't sleep," Lynette says. She kicks at the sheets and makes this blustery sound of frustration that Tom can't ignore even though he is mostly asleep already. He's still getting used to sharing a bed, and it makes him hyper-aware of her every move and sound, like they're connected by some kind of invisible string. Some nights it's more annoying than others. He rolls onto his back and starts to say her name, but he only gets out the first syllable before it's swallowed by a yawn. This only seems to further aggravate her.
"Your mattress is lumpy. And these sheets are scratchy."
"You just need to relax," he mumbles, eyes still shut. He reaches for her because he knows that if he holds her and strokes her just the right way that the tension will leave her body. He loves the feel of her against him as she goes slack and drifts off—like the purest form of trust; she's comfortable with him, and it makes him feel like he's home. Tonight, though, she doesn't let him pull her close, and the best he can do is settle a hand loosely over her torso. "You want me to sing you a lullaby?"
"What is wrong with you?"
He sighs, low and deep. He's not in the mood for this; not tonight; not when they have to get up in six hours to go to work. "I'm tired. I don't see why I have to stay awake just because you can't sleep."
"I'm not making you stay awake."
Tom presses his face into the pillow to keep from groaning. She's trying to pick a fight, and he doesn't want to go along with it. It's all just a distraction for her; a way for her to keep her mind off of whatever it is that's really bothering her. He's too tired to pry and too tired to fight, but the only other option is ignoring her and he's pretty sure that she'll make that impossible. "Is something on your mind?" he asks, but it comes out muffled because his face is still buried in the pillow, and she seems to take this as an insult. Or at least, she starts poking his back until he rolls over again and opens his eyes.
"What are we doing?" she asks exasperatedly, like he knows and is trying to keep it a secret from her. "Our relationship—I just don't know what's going on."
He doesn't know what to say because more than anything he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, but he doesn't know how to say that and not sound like a complete idiot. He thinks that maybe he should just go to the dresser and pull out the ring that he has hidden in the mustard colored socks he never wears and ask her to marry him. Proposals aren't supposed to happen like that though. Not in the dead of night when he's half-asleep and she's wound tight as a drum. Not because he doesn't want to wait another second to see that ring on her finger and know (though he'd never say it) that she is his forever. Not because he wants to end this fight.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"And I want to be with you."
"Yeah?" She stares at him all expectantly like she wants more, and he wants to give her that; he wants to give her everything. The ring and the house and the kids and the whole big life together where they get to live happily ever after. But that sounds so stupid, and he needs to get this right. "You know," he says as she stares at him. "In a…forever…kind of way."
"Forever is a long time."
This isn't what he expects her to say, but he realizes that he kind of thought she'd swoon like some sort of lovesick girl and that's not what she is at all. She's got all this bitterness surrounding her that you have to pick at to get through, and words aren't enough reassurance for her because she's been lied to way too often to trust that easily. He's slowly getting used to that and it makes him more genuine because he can't just say these things hollowly and have them mean something; he has to back it up. When he does it's the best feeling in the world; she bubbles over like she's way too full of joy and he finds himself in awe of how much she feels. He's never known another woman like that. He loves her for that.
"I just think that we're so happy right now," she says before he can pull his thoughts together well enough to figure out how to tell her that forever isn't enough time, not even close. "But everything is good. What happens when it gets bad or hard or broken? Then what?"
"Then we still love one another."
She nods, but she doesn't believe him or doesn't agree or something. She has that look in her eyes that she gets when she's thinking too much about how everything is going to go wrong. If he could go back in time and fix her world so it wasn't so filled with doubt, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Gently, he takes her hand and threads their fingers together. "I want to marry you," he says. "I want to marry you and have babies with you and love you every single day for the rest of my life."
She presses her lips together like she always does when she's trying not to cry, but it doesn't really do any good; the tears spill over anyway. Her voice is thick when she speaks, as though all of the emotion in the world is trying to come out of her and she can't contain it. "Is that a proposal?"
"Yes," he says, because it is even though he really wishes it isn't. There is supposed to be candlelight and romance and the absolutely perfect words—more than just his jumbled thoughts as he tries to make her realize that she is the only thing in the entire world that he wants. But this is the moment, and this is them, and really it means the same thing here as it does in some expensive restaurant. "Yes. Will you marry me?"
