A/N: Warning - this one shot contains instances of swearing, and references to sex. As such it is rated M, for my peace of mind.
This one shot utilises the characters of Jack Frost from Dreamworks' "Rise of the Guardians", Elsa from Disney's "Frozen", and Tadashi from Disney's "Big Hero Six". As such, the rights to the movie incarnations of those characters belong to those two companies. I also do not own the characters Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss from "Criminal Minds".
I own nothing but the plot to this one shot.
Wickedgreenphantom is going to kill me, but I wanted to try my hand at downer endings and tragedy.
"bro/ken"
She needs to be prepared, because she has a big day tomorrow.
The witness list for the defence looks good, in Elsa's opinion. In the case of the People vs. Jonathan Rayner, the D.A. just wants someone to be held accountable for the shooting of a prostitute in Rayner's penthouse apartment. The evidence against him is pretty good, but her gut tells her it's a frame. A good frame, but one nonetheless. Part of the reason she, and the Snowfield and Hamada law firm is so sought after is her gut feeling - it's no surprise that they are on retainer for many of the wealthiest people in Arendelle City.
It's also no surprise that her workload is insane - though, many of her friends and colleagues have told her that she's a workaholic, that she's burying her nose in cases to distract herself from and avoid the truth, but she knows better.
She traces a dainty, elegant finger down the list once more, feeling the smoothness of the paper under her fingertips, and rests upon Michael Gaston; a misogynistic, egotistical moron with more muscle than brain matter, but a good character witness. He'll need another primer on the questions she will ask and the D.A. may ask - provided he can keep his attention away from her chest for more than four seconds. Her ice-blue eyes quickly scan the list one more time, looking for any weaknesses. Satisfied that she'll be prepared for tomorrow, she slides the valuable paper into a manila folder on her desk, situated under the single lamp that provides the only source of light in an otherwise dark office, relaxes back into her chair and stifles a yawn with her clenched fist.
There's a light, respectful pair of knocks at her door. "Come in." she groans in the middle of her second yawn, and stretches her left arm off to the side. Her muscles feel tight and stiff, and her smart white blouse feels oddly constricting.
The door slowly opens, causing her eyes to involuntarily glance up from the folder, and the short black hair and brown eyes belonging to her colleague Tadashi Hamada peek through, regarding her with a patiently expectant gaze.
"Burning the candle at both ends, huh?" he smiles affably. Chuckling lightly, she scratches behind her ear and sighs heavily.
"No more than I usually do," she says, silently agreeing, "did you bring the evidence list?"
Tadashi takes that as an opportunity to enter, holding the folder before him while he closes the door for privacy. Judging by his loosened green tie, creased white shirt and well-used slacks, he's also guilty of working too hard. "Yep," he answers proudly, "right here. The gun's positive for use, which we know, and the bullets match the round the cops found in the victim, which we also know, but with the lack of fingerprints plus no gunshot residue anywhere on Rayner's clothes, we've got good grounds for reasonable doubt. Factor that in with at least six other people with access to his apartment, and the fact that he'd passed out blind drunk, I think we could make the jury a little skeptical of what Hans is going to bring to the table."
Table. That word sends a knot of discomfort into her stomach, and turns the beating of her heart into a noticeable punching. Her eyes fall away from Tadashi, eager to look anywhere else while her thumb involuntarily fiddles with her wedding ring. Judging by the clearing of his throat, the same awkwardness just hit Tadashi full force.
"Sounds...sounds good." she mutters quietly, and the ring-fiddling becomes full-on hand-wringing. "Thanks for...thanks for bringing it." she finishes, and in true nervous Elsa fashion, her lip finds its way between her teeth.
"No..er...no problem." Tadashi attempts an airy tone, one undone by how he clears his throat a second later. Elsa starts counting the seconds until he leaves, hoping it'll be very, very soon, so he can take the tension with him. The unsaid words, the awkward silence. "Elsa...listen I…about that night..." he begins.
Elsa holds up a hand to cut him off before he can continue, and musters up as much a stern expression as she can. "Tadashi...please don't. What happened...didn't happen, do you understand? I want to forget all about that night. It was a mistake, we both know it, we both regret it. Our professional relationship has already become strained, and I'd rather not damage it any further, is that clear?"
Nodding quickly, Tadashi gets the message just as another set of knocks emanate from the door. These ones she doesn't recognise; they're harder, purposeful. She takes a deep breath, searching Tadashi's face to make sure he's clear on the topic, and calmly calls out, "Come in!"
Definitely someone she doesn't recognise - a woman with exceptionally long brown hair, way past what Elsa would call professional-length and swept into a thick ponytail. Wearing a clean, well-fitting lilac business suit, with a round Greek-style broach on her left lapel and a tan leather handbag on her right arm, she looks the epitome of purposeful. She's there for a reason, and the way she stares expectantly at Elsa gives her a sinking feeling in her heart.
"Are you Elsa Frost?" she asks with a voice that, if it wasn't so clinical at this point in time, would probably make the strongest men turn into a puddle of goo. Elsa nods slowly, and bluntly asks for the visitor's name as she starts rifling through her bag.
"Name's Megara, I'm a colleague of Jack's," the woman answers as she draws out a rectangle of folded paper and hands it to her, "and you've just been served."
Elsa stares open-mouthed in shock as Megara turns on a dime and glides out of the office. Tadashi, equally incredulous, follows her to the door and stares after her for a few seconds, before closing it and returning his dumbfounded gaze to Elsa.
"It's a little late for the D.A. to be handing out notices, isn't it?" he frowns in mild annoyance.
Elsa barely hears him, because her world has just come to a standstill. Her heartbeat slows to a crawl and adopts a stabbing pain she never thought she'd feel since her father was unfairly taken from her, the knot in her stomach magically becomes a horrifically strong nausea, and she can't rip her eyes away from the words on the paper much as she can't breathe again.
"Jack…" she croaks, frozen in time, "he's...h-he...he's f-filing for d-divorce…"
She can almost hear the thud of Tadashi's jaw hitting the floor. "What?!"
Jack. Her husband. The man she happily married four years ago. Divorcing her. She racks her brain, trying to discern a thousand thoughts flying through her head at a million miles an hour. When did he become tired of the marriage, and decide it was unrecoverable? Why didn't he tell her? Tadashi seems to sense her thoughts, or is able to pick out one in the way he says, with a cracked, tremulous voice, "Does...he know...about what happened?"
She doesn't respond, at least not instantly. She was careful - at least, she thought she was. Then again, it was entirely possible - as a behavioural analyst, Jack is trained to pick up on the little quirks of a person's body language and get inside their mind. It's entirely possible that he noticed the slightest differences, if any, in her behaviour after that night...yet, he would have asked her. Wouldn't he? Unless it's something else...
But then she remembers...and the realisation hits her harder than a collision with an eighteen-wheeler.
"Tadashi...what time is it?" she whispers, dreading the answer, hoping she's wrong, searching her colleague's face for a sign that she's wrong.
She's not.
Blinking in confusion, he jerks his left arm out to pull the sleeve from his black-strapped wristwatch, and says, "Er...nine-thirty. Why?"
Elsa has never leapt from her chair, grabbed her handbag from the desk and her coat from the hanger by the door so fast in her life.
Because she's late for the most important meal in her life. Two hours late.
