Title: Cold Water
Category: TV Shows » Days of Our Lives
Author: And The Moment's Gone
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T
Chapter: 1, Words: 756
Warnings/Spoilers: If you know Chloe came back to Salem in 2007 then you're all set.
Summary: Cold, cold water surrounds me now
Official Disclaimer: All Days of Our Lives characters and plots belong to Ted Corday, and NBC. I do not hold stock either the man or the company. Brady Black, Chloe Lane, and any other character featured are NOT mine. The title, summary, and lyrics come from Damien Rices' song Cold Water and I don't own that either.
Cold, cold water surrounds me now
and all I've got is your hand.
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now,
or am I lost?
You get to three.
She announces she's leaving in Rome, and it's not until you're staring at a packed suitcase and a one-way plane ticket that you actually believe her. You don't pay attention to the destination. It's a thousand miles away from the chair you're sitting in; and you know instinctively that that's the important part.
She hasn't packed everything. It's not hindsight on her part either, nor are you allowed to pretend that it means she's coming back. Years of foster homes and living out of suitcases for an opera company have taught her that the key to any successful getaway is to pack light. She's got a wallet full of credit cards anyway. Wherever she settles she can rebuild. It's always a hell of a lot easier to start over with no baggage.
For the life of you, you can't remember what started this particular argument. With all of the possible options, it truly could have been anything. She'd had another one of her off days while you were at work. That is the only thing you can be sure of. Not that it mattered though.
Everyday was an off day in her life since-
No.
You don't like thinking of that night.
The night when you were hit with one and two together.
You once heard someone say bad news came in threes. You never really believed it. More then one person who knows you finds this odd. Especially considering where you grew up. She used to find it more then a little ironic. After all, she always joked that if it weren't for bad luck, your family would have no luck at all.
Neither of you had been joking the night you got the call about your father. Your uncle's wife gave you just enough information to know that he wasn't coming back this time. Just enough to know that there was going to be a memorial; not that they gave you any of that information. Your sister was a wreck, your step-mother too. You were told that they would let you know specifics later, and that you don't need to come home.
Your aunt at least asked how you were doing. Not that it sounded like she cared too much. You'd given her the standard answer; everything was great. She had no way of knowing that you were sitting in a hospital yourself, watching as they sedated your wife after telling her that your child was gone. She had miscarried after four months a child you didn't tell anyone you were expecting. Your aunt didn't need to know that. It would have just caused more stress. And besides, you always dealt with things better on your own.
Bad news came in threes.
You should have known then that this was inevitable. That not a month later you'd be watching her pack her things in the villa that your grandfather gave you and nodding when she left without telling you good-bye.
You weren't the only one who dealt better on your own.
You're not expecting her to come back. That's not the way she works.
You'll get a phone call from your sister's current fiancé in a few weeks. You know she'll make her way back there. There won't be any shock in your voice either, when your cousin tells you that she's on edge all the time. She keeps looking over her shoulder as if she expects you to follow her. She'll be staying at the mansion too. You don't have to be a psychic to know that your uncle and grandfather will insist.
It takes five weeks for you to get the call, and you smile for the first time since she left. She hasn't tried to tell you she's okay, and chances are she'd murder the messenger that's doing it for her. You're not asked if you have anything you want to tell her. She'd fly back to Rome just to kick your ass if you told them you did.
You just say thank you, and hang up.
There's a small twinge of relief that she's somewhere where someone will keep an eye on her.
And when you catch a glimpse of her on the news, cuddled up to the uncle that you fought for her, you simply have to start counting again.