There is a pause that seems like it will never end while he watches her face—tears and nervousness and fear and this pure rapture that makes her look so beautiful that he can barely stand it—and then he thinks that she needs to know that this isn't just something he blurted out in the heat of the moment. This isn't just a whim. He climbs out of bed and goes to the dresser and pulls out the socks and unrolls them and when he turns back to face her with the ring in hand, she's sitting up in bed, watching him curiously and a little hopefully. He smiles and gets down on one knee, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. "Will you please marry me?"
Lynette bites her lip and nods, and it's everything and nothing like he thought this moment would be.
II.
Sadness is always heavy on Lynette. When he looks at her, he can see it weighing her down like she can't stand up under the pressure of such a feeling, and he's always so surprised and proud when she goes on, like she can look the world in the eye and know that there is nothing so bad that she can't survive. He admires this; he fears this; he longs to make it so that she is never burdened by that horrible pressure. Right now, he is mostly confused, because ever since they got engaged, it's like that sadness is perpetual, and he can't figure out why.
He selfishly thinks that it's because of him, but with Lynette there's always something he'd never expect that lies at the root of any heartache or fear. What you see is not what you get, and as much as he loves how unpredictable she is, at time it is so stressful he thinks he won't be able to stand it. The worst part is that she doesn't want to talk about it; she'd die before she'd let anyone perceive her as weak, and he doesn't know how to make her understand that no one would ever think that of her.
He would never think that of her.
So he pushes her. It's the only thing that ever works.
"What's wrong?" he asks. This is after two weeks, and he thinks that it's admirable that he's held out this long. Her mood is worse than usual because they just had dinner with her old college roommate who is in town for a visit, and she is always on edge after she sees Renee. This unnerves him more than he'd like to admit. "You're upset."
"She drives me crazy," she growls. "Always having to one-up everything I say or do. I'm not competing with her."
Tom is not foolish enough to comment on this, so he goes the safe route. Renee isn't the real problem anyway. "She's just jealous. That's what she does."
"Yeah." Lynette pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "And she said some things while you were in the bathroom—" She trails off. "You know, I really don't want to talk about this."
He doesn't either. He will never understand her relationship with Renee or why they are friends, but he doesn't think he has to. Their friendship is something entirely outside of his relationship with her, and that's the way it should be. "You've been kind of down for awhile now," he says. "Are you upset about something?"
"No."
"Are you worried?"
"Is this an interrogation? I'm fine, Tom."
He reaches out for her hand; he likes the way her ring feels pressed against his fingers, and it scares him to think that maybe she doesn't feel the same way. Maybe she regrets this. "You are happy?" he asks, because he won't stop until he risks life and limb. "Right?"
"Of course I'm happy," she snaps, but he doesn't comment on the irony. "Do I look unhappy to you?"
"Yes."
She stares at him like she expected him to lie or something, and it bothers him a little. She might want to play this game of pretend, but he isn't going to ignore it until it festers. Whatever is bothering her, they need to fix it, whether she likes it or not.
"You've been kind of miserable ever since I proposed. I don't know…I guess I'm just wondering if you even want to get married."
"Why would I have said yes if I didn't want to marry you?"
"I don't know."
"Well I don't know either."
"Look," he says, losing his patience just like he always does. They always have to play these frustrating games, and he's never sure if he loves or loathes the challenge. "I'm just worried about you, okay? Am I allowed to care about you? Is that okay with you?"
Lynette sighs, kind of aggravated, kind of sorry, and gives him a sidelong look. "I'm tired," she says like this explains everything. "And I have a lot on my mind, and I don't want to talk about it."
"If it's about me—us—then we need to."
"Not everything is about you!"
"Fine. I'm sorry." He's angry now; hurt. She knows how to push his buttons as well as he pushes hers. "I'm sorry that I'm a little concerned that my fiancé has been walking around looking like I'm sending her to the electric chair."
"Let me out," she says, her voice all low and deadly. He isn't sorry, though, because she's mostly just mad because he's not sugar-coating the truth. He's right and she knows it and that's making her crazy. "Let me out of this car."
"No."
"I'm not going to sit here and listen to you accuse me of being unhappy just because I'm not running around flashing my ring at everyone we meet."
"I'm accusing you of being unhappy because you are unhappy! And I'm getting pissed off because you won't tell me why!"
She shakes her head, disgusted, but he just scowls out at the road in front of them. She's reaching her breaking point, and he doesn't know how this flew out of hand so fast. "I didn't know I had to tell you everything I'm thinking," she says sarcastically. "I'm so sorry. Let me update you: right now I want to get the hell out of this car and away from you!"