"Do you remember when we first met?"
"How could I forget, Jack? You were on the stand, I was cross-examining you…and then out of the blue, you just said…"
"...'you're a cappuccino person, right? Can I take you out for a coffee after this?'"
"Yes, exactly! You nearly caused a mistrial!"
"Do you regret it, Elsa?
"Not at all, Jack. I don't regret anything where you're concerned. I love you."
"I love you too."
Any faster and she'll end up defending herself in court on charges of reckless driving. That'll be a fun day. She can see the headlines now - "Top Defense Lawyer Charged with Speeding, D.A. Laughs". Assistant District Attorney Hans would have a field day.
How could she have let the time get away from her like that? It was simple enough; anniversary meal at seven thirty, so she would finish her case preparation by six thirty, stop by Corona Fashion for a brand new dress in honor of the occasion, add a little purple eyeshadow and light pink lipstick in the car, and arrive at the Winter Apartments building at seven. Then she would ride the elevator up to the penthouse, dive into the bedroom to slip into her dress at seven fifteen - but not before stealing a quick kiss on the way, naturally - and then be ready for a romantic, comfortable candlelit dinner in honor of their fourth wedding anniversary.
Simple, and now completely redundant; it's nine fifty when she slams the brakes and brings the car to a near head-smashingly sharp stop outside the apartment building. She's still wearing the heavily creased with use, constricting black business suit, white blouse and modest heels, her make-up hasn't been touched beyond what is expected of a professional lawyer - damn it, she really wanted to make an effort with the mascara, purple eyeshadow, light pink lipstick and everything - and it's going to be five past ten before she even steps out of the elevator.
The unsettling thing is: the text she sent to him that said she was on her way back has gone unanswered...and unread. The thing that swells a tide of self-admonition, as if she needed any more, were the six unread text messages going back as far as eleven in the morning, reminding her about the anniversary dinner.
Bursting through the black-framed, modern revolving glass doors, her heart pounding against her ribcage like a war drum both out of panic and anticipation, she barely has enough puff between rapid intakes of air to issue a breathless greeting to the smartly dressed yet completely bored concierge. A 'hello' that probably goes completely unheard due to the clatter of her heels as she races to the closest available elevator - four of them, two on either side of the mahogany-walled foyer, each one the same dull gun-metal silver. Thumbing, and a second later hammering the call button amidst a mantra of 'come on, come on….' the churning of her stomach that has been with her since she flew out of her office intensifies; she has no idea what to expect in their apartment.
She has no idea if he'll still be there, a thought that simultaneously chills and pains her heart. If he is, will he stick around to talk, or has the damage already been done? She'll freely admit that there have been a few instances of her being late to, or missing a few pre-arranged engagements like meals out or the traditional Movie Night, but...it can't be that bad, can it?
The humming of the elevator's descent ceases, and she's inside the confined box before the doors have even fully opened, and practically punching the button to close them like it's the difference between 'too late' and 'irrevocably destroyed', like it's the only thing standing between her and salvaging the wreckage. Finally, the doors languidly close with a smooth rumble - is everything out to punish her today? - and the ascent slowly begins...thirty five floors.
"Please still be there…" she whispers to herself. She knew they were having some issues in the marriage - the occasional argument, the lack of conversation when they're together. Every marriage has that, surely, and the fact that they both have careers which don't exactly obey the nine-to-five stereotype doesn't help, but could it be that bad?
"I have to say, that case with the sociopathic kid? You were awesome."
"Let's not get carried away, Jack…"
"No, actually, let's. There's a twelve year old that's got the jury in the palm of his hand, blaming the crime on the socially-awkward fourteen year old defendant, and what does my queen do? Hits a sociopath where it hurts: their ego."
"I suppose it was fairly...rewarding."
"And how. One second, he's acting scared and meek. Then you challenge his intelligence, start implying that he's weak, and seconds later he's screaming that he wasn't scared, that the other kid was, and he wasn't scared when he stabbed the guy over and over. I call that genius."
"You give me too much credit, Jack."
"I don't give you enough, Elsa. You are intelligent as you are beautiful...and trust me...you're beyond beautiful to me. So that's why, among too many other reasons to count, I wanted to give you this…"
"Oh my God...are you asking what I think you're asking?"
Her hand freezes, leaving the key half an inch from the lock halfway up the door. It's as though her mind has reached a critical mass of thoughts, causing one hell of a pile-up of memories and hypotheses that rival the worst car accidents. A temporary shut down of the brain, allowing her to stop for a second and think.
He's divorcing her. He is actually divorcing her. The marriage she thought would stand the test of time, is coming to an end - and at the worst possible time, too. How the hell is she going to function tomorrow, knowing that her husband has probably handed the divorce papers to court around the same time as she cross-examines Rayner's best friend Sam? How will she be able to think about defending Rayner when all she will be able to think about is how she lost Jack?
Strangely, her mind briefly jumps back to the manila folder, and automatically goes through her list of questions and potential objections, before zipping back to the present. The unexplained desire, the almost addictive call to return to the office and immerse herself in work is alluring. Bury her mind in testimonies and exhibit lists to distract herself from the here and now, just like she did two years ago.
A voice rings out in her mind, just as her right foot begins to think about turning.
No. You need to face this.
Maybe she'll find a way to convince him to stay; a concession, a compromise, anything...even trial separation - just not divorce. It's a word that drives a knife into the myriad cracks constituting her heart. It speaks of finality, of inevitability, of oblivion. Someone who used to love you, no longer wanting anything of the sort. She thought Jack loved her. He told her often enough, mostly when she was busy working out potential notices based on precedents, tactics for successfully defending their clients, or on the phone with Tadashi to discuss who to subpoena and for what. She thought he still wanted her...but the rectangle of paper in her bag says otherwise.
She won't know for sure, however, until she opens the only thing blocking her from her husband...so with a deep, galvanizing, strengthening breath, she slides the key into the lock, turns it slightly until the inimitable click echoes through the empty hallway, and opens the door.
It's the darkness that hits her first; the darkness that permeates and oppresses what used to be a well-lit, impeccably furnished apartment. The open plan kitchen with black granite surfaces to the left of the front door. The brown leather recliner sofa and matching armchairs, situated in front of a fifty-five inch flat-screen television and nearby electric fire to the immediate right. Hardwood, varnished flooring. All blanketed in the same natural darkness.
It takes her a moment upon closing the door to acclimatise to the sea of black so, as though it's her mooring, her hand yet rests laced around the inside handle while her eyes adjust to the stark change in lighting - and when they do, she finally sees him. He's still there.
Silhouetted by the light of the moon high overhead, a light unobstructed by tall apartment complexes and skyscrapers, Jack cuts a figure of an almost ethereal quality, almost like a spirit standing on their stone balcony. It's an impression reinforced by how his snowy hair dances in the breeze, and shimmers under the moon's glow.
The sight of him stood with his back to her, clad in his favourite grey waistcoat, matching grey slacks and white shirt both swells her heart whilst simultaneously driving a knife into it.
She waits for a few seconds, watching for his movement - and a little entranced by his poise - but there's no sign he's even aware of her arrival. This presents her with an opportunity; since learning of how late she is for the anniversary meal, the world has gone by at the speed of light. Now, she has a moment of quiet where time stands still, a chance for her to regroup, work out her next move and plan how she's going to save their marriage by convincing him to change his mind.
