The Imaginary Man

Author's Notes: An old fic, originally written for 30kisses at Livejournal, that I scrapped at the time because I couldn't figure out how to rewrite it once I remembered Elfangor wasn't around at all when Tobias was little... but now I think I like it better as it is. Somewhat AU.

Tobias was crying when we walked to the bus. It took me a while to notice because he was so quiet. His cries are always quiet. It used to upset me so much, this horrible feeling that I'd never know when my baby was in trouble, never know when he needed me, never know because I would never hear him.

It comes back to me as I sip my coffee. Cold wood under my bare feet, such a different feeling from the warm drink in my gut right now. The floor was uncomfortable but nothing compared to the cold dread in my chest as I stood in the doorway, hoping to see my boy, going crazy at the thought I never would.

I opened my mouth and jumped back as his finger touched my lips, which curved into a smile. He never had understood the idea of personal space.

"Sssh," he whispered, "he's feeding."
"You could have woken me up," I said, stretching out to touch the fuzz growing on Tobias's head.
"Sorr-ii-yuh. I thought you needed more rest-uh," he whispered and I shook my head. He'd managed to keep it under it control - at least, there never was a repeat of The Pictionary Incident - but I didn't mind, not really. I'd never put in these exact words, and I never would, but it's one of the things I loved most about him. Besides the awesome daddying, that is. Which reminded me...

"He wasn't crying, was he?"
"No."
"Then how did you..."

He gives me a Look, and even in the dark, I swear his eyes changed. Gray to green, gray to that green.

"I just do."

It's insane, I told myself, rubbing my aching head. Insane to remember my husband knowing my son so well, to imagine him caring enough to get up in the middle of the night even if he did. Insane to remember him rolling around on the floor with Tobias, running around the house with Tobias, telling stories and singing songs. It's the songs that I remember most. The words are gibberish now, but I remember them being words once, even if I didn't understand them.

"Oh, Loren, you're not well," I said, coffee still in hand. It's a perfect imitation of my Aunt Gertrude, and if my son had heard me, his laugh would be so loud.

But he's not going to hear me for much longer because my family thinks he's better off with them. Because I'm poor. Because Daddy left. Because Mommy has become a nutcase because she keeps imagining herself married to someone who couldn't be Daddy, because the Imaginary Man actually cares about Tobias.

Tobias with his quiet cries, whose cries have become even more quiet, thanks to the taunts and the toilet dunks. I tell myself that's why he hugged me so hard this morning. That's why he cried, why he smothered me with kisses, why he whispered, "I love you, Mommy."

He did it because the other boys were mean. Yes, they were just mean, not scared or confused because my son was...

"He's not normal, is he?" I whispered, looking at the baby suckling on my teat, then up at the man I swore I reminded that forumla is only for emergencies.
"Are we?"

"As normal as he can be with you for a mom," I mutter. Sarcasm is nice, comforting. Keeps me from stressing over being late to work, keeps me from wanting the light to change, keeps me from thinking that my crying son is not normal, that I'm going to lose him, and that he knows all of this. Keeps me from thinking that it seems like he knows so much.

Keeps me...

The brakes screech. I think of Tobias's hair under my fingers. Then I forget eveything.