He is as rash as she is (it's a dangerous trait for them to both share), and anger has the better of him now; he pulls to the side of the road and slams on the breaks so they both jolt forward. "Do you even want to marry me?" he asks.
"Right now? Not really," she says, and she opens the car door before he can say anything else. "Do me a favor and leave me the hell alone for once in your life."
And before he can respond she's gone.
III.
The door opens, and Renee stands before him in a towel with this haughty expression that melts off of her face the second she sees him. "Tom," she says, like she's pretending to be surprised. This annoys him more than anything else possibly could. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm looking for Lynette."
"Oh." She shrugs a shoulder; it's an elegant movement on her. "Well Lynette's not here." And then she walks away from the door. He takes this as an invitation to enter, but immediately this anxiousness seizes up in him and he thinks that it's a mistake.
"Have you heard from her?" he calls as Renee sinks down on the couch and crosses her legs. He lingers by the door, eyes darting all around.
"Trouble in paradise?"
"Something like that. Look, I just thought maybe she'd come here."
"So she ran away, huh?" Renee shakes her head and titters. "Typical Lynette."
"Excuse me?"
"Look, I love her, but she's a coward. The second anything gets to be too much for her, she's out the door like that." She snaps her fingers to emphasize the point and Tom flinches. The movement doesn't go unnoticed, and Renee gives him this coy smile. "Look," she says, "you're not the first guy whose heart she's broken, and you won't be the last."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Just that Lynette is not the marrying type."
The room is silent as the words sink in. He doesn't want to believe that; his instinct is to brush it aside as meaningless. But Renee is Lynette's oldest friend; she's known Lynette forever. And the truth is…
Well the truth is that Lynette is gone. No phone call, no note, no email. She's not at her apartment, she's called in sick to work the past three days, and she certainly sounded like she didn't want anything to do with him. The only tiny, niggling doubt that remains is that she said yes to him; she is still wearing the ring he gave her, and the night he asked her to marry him, she lit up like stars in the night sky. He didn't imagine that; he knows that it really happened.
"Oh honey," says Renee, apparently reading his face. She gets up and comes over, pulling him in for a hug. "Don't worry about it. There are other girls. Girls with less…baggage."
"Did she say something to you?" he asks in this voice that he barely recognizes as his own. He feels like he's grown out of his own body all of a sudden; like the world is too small to contain him.
"Yes and no. She's my best friend, Tom. I've known her for twelve years. You've known her what? Six months?"
"I know Lynette," he says even though he's starting to think that maybe he really doesn't. Maybe he never has.
"Then you know that she can't just settle for some simple little life in the suburbs. She's bigger than that. And if you really love her, then you can't hold that against her."
Tom swallows hard, half-nodding, but not really agreeing with what Renee says. The thought mulls around in his head, unable to become logical or really make sense to him while also filling him with dread. He can't think about this—he can't think about anything except for the fact that she's gone.
Renee's arms are still around him. He barely even noticed, but now she steps up on tiptoe and presses a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "You just need to let go," she whispers, and then her lips meet his and she's kissing him full on.
She's nothing like Lynette. The thought bubbles up inside of him and makes him feel sick because he doesn't want this—curves and supple breasts and the scent of expensive perfume. It's a ridiculous fantasy that he had as a fifteen-year-old boy of what his ideal woman is; all physicality and nothing real. When he touches Lynette he feels reverent. When he makes love to her he feels alive. This is wrong for so many reasons that it would be impossible to count them all, but mostly because somewhere in this world there is a beautiful woman wearing a ring that he gave her that promises that he is a much better man than this. Even if she really doesn't want him any more, she still has that ring, and until she gives it back, this is unquestionably wrong.
"She doesn't deserve you," she says, hands drifting to the buttons of his shirt and carefully undoing them.
"I don't deserve her."
Renee laughs like this is a joke, or maybe because she agrees with him. He doesn't understand why she's doing this, or why he's letting her do this, or why Lynette can't just burst through that door right now and stop all of this. If she just hadn't run away…
His shirt is off now and her hands are on his shoulders. "You're going to fuck me," she says, bending and kissing his chest. He shuts his eyes but it's no use; he can't pretend that she's important; he can't pretend that she's the one person whose voice he wants to hear. "You're going to fuck me until you can't remember her name anymore."
He opens his eyes, puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her away. "This isn't a good idea."