A task she knows will be easier said than done; Jack can be remarkably stubborn when he wants to be.
"Your dad was pretty good up there. I didn't think he was going to win, but when he brought out that last witness…"
"Well, he never represents anyone he thinks is guilty, so whoever he does represent, he fights tooth and nail for."
"A defense lawyer with a conscience? Hold me, I think I'm going to faint."
"I'll try not to take that personally, Jack."
"Ah, Elsa. You know I'm kid-GUN!"
"Papa? Papa?! Papa! Please, no, Papa!"
Elsa slowly walks towards the glass balcony doors, silently thanking the stars that they are closed and thus will conceal her approach; it's a bizarre notion that she feels the need to sneak up on her husband like a predator stalks its prey, but she knows there's a very real chance that, should he turn around, whatever expression exists upon those carved, pale features will kill whatever she plans to say.
As she ascends the two steps onto the platform just before the doors, however, she nearly walks into something due to her incredibly easily attained tunnel vision...and as her head shoots down whilst uttering a silent curse, it's then that she notices precisely what the obstruction is. One lowly dining chair. Her eyes slowly, unwillingly drift along the seat, up the closest leg of the white-cloth covered table, and she sees the remnants of dinner bathed in the judging moonlight.
His plate is practically empty aside from the remains of a T-bone steak, but her plate is still completely full and ice cold. Even in the semi-dark, she can still recognise her favourite meal: Mediterranean salmon. Her knife, fork and spoon lies untouched, her napkin cone - well, Jack's attempt at a cone, he was never any good at folding them in a fancy way - hasn't moved, and her wine glass is bone dry whereas his is missing, along with the bottle of wine. All this, coupled with the faint smell of candle smoke in the air, reminds her of just how screwed up the night is.
She sighs a tremulous, ragged sigh as she gazes at the table, wishing that she had set a freaking alarm for six-thirty, so she could have destroyed the salmon and then made it so neither of them could walk for the next day. The what-ifs, and could-have-beens. Her heart clenches with each beat, giving her the strange sensation of numbness in every part of her body aside from her heartbeat, her lungs and her mind. Her lower lip finds its way between her teeth once more, and she swallows thickly to stymie the lump that starts to make an appearance in her throat. She wonders how many dinners she's missed - and she doesn't know. That very fact alone hurts like hell.
But she's not going to get anywhere by just pining over cold meals, and she knows it. So, after placing her handbag on Jack's chair, she summons every bit of strength she can for what's about to happen.
Weirdly enough, if you put Elsa in a courtroom under the eyes of dozens of people, she radiates self-confidence and fearlessness surpassing that of any male action hero.
In the situation she finds herself in, though, with her husband on the other side of the balcony doors, leaning on the wrought iron balcony rail and sipping from a half-empty glass of red wine...she's terrified.
"How's she doing, Jack?"
"She's...in hell, Bunny. They all are, but Elsa...her father's death hit her hard."
"What happened, mate?"
"The victim's mother came to court to shoot the defendant, but she missed, and hit Agdar in the heart. It was...instantaneous, and Elsa watched it all happen."
"Oh man, that's awful."
"Yeah. The mother was just...torn apart by grief, so when the jury voted not guilty, she just snapped. Didn't believe the evidence, so as soon as the press swarmed Agdar on the courthouse steps..."
"Yikes. Think Elsa'll be okay?"
"I hope so, Bunny. I really hope so."
As her fingers feather themselves over the ice-cold glass, she ponders what to say. The first words are the hardest in any situation, because it's a first step on a path to where the outcome is unknown. Her feeling is that what she says in the next minute may dictate whether she endures insomnia alone, crying in a cold, empty bed, or cuddling up to his warmth and falling into blissful sleep.
She frowns slightly; Megara might not have been able to provide him with the proof of service just yet as it's so late at night, and Elsa is certain that after breaking several laws and speed limits while miraculously avoiding police attention - maybe fate was on her side, after all - she beat Megara back to the apartment even if she was swinging by. For all Jack knows, Elsa may not have been served just yet.
So she ponders...what if she acts like nothing is wrong? It's a gamble, considering the nature of his career, but if she shows him some attention - God knows he's needed some from her over the past few weeks - and tries to make something of the disastrous night, then he might reconsider moving ahead with the divorce. Might. It's worth a try. Inhaling another deep breath, Elsa braces herself for what's about to happen, aside from the rush of cold air as it seeks solace in the apartment, and carefully pushes open the glass door into the night.
The sounds of distant traffic below them greet her ears as a modern symphony of normalcy, while a cold breeze tickles at her exposed face and neck, and her eyes rest inextricably upon the nape of her husband's neck. She nibbles at her cheek as she takes each step forward, none easier than the last, but each one necessary. Feeling the need to touch him, her right hand reaches out towards him; closer, closer, the distance between fingers and waistcoat fabric diminishes, until she finally makes contact - and it's like his entire body stiffens.
"Hey…" she softly calls to him, "I'm sorry I'm late, there's a big-"
But then he interrupts, coldly and ruthlessly, and his cadence is that of someone reading a script.
"-trial tomorrow and with all the preparation you lost track of time. That's what you were about to say, am I right?"
Elsa flinches; not only is his voice completely dead and monotone, but he just said what she was about to say, word-for-word, verbatim. "I hear it a lot." he adds.
She nibbles nervously at her lip, and her hand instinctively shrinks away from his back like it just burned her. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Why would it be? "I, erm…" she stammers a little, bereft of what to say for a few seconds, "I was thinking; what if I got dressed, and we ordered pizza? We could always improvise our anniversary meal…"
Jack straightens up, though his gaze remains firmly locked upon the horizon. "If you're going to do that," he says flatly, after taking another sip, "you should probably save your money and order for one."
Elsa closes her eyes, and her heart clenches painfully, something to go with the hitch of her breath. "So you're really doing it, then?" she mutters, bitterly aware her gamble just blew up in her face.
His response is silence, save for an uncomfortably loud exhalation through his nose, and as she opens her eyes she notices his jaw tensing and relaxing over and over. There's nothing to be said at the moment so words are useless, but she entertains a faint hope that if she shows she's putting in an effort, it might help. Sighing, she turns from him and re-enters the apartment, immediately making a beeline for the master bedroom where her prettiest dresses reside. Maybe it'll look like she's clutching at straws, or like she's trying her best. Hopefully the latter.
But as she slides the bedroom door across, and sees the two large suitcases neatly packed on the floor, patiently waiting by his side of the bed, she feels a metaphorical punch in the gut as she realises he already made his decision.
"Jack, I'm worried about Elsa."
"You're not the only one, Anna."
"I'm serious; she does nothing but work. Eat, sleep, work. That's all. It's like she's...in limbo."
"She's using it to cope with Agdar's death. We knew she would."
"Yeah we did, but...it's been months. Could you...try and talk to her? Maybe you'll get through to her better than we can…"
"I've been trying, Anna, but if she doesn't want to listen, she won't. I'll keep trying."
By the time she returns to the living room, full of heartache, betrayal and despair, Jack too has chosen to seek shelter from the cold. The temperature, that is, not the emotion; he's still a bitter wind in the winter. She nibbles the inside of her lip so hard she's in danger of drawing blood as she glares at him, her hands digging into her hips as she watches him pour himself another glass of wine.
"So when did you decide you were leaving?" she asks with the bite of accusation.
He swills the red liquid around the glass in his hand, and pockets the other as he takes a sip. Without looking at her, and instead staring at her plate, he answers quietly, "When did I decide? A couple of months ago, actually. When did I decide to go through with it? I filed the petition this morning, but gave Megara instructions to serve you if she didn't hear from me by seven thirty. So, technically, around seven thirty-five, when you still hadn't arrived."
She cocks her hip. "So I had a five minute window for being late, but after that you were going to divorce me? Lovely vote of confidence there, Jack." she snaps sarcastically.
Jack snorts, a single sharp exhalation of breath out of his nose. "It was a test, Elsa. To see if you could put as much effort into our marriage as you did in the office, which is where you were when it was time for our anniversary meal. Not here. There. So forgive me if I'm not sympathetic - if this meal was important to you, then you would have done everything you could to be here on time. I would be tearing up the petition, and giving this marriage another shot."
"Well I'm here now!" she protests, "I just...I can't believe you're willing to throw away everything we've built together, all of this, just because I'm late!"
"Elsa," he begins, and his gaze drifts from her plate to the wine glass he delicately places on the table, "it wouldn't matter to me if we lived in a top-end apartment penthouse like this one, or under the bridge on Third and Snowfall. It wouldn't matter to me if we had everything, or didn't have anything. Want to know why?"
She nods, though it comes across a little more vigorously than she's intending - hello, pride. There's a few seconds pause while he seems to choose his words, and eventually his eyes slowly move up from the glass, to her plate, to her chair, and then to hers...and her breath catches.
So much sadness in those cobalt blues.
"I'd still have you. None of this," he pauses to gesture apathetically at the television, and ostensibly most of the other expensive items by association, "would matter to me as long as I had my wife with me. Just you; not you and your work, not you and your colleagues...you. Thing is, that hasn't happened for over two years."
"Jack, I'm part of the most sought-after law firm in the state! Long hours and working from home comes with the territory - and don't forget, your career isn't exactly on the stable side!" she throws her hands up in frustration, which as it turns out, garners a flash of darkness in Jack's eyes.
"Yeah, you're right. Sometimes I'm away from home for a few days. Sometimes I have to pull all-nighters. The difference is, when I am home, I. Am. Home. Not my work, not the people I have to catch, just me. You get all of me. I get nothing of you, and I need more than to feel like I'm a freaking housemate, not a husband."
"You're being ridiculous," she snaps and rolls her eyes dismissively, "you're acting like you never see-"
"Ridiculous?" he shouts hotly, advancing upon her to the point that he is less than two feet away, "Pardon me for being a man and having needs for, you know, attention. Affection. Love. To know that I actually matter in this marriage, and I'm not just being taken for goddamn granted while you spend every waking hour either in that office or burying yourself in work to distract yourself!"
"Oh please! Jack, I knew you were childish sometimes, but this is-"
"Fifty-three."
Taken aback by his cryptic interruption, she finds that whatever she was going to retort with has suddenly disappeared out of the window. "What?" she mumbles.
"Over the past eighteen months, you've been nearly two hours late for, cancelled or completely missed fifty-three of our engagements, including tonight. Didn't matter if it was a trip to the movies, a restaurant visit, hanging out with our friends, or even our third wedding anniversary - you didn't come." he declares. It's his voice that hits her - calm, matter-of-fact, but with a veiled cold fury. Each word clear, precise and surgically sharp.
"I…" she begins, but finds whatever she was going to say has disappeared - is it true? Has it been that many times?
"I think the worst one was when I made a seven o'clock reservation at Oaken's restaurant, to celebrate you winning the Hendricks trial." he elaborates, and his eyes drift away from hers and dance between several invisible spots on the nearby wall, recalling the memory, "Seven came and went. Then eight. Then nine. By the time nine-thirty came around, I just asked Oaken for the bill, and he goes," Jack pauses, then in his best Oaken-voice continues, "'Oh, it is always a shame when someone is stood up, ja? Who was she, your date?' and his face when I answered 'No, my wife' was something I'll remember for a long time. He actually waived the bill, did you know that?" Jack pauses again, and even though his eyes gaze away from hers, she can still see the shimmering in his lower eyelid, and hear the crack in his voice. "He took pity on me and said my meal was free."
He closes his eyes, and the sharp claws that have been slowly piercing her heart dig further when she sees a single tear slide down from his left eye. She wants to reach out to him, she wants so, so much to wipe away the tear and heal his heart, but her hands have stilled at her side, and the words have caught in her throat. She knew Jack was angry with her on that night, when she went to cuddle up to him in bed and he simply got up to sleep on the sofa, but he never told her why. No wonder he didn't talk to her in the few hours they shared together over the weekend.
He sniffs, and a bitter smile cuts his face as he wipes the tear away. "I think," he begins, but stops himself presumably to mask the quaver in his tenor voice, "I think that's when I knew our marriage was dying, and I should just give up trying to resurrect it."
She tastes the bitter coppery flavour of blood in her mouth, and realises that she has been biting and nibbling her lip for so long and so much that her teeth broke the tiny capillaries in her inside lips. Yet, she pays it no heed, because her husband stands brokenly before her, pouring his heart out. She wants to wrap him up in her arms and encourage him to cry it out, but...there's a trickle of fear whenever the urge arises. He already made up his mind about the divorce; what if he reacts badly to her gesture? The thought alone sends a shock of pain through her entire chest.
"You know what the saddest part is, though?" he asks, smiling in spite of himself as he looks at her through the corner of his eyes. Bereft of an answer, though she can't escape the feeling that she should know, Elsa simply shakes her head, and hopes that she can hold back the wetness in her eyes.
"It's sort of not your fault."
"Hey, honey? I was thinking, did you want to go to that new Thai place that opened up on Icelynn Street? I hear they've got good-"
"I'm sorry, Jack, I can't - yep, make sure the judge gets the motion to suppress, yes - I have a trial in two days and I really need to make sure Tadashi is up to speed, plus two other cases…"
"Oh..no, that's okay. You're busy. Um...what if I order pizza?"
"Sounds good - okay, but what about Judge Moors, she's a little imperious…"
"Cool! Want me to get your favourite?"
"I'm sorry, Tadashi, one second - order whatever one you want, Jack. I'm not really hungry."
"Okay, one Margherita pizza with extra isolation, please."
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"Nothing, Elsa."
She frowns - how could it not be her fault? If what he says is true, which she has no reason to doubt as he has never lied to her, how is she not to blame? She has ignored his attentions, cast aside his feelings, and as the self-admonition and self-contempt swells within her entire being, effectively treated him as a safety net, not the love of her life - which, whether he believes it or not, he still is. Maybe that's why he said 'sort of'.
"You've been this way ever since your father died." he drops the bombshell, though in some way she is already aware of it.
"Please don't mention him…" she tries to dissuade him in a croaky voice of her own, but is ignored. Agdar's death is still a sore point, even two years on.
"Everyone has their own coping methods to deal with bereavement. Some paint, most talk, but you-" he begins.
"You promised you would never read me." she says, and her entire face constricts the way it does when someone is trying desperately to stop themselves from breaking down.