Renee looks affronted. "She left you. She left you and you're standing here thinking about going and begging her to take you back. Do you really think she wants to be with someone so pathetic?"
Tom doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know why Lynette is with him in the first place when she could have anyone she wants, and she certainly hasn't seemed happy since he proposed. That is the reality. She left, and he should realize that it's all her way of telling him that she doesn't want him.
"Come on," says Renee, all silky smooth again. He imagines that he's making a pact with the devil—she wants his soul. She doesn't know that Lynette already owns him and no matter what happens she'll always have him completely. "Forget her. Trust me, she's already forgotten you."
Fear makes him tremble from head to foot; he's so scared that that's true. She's not coming back. The thought is deadening, and he realizes that he really has nothing left to lose.
He shuts his eyes and pretends he's not burning in hell.
IV.
He doesn't stay the night. In fact, they're barely done when he stands up and starts to get dressed, his movements angry and disjointed as she lies in bed watching him with darkly hooded eyes. She's incredibly beautiful, but right now he only feels disgusted—with himself, with her, with this whole fucked up situation.
"That was incredible," says Renee, stretching out her limbs like a cat. "Lynette was right to brag about you."
"Are you really bringing her into this?"
"Honey, she's been in this the whole time. You're besotted."
"I'm an idiot. This was so stupid. We should never have done this."
"Clichés, clichés," purrs Renee, and in that moment, Tom truly hates her. She is inexplicable in a way that he never wants to figure out; he needs to get out of there. "Don't worry. I won't tell her."
"No, I will," says Tom, storming out of the bedroom without bothering to button his shirt. He hears Renee get out of the bed; she trails after him with the sheet half-wrapped around her body.
"You can't say anything to her. She'll never forgive me. She'll never forgive you."
"Maybe she shouldn't forgive me." He pauses at the door and looks at Renee; for the first time that night, she is anything but confident. It makes him feel like he has the upper hand despite the fact that he's pretty sure he's the lowest creature on earth right now. "I don't want to lose Lynette, but I'm pretty sure she was gone before I even got here tonight. And now I've made the worst mistake I could have."
"So you're going to tell her?"
"If she ever comes back."
Renee snorts and rolls her eyes. "She's not. Not for you, at least."
Tom doesn't bother to respond. It's probably true, but that's his own private hell to contend with, not Renee's. "Don't say anything," he commands, wrenching open the door and stepping into the hall. Renee chases after him, leaning into the hall, and echoing him, "Don't you say anything! Tom!"
He gets into the elevator and doesn't look back.
V.
Three days later, there is a knock on his door that rouses him from his sleep. His brain is clouded and he feels like he can't move, but he gets up anyway. He thinks that this is his life without her: anyways for always and forever—never wanting to do anything but sleep ever again, but forcing himself to go through the motions doing it anyway. This is what he thinks of as he goes to the door. Of how he hurts from the inside out and of how he hates himself and of how he hates her and of how he'd give anything just to see her again. It is this thought that swirls in his mind like a dandelion seed caught in the wind, so for a moment when he opens the door and sees her there, he actually believes that he's imagining her.
"We need to talk," she says. Her mouth is turned down in that serious way she has, and he suddenly wakes up. This is it. She's going to hand him the ring and tell him that this was all a mistake and leave him with a nothingness that will last the rest of his life. He wants to shut the door in her face. He wants to beg her not to do this.
"Okay."
He lets her in and tries not to cry.
She stands there in front of him wearing a Notre Dame sweatshirt she stole from him and plaid pajama pants, and he tries not to look at how she's nervously twisting her ring back and forth and back and forth. She's going to break him; he knows this. But even facing it head-on, he can't bring himself to hurt her back. He's never been a vengeful person. Mostly even now he just feels guilty for what he's done; a mistake born out of fear, not spite.
"I found a lump in my breast."
The tears that were threatening well up in his eyes, and he goes numb. Fear isn't a big enough word for what he's feeling. "What—What does that mean?"
"It doesn't mean anything yet. I'm going to the doctor tomorrow."
He looks at her now—the whole picture. How tired she seems, how small she looks in his oversized sweatshirt, how scared she is. He steps toward her, but she bites her lip and gives just the tiniest shake of her head and it stops his movement. She's crying now, but something dawns on him and he can't stop himself from asking, "What time is your appointment? I'm coming with you."
She's looking everywhere but at him now, the tears spilling down her cheeks like large drops of rainwater. But she doesn't answer, and it makes him even more terrified than he already is. "Lynette?"