"I don't need to read you, Elsa, it's obvious. You would always run away and bury your head in the sand whenever trouble came, and hope it would blow over...and you did the same after the funeral. You threw yourself into your work like it was the only thing you cared about, trying to avoid the truth." he explains.
"Jack, I was grieving then, and the grieving process is longer for some than others. You can't honestly hold that against me." she points out, but she suspects he has been planning this conversation for some time judging by his reply.
"You're right, it is longer; but it's like you got stuck on the first stage of Denial and refused to carry on to Anger. I don't know, maybe you thought that if you continued his work - and let's face it, you and I both know that he was a taskmaster at times - that he would somehow be still alive."
She turns away from him - all of this is hitting too close to home. Then again, that's exactly what Jack has to do for his job - profile people based on observation, intuition and experience. Of course that's usually reserved for criminals, but it seems to be remarkably effective when used domestically. She moves as quickly as she can to her chair, but not before pouring herself a glass of the white wine near her plate - red wine for his steak, white for her fish. He thought of everything, and as she takes a sip, she notes with appreciation amidst the despondency that his choice was as on point as his observation.
"The thing is, Elsa, I'm not filing for divorce because you're not coping. I'm filing for divorce because I've been fighting your work for a piece of your heart every day, and tonight I just lost the battle."
"Elsa, you're out of the house before I wake up, and you're coming back after I go to sleep. If by some fluke you're around at the weekend, you're either doing more work, thinking about work or on the phone to your colleagues. You are incapable of switching off."
"That's a rather silly exaggeration, Jack."
"No it isn't, and you know it. Elsa, I am tired of sharing you with your work. When was the last time we even had a freaking romantic walk together? When we made love? Heck, I'm pretty sure the last time we made love, you were still thinking of your witness list!"
"Look, can we talk about this tomorrow? I have to be at work in fifteen minutes and I'm already late."
"Yeah, whatever. You said that last time, and the time before that."
"Please, Jack, this isn't the best…"
"Look, just...go save the justice system. Just remember; unless we start talking about this, one day you'll come back and I might not be here. Relationships are a two-way street, Elsa, and I'm sick of ours being a one-way."
"Jack," she tries, and forces the words out despite wanting to shrink inside herself, although it still hurts too much to even look him in the eye - having said that, she can tell he still has his back to her, "you are still in my heart, you still have my heart. I love you, don't you know that?"
"You know, there was a time I would have believed you." he chuckles with a strange combination of wistfulness, humourlessness and cynicism, "but that was until I found something you might want back."
She knows exactly what it is, and she doesn't even need the sensation of her stomach hitting the floor and clenching itself to oblivion, nor the sensation of fear surging through every fiber of her being to tell her. While she stares numbly at the lightless candlestick, she hears his echoing, thunder-like footsteps recede towards the coat hanger near the front door, the sound of his hands rifling through his pockets, and then the immediate return of his steps towards her.
Then something is tossed onto the table, and as her eyes immediately and involuntarily flick down to it, her heart ceases to beat.
"You really should have thought of a better place than under the bathroom sink to hide the pregnancy tests, Elsa."
"I have no idea what to do, Anna. I know what Bunny would say, but…"
"You're planning on divorcing Elsa, aren't you?
"Is it that obvious?"
"Look, I am amazed you stuck around for this long - if Kristoff did that to me, I would be out of the door months ago. I can tell that you love her-"
"I thought you would talk me out of it…"
"Let me finish. I can tell that you love her, but this is not healthy for either of you. You're in denial, and she's...you are my brother-in-law and I love you. You deserve better than this. If you need to go, then you should go while you still love her, rather than stay and resent, or hate her."
"I can't believe you're actually encouraging me to divorce your sister."
"Sometimes people need a wake-up call...but...I'm not sure it'll work, if I'm honest. It's like she's lost touch with reality."
"I'm still not sure…"
"Jack, you deserve to be happy as much as she does. Right now you are anything but happy. I love my sister, but I love you too, and if you need to be away from her, then that's how it's gotta be. I'm sorry, Jack, I wish I could give you something good, but I can only offer my honest opinion."
The silence is oppressive, deafening, suffocating. Sure, there's still the sounds of him moving over to the sofa and collapsing into it, his heavy breathing in addition to her shallow breaths, the roaring thunder of her heartbeat and the judging sneers of a voice in her head, but other than that? Emptiness.
She stares at the thin cardboard box, stares at it like the very act will cause it, and the memories of anyone who's ever seen it to disappear. A horrible mistake, one that she too tried to brush aside and pretend never happened. She wonders how he found it, and when. How long he kept quiet about it - did he happen upon it not long after she tried to hide it, or was its location revealed today?
Read my non-corporeal, thought-voice lips. It. Doesn't. Matter. He already knows, so get over there and pray to God you can salvage this disaster.
Her eyes slowly, almost reluctantly move from object to object, slowly tracing over each line of the table and chairs, across the floor and finally up the soft edges of the sofa to rest on the top of his snow white head, just peeking above the edge of the leather. A tear escapes her eyes, seeking gravity's embrace as it slides down her right cheek and stops at her jaw.
He never looked more beautiful than tonight. Beautiful, and sad. A man whose love was taken, absorbed and not returned - she did love him, she just forgot how to show it. Fleeting glances became witness lists, hugs and cuddles became motions to suppress, kisses became objections and lovemaking became closing arguments. She wasn't blind, she knew what was happening, but she was scared; unlike Anna who faced her fears, Elsa kept hers concealed.
But the funny thing about fear, it paralyses you and if you let it, eats away at you. She tried to escape what was happening to the marriage by using her career as a crutch, and she knew at some point something had to give, but the very idea terrified her. The fear pushed her further into work, which intensified the anxiety, and it became a downward spiral...and slowly, an addiction. One that helped her block out the memories of the courthouse steps, and her life with Jack slipping through her fingertips.
And with him finding out about her affair in the worst possible way, the seductive call to hide in the office has never been stronger. A castle of ice in the mountains, filled with paperwork, subpoenas, indictments and citations.
There's a strength, though, that flickers in her heart and starts to turn the tide of despair and helplessness. A resolve that cuts through the focus and tells her to get up, to walk over to him, and to talk. She reaches her hand to the French braid sat on her left shoulder, and gives it a squeeze; he may have lost hope and given up, but she won't. There's a chance. There's always a chance.
Her father taught her that.
"Elsa, remember it's our anniversary dinner tonight. Seven thirty."
"I'll be there - I'm sorry, I really have to go!"
"Seven thirty! It's really important you're here."
"Okay, I'm on my way, be there in twenty minutes."
"Elsa, did you hear me?"
"Yes, I understand, seven thirty. Got it. Jack, sorry, I can't stay, I have to get to work!"
…
"...you're not going to be here, are you?"
He doesn't seem to register her presence as she sits by his side, but the body language between them is telling. He is closed off, defensive, his head in his hands. Elsa's posture is much the same, though her hands wring themselves in her lap, her gaze dances around the magazines on the coffee table and occasionally up to her husband, and she sits slightly facing him. Hoping he'll talk, that she'll come up with some miraculous epiphany of what to say, something that'll turn this disaster around. Her eyes, shimmering wet since the arrival of the box of twin-pack tests, decide to forgo holding back the tide and let two tears slide down her cheek, one on its way to her jaw and the other towards her upper lip.
She opens her mouth, willing her mind to come up with something to say - she should say the obvious, but it's like whatever words come to mind crash and pile up against the suffocating lump in her throat. Silence is bad in this situation, but her chest is so tight she can't even speak.
But Jack can, and though it's the only way that the elephant in the room can be addressed, it also cracks her heart with an almost audible snap.
"You know," he speaks softly, in a voice that is full of bittersweet tones, "there was actually a moment when I thought I was gonna be a father, and that you didn't tell me 'cause you didn't want to get my hopes up."
Under her sorrowful gaze, he draws his hands down from his forehead and clenches them to form a shelf under his chin - and Elsa can easily pick out the shimmer of tears streaming down his face, though he's doing a valiant job of holding himself back from breaking down.
"But then I noticed that there was one test missing...and when I remembered that the last time we made love was just over a year ago...it's not hard to put two and two together."
Her gaze drops from his cheek, and her left hand languidly moves up to wipe one of her tears away, before returning to wring anxiously with the other. She figures letting him take the lead is the best thing to do in this situation. She hears him inhale loudly and deeply through his nose, whether to calm a raging storm inside him or to brace himself she doesn't know, but she prepares herself for a conversation harder than any cross-examination, closing argument or trial she has ever experienced...but she feels sick. So, so sick.
"So I suppose I should ask," he sighs, resigned, "are you pregnant?"
She quickly shakes her head, and answers without hesitation, "No. The test was negative, and I took the morning after pill as soon as I could."
It still hurts her to look at him.
He grunts darkly. "I guess I should be thankful for small mercies."
She winces at his tone. Jack loves children, so for him to say that only intensifies the guilt.
"Jack," she begins weakly, pausing while searching for words to an apology that is so heartfelt yet so hard to articulate, "I am so, so sorry. It was a terrible mistake..I never meant for it to happen-"
Jack's interruption is decisive, brutal, and dripping with sarcasm. "Oh good, 'cause there was me thinking it was intentional. Makes me feel a whole lot better that another guy had sex with you by accident." he snaps.
"Jack, please! I'm-" she cries.
"For a second there, I thought you wanted to have sex with Tadashi, but that clears it right up. I feel so relieved." he practically shouts as he shoots to his feet, and though every part of her wants to recoil, be swallowed up by the earth and shrink away into nothingness, she too leaps up and glares at him with watery eyes, her vision almost entirely clouded by tears. If she could, she would be proud of herself - her husband is normally calm or upbeat, so when he loses his temper, his wrath is a sight to behold. The very fact she isn't backing down is one hell of an achievement.
"Jack, will you stop?!" she chokes, forcing down a sob, "There is no way you can possibly make me feel any worse, any more guilty than I do right now! I hurt you, I hurt you so much and I am so sorry, I wish I could take it back, but I can't! I want to, I want to go back in time and change the past but I can't! It was a mistake and I will regret it for the rest of my life!"
His face is torn between pity and fury, between betrayal and love. She can easily see how his shoulders rise and fall with deep, forced breaths, and how his jaw clenches and relaxes. Her plea goes unheard, however.
"You know what the worst part is? What really makes me feel worthless, like a failure as a husband and as a man?" he snarls.
The urge to break down becomes stronger than ever, so she whirls around and runs her fingers through the free strands of her hair in frustration and anguish. He's not listening. He's too angry.
"It's that for a year I couldn't, wasn't able to please my wife, but another man could, and did. It kills me that you would rather sleep with Tadashi than me, and show him the parts of you only I, as your husband, should see!"
She whirls around and stares at him, prepares to shriek at him, to make him listen and understand that Tadashi was an accident, that she never meant for that night to happen...but then it hits her, and the anguish is pushed aside by confusion.
"How did you know it was Tadashi?"
The rolling of Jack's eyes is contemptuous, and the scoff that escapes his lips is derisive. "Oh come on, Elsa, you're way more intelligent than that. The signs were obvious; I knew he had a crush on you from way back. He always sounded like he wanted to impress you when he was on speakerphone, and I caught him glancing at you when you weren't looking. Add that to the fact that you went from talking cases with him over the phone to completely ignoring him overnight...it doesn't take a behavioural analyst to work out something happened between you two."
"Why didn't you say anything?" she whispers.
"Love is blind, I guess. I didn't put it together until I found the tests." he explains, then his voice takes on an almost regretful tone as he mutters, "I wish he'd have made his move, you know, after the divorce, but hey. If you wanted him that much, you should have divorced me first, but I guess you couldn't wait."
The words spill out of her mouth before she's even aware of them, but her shriek fills the room with its palpable anguish, fury and offense. "Will you get it into your head: there is nothing between me and Tadashi! Nothing! I feel nothing for him! I love you! I want you! What happened between me and him was something that should never have taken place! You are the only man I want, could ever want, which you'll know if you just let me explain!"
The silence between them is tense. Bomb-disposal level of tense. All she can hear is the rush of blood in her ears, the thunder of her heart, and the furious breaths of her husband as he seemingly debates whether to really explode, or calm down and let her speak. All could depend on the next few minutes.
"I still don't know if I believe that." he sighs, "but go ahead."
His skepticism is like a thousand needles, but she shouldn't be surprised. Rather, she's grateful for him choosing to let go of his anger - or put it aside and embrace peace and rationality, at least. She waits for her own temper to abate, choosing to return to where she was previously sitting before all hell broke loose, and rests her elbows on her knees while she dwells in the silence. A welcome change from the fury. The sofa dips to her right, and the part of her that calls out to him is grateful for his choice to sit beside her - though there's a healthy, cold, heartache-filled distance between them.
"So when did it happen?" he asks quietly.
Aware that in the heat of the moment her eyes streamed their grieving tears, Elsa sniffs and palms her cheeks to wipe away the evidence of her pain, and stares intently at the black rug under the coffee table as though the very act will strengthen her. "The office party a few months ago, celebrating twenty years of the firm."
"Ah," he says in understanding, "I remember. I was going to come with you, but the police called me away at the last minute."
She closes her eyes, and nods her agreement. "Yes, so I went alone. Everything was going well, but I was deeply feeling your absence...and when they brought out Papa's favourite satchel, pocket watch and fountain pen, and then asked me to do a speech...in hindsight, I think that was when it all went downhill."
Her arms find their way across her chest, and she hugs herself tightly. The memories alone are painful to recall. "After the speech, I started to...hit the booze, as Anna would delicately say. With nothing to distract me from Papa's death and how our marriage was breaking apart, I drank and drank to numb the pain. It got to the point when, in the interest of not making a scene, I removed myself from the party and hid in my office, hoping that I could be alone with my grief."
"But Tadashi followed, didn't he?" Jack states the obvious, staring at the coffee table. Each dip and rise of her head as she nods feels like a judgment, a death knell.
"Yes. He asked me what was wrong, and while I cried and cried, I told him everything. I told him how I wasn't coping with Papa's death. How you and I barely touched anymore, that all we seemed to do was argue…"
She pauses, not least to gather courage for what was to come, but to force down the swelling nausea as her explanation advances inexorably towards the moment it all fell apart.