"I'm lying."
"What?"
"There's no lump. I made it up."
"What the hell?" He doubles over, hands on his thighs, and takes a deep breath. Relief and anger war inside of him, but anger seems to win the battle. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"I'm sorry. That was stupid and horrible, but I just…I needed to know."
"You needed to know what?"
"How you would react. I didn't think; I'm not thinking clearly." He looks up at her as she begins to pace the room. There is something frantic about her now; he's never seen her so unhinged and it's scary in a whole different way than any other type of fear he's felt in the past week. Like she's showing him another side of her that she obviously keeps buried deep inside. This is a Lynette that the world doesn't see; one that he's never seen until now. "Ever since you proposed it's like this voice in my head kept getting louder and louder and I couldn't ignore it anymore."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I. But I'm overwhelmed with this feeling that everything is going to fall apart and you're going to leave."
"You're the one who left!" he shouts, and that finally halts her movement. She gapes at him like she's finally noticed that he's there, and he manages to straighten up again. His breath still feels tight in his chest, though, and he wonders if his heart is going to explode from just feeling too damn much. "You walked out last week without saying a word! I didn't think you were ever coming back!"
"I needed some space. I needed time to think."
"To think about what? The best way to test me? You can't…You don't have the right to do that! You don't have the right to scare me half to death just to prove a point!"
"I had to."
"No—"
"I had to because I'm scared to death to marry you, and I needed to know."
His anger deflates like a balloon, but he can see it zig-zagging through the air like a reminder of how powerful it can be; how easily it can return. She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and he catches the glint of her ring as she moves her hand. Nothing makes sense anymore. Absolutely nothing.
"Do you want to get married?"
Lynette lets out a long and shaky sigh, but her voice is strong. "Yes."
"But you're scared?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She shakes her head in this funny little way, almost like she feels sorry for him, but he doesn't see why he's the one who should be pitied. He hates how much he doesn't know her right now. "Lynette?"
"Because you're not scared."
"What?"
"You—You go around acting like we're going to have this perfect happy life and it's not true. There's all of this stuff that's going to happen, and we don't know what any of it is, but I know for sure that it's not all going to be good."
Tom crosses his arms over his chest. He's trying to understand; he's trying so hard. "You can't be scared of your whole life just because it's not going to be perfect," he says, but Lynette shakes her head before he even finishes speaking.
"I'm not afraid of that. I know that because my entire life has been anything but perfect. What I am afraid of is that you're not going to be able to handle it when something bad happens. And what the hell am I supposed to do then?"
"Lynette—"
"People run away when things get bad. I've seen it happen more times than you can imagine."
"You ran away," he says, and it sounds like an accusation even though he doesn't mean it to be. Mostly he wants her to see that she's being hypocritical. He isn't stupid enough to think that he could claim innocence. He ran away too, and in a way that was so much worse than how she did. He betrayed her, and he has to tell her this, and he thinks that if she can just admit that they were both scared and stupid and desperate then maybe it will be okay.
"I know. I know, I know." She shuts her eyes for a second and then sighs. "I know."
"I was going out of my mind. I thought you'd left me. I thought we were broken up."
"I'm sorry. I messed up. I know. But I was so confused, and I didn't know how to make you understand."
His stomach tightens. He needs to confess now, before this goes any further. They just need to put everything out there and start over again. "Don't—" But that's as far as he gets before Lynette stops him.
"It will destroy me if you ever give up on us."
They stare at one another. Her eyes are as big as saucers, and there is a vulnerability there that he's never seen—more open and forthright than ever before—and he knows that this is probably the hardest thing she's ever admitted. To anyone.
"It will," she says in a voice that's barely more than a whisper. "I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I love you enough that I want to put aside all of these fears and doubts that I have and be with you. But if you…If you can't be mine completely…I need to know that now."
It is a crossroads. He can see that now as clear as day, as though he has just broken through a fog and is no longer lost. He knows that he can do what she asks because he's strong enough; he loves her enough. But if tells her the truth now—if he tells her what he did—there is every chance that he'll lose her forever. And even worse, he believes her when she says that it will destroy her. He can't do that to her.
"Lynette," he says, almost choking on the lump in his throat, "there isn't anyone or anything in the world that would ever make me give up on us. There never will be. I can promise you that."
She looks at him in this way that makes him think that what he just said is as good as any vows they'll make at their wedding; like this is it, and finally he feels like she is his, all his, and it's going to be forever.