"...and he listened. He was kind, he was...attentive. I needed that, though my mind was telling me not from him...but the alcohol silenced that voice. I was desperate for attention and affection, and I was missing you so much, and with nothing to distract me...when he kissed me I...I am ashamed to say I kissed back. In a strange way, I pretended he was you, that you were with me. Even though he was different, in that moment, I wanted to be with you. I should have stopped myself, I should have recognised that what I was doing was so, so wrong...but one thing led to another…"
"And the next minute he was having sex with you." he finished, void of emotion.
Her lips are way too busy being practically torn apart by her teeth, and the tears renew their assault upon her face, yet she still manages to croak out, "Yes."
"Missing me, wanting me, and yet you still had sex with him." he growls through gritted teeth.
"Yes. We realised what we had done when...when...when I called out your name as I…" she forces out - and the sharp intake of breath makes her wince.
"You what?"
Her strength abandons her at this critical moment, where she knows that the last bullet has been fired, the last knife pierced, the last nail was hammered into their marriage. Her arms and legs are filled with weakness, and the storm of fear in her chest screams at her to flee. "I'm sorry, Jack. I know how it sounds-"
"Really? You do, huh? You know what it's like to hear that all the attention I tried to give was ignored, but as soon as Tadashi showed some, you were all over it? You know what it's like to hear that, not only did the person I love have sex with someone else, when I haven't made love to them for months, but they thought the other person was me? What was I supposed to feel; flattered? Was I that bad in bed that you had to pretend someone else was me?"
"No! Jack, please! It wasn't like that, it just...came out and...and as soon as it did, we...we stopped. We knew then what we had done, how much I...I fucked up. He saw what it did to me, how guilty and sick I felt, how much I hated myself for it...and I just...I knew how much it would hurt you. Please believe me, Jack, I never meant for it to happen. I am so sorry, and I truly hope you can forgive me for what I've done."
There's a long, an uncomfortably lengthy exhalation of breath through his nose and an even longer silence between them, and as she chances a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye, she sees a solitary tear succumb to gravity and fall to the floor. His Adam's apple rises and falls with a thick swallow and, when he finally speaks, he too is holding back the tide of sobs.
"D'you know what the really messed up thing is? If I refused the call, if I'd have been there, then it would have actually been me making love to you in your office. We could have talked about everything, our marriage, your work...hell, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, and I wouldn't be filing for divorce. In a really messed up way, I blame myself."
Her leg practically jumps as his hand reaches over and feathers itself across her knee, and as the first piece of physical contact in hours, possibly days, the sensations coursing through her leg are both intensely satisfying and supremely painful. Even avoiding his eyes, she can feel his gaze upon her, and her cheeks burn. "So, while you're sorry for cheating on me, for everything that's happened...I'm sorry for not being there at the time you needed me most."
But then, as quickly as it came, the hand disappears and a void is left behind. Presence, and then immediate absence. "You have nothing to apologise for, Jack." she murmurs, wishing desperately that he would touch her again. Her entire body is practically crying out for it.
"Maybe, maybe not." he shrugs, but adds, "why didn't you tell me?"
She chuckles hollowly, and half a smile quirks her chewed lips, and disappears almost instantly. "I tried, the night you came back home. I was about to tell you as soon as you came in, but you looked...whatever you were investigating did something to you."
He perfectly mimics her humorless mirth, issuing a dark chuckle of his own that is bitter and frustrated. "Figures," he says acidly, "the only time you and I actually talk, and I shut you down by throwing everything you've said whenever I've tried to talk to you, back in your face." He pauses to air-quote, and continues, "Can we talk about this tomorrow? I'm really tired, and I want to go to sleep."
"I realised then that I couldn't tell you, and after that I was just too scared. So I buried it, pretended it didn't happen and tried to ignore it with work. Now, in the worst possible way and with the worst possible timing, you find out." she finishes sadly.
He slowly nods, and then his entire body jumps in surprise like he's the recipient of an electric shock. He leans onto his left hip close enough for her to smell his aftershave - God, he even used the minty one she loves to smell - and slides his phone out of his pocket.
"Bunny's on his way, he'll be here in five minutes." he announces flatly, giving the screen the briefest of checks before returning the phone to his pocket, and the lump in her throat pretty much suffocates her. Time is running out.
"What happens now?" she wastes a question. Collapsing back onto the sofa and staring at the ceiling, Jack shrugs slightly.
"What happens, is I go and get my suitcases. I'll be staying at Bunny's overnight, then tomorrow I'm going to Quantico."
She frowns, this is a surprise. One hell of a surprise, actually. "You're going to work for the FBI?"
"Yep," he says with a hint of pride in amongst the overwhelming despondency, "the Behavioural Analysis Unit. They actually headhunted me four months ago, and offered me a place on the team - and when SSA Aaron Hotchner and SSA Emily freaking Prentiss want you to work with them, it's not an offer you refuse for the heck of it."
"Why did you refuse?" she asks quietly, thankful that the worst of the talking has passed. Maybe if she shows interest…
"You. I wanted to make our marriage work, to try and find a way to pull you out of your downward spiral...but I see now, I should have said yes. So, I called Agent Hotchner at eight-thirty, and accepted the offer. I'm going to be staying with my sister in Virginia until I get my own place." he finishes.
She's running out of time, and reasons for him to stay. "I could refuse to sign the papers until we work it out, Jack. I could contest the divorce."
He laughs, hollow yet amused, and as he rises to his feet and slowly circles around the sofa, he shuts her down. "Nice try, Elsa - I mean, you've got thirty days for you to contest it...but we both know you won't. We're in a no-fault state, so, I don't have to prove anything and you don't have to sign anything. I can just cite irreconcilable differences. Either way - Megara is submitting the proof of service tomorrow."
Without a further word, he makes a beeline for his jacket on the hanger, and then sweeps away to the bedroom ostensibly to retrieve his suitcases, leaving her alone in the living room, stunned and open-mouthed, staring after him. Did he doubt her? She endured his wrath, confessed her infidelity...did he think she'd let him go without a fight?
His footsteps approach from the bedroom, accompanying the sound of plastic on wood as he drags the two suitcases behind him. His face is solemn yet resolved, heartbroken yet decisive. Her heart thuds in her chest, bringing the fear of loss straight to the front of her mind, reminding her that her time with him is limited and she only has minutes to convince him to stay.
Darting from the sofa, she strides around it and reaches the front door just before he does, and glares at him with reddened eyes that have long since abandoned their task of keeping the tears at bay while she blocks his advance.
"Why are you doing this?" she says low, her chest rising and falling to its limits.
His eyes, shimmering with their own wetness, fix themselves upon her with a look that burns.
"Please don't ask me that."
"No," she says as she slowly moves towards him, and stops within a foot's distance, her eyes gazing pleadingly into his cobalt blues, "I want to know why. I'm sorry I cheated, I'm sorry I neglected you, I'm...I love you, I thought you loved me?"
His face is pained, but resolute...but when she hears the sound of one suitcase landing with a decided lack of grace onto the floor, and feels his hand caressing her cheek, searing her skin with a cold heat and sending her nerves into a frenzy, she ponders. Hopes. Dreams. She leans into his touch and closes her eyes, in part making the most of it, and committing as much of the sensation as she can to memory.
"Elsa," he sighs, and she can almost hear their hearts crack in unison, "I'm doing this because I love you. If I stay, I know I'll start resenting you, then I'll begin to hate you because nothing's gonna change. I need to look out for myself now, and that means leaving before I start thinking our marriage was a waste of time."
Her eyes slowly open, and she shakes her head in refusal as she gazes imploringly at him, silently begging him to reconsider. "Please don't go. I don't want you to leave."
"I'm sorry, Elsa," he says, and the hand that she had been clinging to as her lifeline suddenly disappears, "but I have to. This is how it's got to be."
He bends to pick up the suitcase he dropped, and keeps his head high as he moves around her to the door. Her stomach clenches with the same fear of loss - he's going, he's actually going and she's scared of what will happen if he does, if he takes another step…
"Jack, don't leave me. Please. I don't know what I'll do without you in my life." she throws out her last ditch plea without turning to face him, unwilling to watch him if he left - she was never one to be dependent on a man in any way shape or form, and she was independent before she ever met Jack, but the idea of him disappearing from her life…a part of her would be torn away.
"We both know what you'll do without me, Elsa. I'm sorry, but I have to go." he says over his shoulder, in a voice heavy with sorrowful cynicism.
Her heart leaps into her throat when she hears the click of the lock being drawn across, and the gasp that follows only intensifies the fear. There was no stopping him. He was going for good, and she couldn't stop him and...oh God...how did she let it come to this? How could she convince him to stay, to give their marriage another chance?
An idea blinks into existence, like a lightbulb in her mind. It's a hell of a gamble, but it might just work.
"Wait!" she calls out as she turns, and the scraping of the suitcases stops immediately. He turns and fixes her with a confused expression, which turns to shock…
...when she throws her arms around his head, pulls him down, and crashes their lips together like a wave on a rock.
A kiss can say a lot, with no words: at first, he is surprised, but he dives into the kiss like he's hungry, desperate, craving his fix. His kisses are gentle but possessive - unsurprising, given the context of their earlier conversation - and she finds herself succumbing to him, losing herself in the embrace, entertaining the briefest, faintest hope that against all odds, she just saved the marriage with one of the most cliched tropes in existence.
But then he checks himself mid kiss, and stops almost instantly. She feels him hold back, feels his passion and emotion recede behind the wall of his cold lips, and the tongue that had been dancing with hers retreats to its place of safety inside a mouth as impenetrable as the gates of Troy. Maybe he knows that if he carries on, he'll end up staying, and he can't risk it. Either way, her heart stills and breaks, and the despair begins to set in.
Because that's all it is, a kiss. A tragic, romance-less, grieving kiss that tells her, when her lips pull apart in the grimace that precedes the breakdown into tears, when she cries into his mouth and the salty taste of her pain slips from her eyes, past her lips and onto her tongue…she's lost him forever.
He tears himself away from her embrace and shoves himself through the doorway so abruptly that it's almost rude, and with him goes her heart, her fight and her hope, because the best thing in her life just left her for good. She can't bring herself to watch him leave, and instead buries her face and chokes on her sobs, listening as the elevator doors open, the sound of the suitcases change from carpet to metal as he enters the lift, and as the doors close to claim him.
He's gone...and he's not coming back - her only company is the sound of her grief and heartbreak resonating from her mouth.
Her legs carry her numb body to the dinner table, where she intends to sit on his chair, bury her face into her arms and weep the rest of the night away, lamenting the departure of love and completion. Her hands automatically reach out to an object still sat upon his chair, wanting to take its place at the dinner table, and without thinking she drops it to the floor and collapses into the seat. Staring morosely at the dead candles, the hot, fresh tears mingle with the stickiness of the ones that came before, and she daren't think about how her mascara might look…
...but there's a sound of rolling, something small travelling across the wooden floor, and as it comes to an abrupt stop against her foot, she involuntarily looks down to see what it is - her fountain pen, leaning against her shoe-covered pinky. Blinking, she leans down to retrieve it, and stares blankly at the dark blue colour of its body...
...and then the urge returns, the same urge that called to her when she hesitated outside the apartment door, the urge to hide within numbers and letters, testimonies and exhibits.
Her eyes slowly travel down to the floor at her right, where her cream leather handbag lies discarded, and the papers that sprawl out from its mouth speak to her - "It's okay. He might have left you, but I won't. I'll always be here for you. Just reach down for me, and I'll help take away the pain."
So, blinking slowly, she sniffs and palms her face to wipe away the wetness, and automatically seeks the refuge of that which numbs the pain and blocks the memories. Her fingers reach down and gather the sheets of paper together, and as she picks them up she notices that true to the call's word, the pain is slowly starting to numb. Maybe she is addicted. Maybe it is the high of victory, the energy she devotes to preparation and recitation, the battle of legal wits between D.A. and defense attorney that blocks out and numbs her from remembering and hurting.
"Elsa, you need to step back! This job is consuming you!
"Thank you, Anna, but I'm fine. I am in complete control of my life."
"No, Elsa...you think you are. Papa's death showed you just how little control you have, and it scares you! Remember when Mama said that 'the biggest lie in life is we are in control?'"
"Anna…"
"So you threw yourself into work, thinking that because you can control it, it'll never hurt you. Elsa, you are my sister and I love you, but please think about what you're doing to yourself…"
"Anna, I have too much work to do. Can we continue this later?"
"Sure. Just remember...Jack's love and patience only goes so far. I will always be here...but he won't. He's got the patience of a saint, but he's still a human being, and he needs your love, your attention, and your affection."
"Thank you, Anna, I know. Could you tell Tadashi to bring me the evidence list?"
"Sure…"
Sniffing, Elsa feathers through the myriad sheets of paper - some are sheets adorned with her notes, others are potential questions the D.A. may ask and any objections she needs to raise.
The final sheet is empty, though, and it's supposed to be one of the most important parts of her attack plan - her closing argument. Quite often a jury has been swung from a 'guilty' to a 'not guilty' verdict on the closing argument's merits alone, so she really should have started it earlier.
Oh well, looks like she's in for another all-nighter; things like that tend to take hours. Writing, then scribbling out. Countless searches for synonyms. Back and forth pacing while she talks to an invisible jury - sometimes a collection of cushions on their sofa, sometimes a line of empty glasses on the kitchen counter.
Yet, as she leans over to retrieve her bottle of white wine, and then pushes his plate aside so the blank sheet of paper can take its place, she notes that she's strangely fine with that. After all...
She needs to be prepared, because she has a big day tomorrow.
A/N:
So there we go. One break-up one shot. Yes, it broke my heart to write it...but...variety is the spice of life. I couldn't bring myself to end "Trust" on a downer, as I am a person that yearns for happy endings, but wanted to at least give it a shot.
There may be a sequel, set three years on.
I would like to thank my wife for being my proof-reader, for suggesting ideas, changes and improvements, and being a guinea pig for my constant stream of plot bunnies and ideas. I would also like to thank zulka, who has been an invaluable help in hearing my idea for this, reading the drafts, suggesting changes and generally being a massive help. In addition, I'd like to thank OniNoKo for also enduring my plot bunny attacks. The three of you put up with a lot, and are invaluable.
and finally, if Wickedgreenphantom does find my hiding place and kills me, burns my body and salts the earth with my ashes, I'd like to thank you as the reader, for stopping by and reading my humble one shot. It truly means a lot.