A/N: After watching the show sporadically at best the past few seasons, ep 10x05 sparked this. I'm not sure why.


Something will stop her from leaving you that day. She'll be lost and alone, conflicted by the thoughts in her head. She will think she is wrong, bad, destroying something fragile and good that you've taken years to build. She'll think it's insanity.

She'll stand before you, the front door already half open, your tie already half-off. She, your rock, the reason you've been able to get through the past five years. She, the reason you have been able to go to work (to still have purpose, to not have followed Haley where she went), knowing that Jack is loved and cared for at home. She will look more vulnerable than you'll have ever seen her.

She'll straighten her shoulders, gather her courage, and say the words. "Every time I walk out this door it feels like a mistake," she'll say, and her eyes wont quite meet yours.

It will take you a while to understand, because the idea will seem so foreign, so off-limits. Because she will always be the sister of the woman you loved, lost, and buried. It wont be simple, not like what you'll have with Beth, it wont be untainted by your past.

A million thoughts will go through your mind. You'll think of it is right, of if it would be fair to Jack, if you could ever face the world with your dead wife's sister at your side. You'll think of Beth, uncomplicated and accepting, a woman who sees you for who you are and not for who you have been.

You'll think of the fact that Jessica has a room in your house already, that she lives in it more than you do. That she drives your son to school and soccer, that she buys the groceries, that she cooks the meals. That she tends his wounds, slays his monsters, tucks him into bed every night.

(You'll think of the time, months after Haley died, when she'd tried to hide from you that Jack had started calling her Mommy too. She'd quietly trained him until he only said Aunt instead.)

You'll think of the fact that you're thankful beyond words for the fact that she stepped up, without hesitation, to raise a child she knew could never be hers. For the missed opportunities, for the loves given up, for choosing not to have a family of her own in favour of giving her sister's child the best home life possible.

(It wont be romance what the two of you will have, not in the beginning, that will have to grow. It will be awkwardness and hesitancy combined with the familiarity of knowing one another for more than half your lives. It will be Jessica letting go of the lease on her apartment, a gut-wrenching conversation with Beth about the choices you'll make. It will be going to the theatres, the three of you (and a little while after that, breaking the mental barriers and going out on a proper date to her favourite coffee shop while Jack's at a sleepover.) It will be deciding, in bits and painful pieces, to tell Jack.)

You'll think that maybe, just maybe, the two of you deserve this. Maybe, just maybe, Haley would understand that you can never replace her, that Jessica can be an addition but never a substitute.

(It will be trying to explain concepts that are too difficult for a ten year old to fully understand, but he'll be the most accepting person you'll encounter in the beginning. It will be telling the team, and trying not to remember the fleeting disgust and concern, the conversations in the beginning where they'll ask if Jessica's not just filling some twisted void. It will be Jessica's best friend finally letting her go because it's too much, too much like a competition against you that she's lost.)

You'll think that maybe you could love her too.

(It will be difficult. It will be scary. People will make you doubt yourself. Your own mind will make you doubt yourself. You'll wonder if you're worth all the love and devotion she shows you. It will be converting her bedroom into a study and adding extra shelves to your closet. It will be showing her your scars (both physical and buried deeper), helping her understand why she once resented you too, showing her where you've healed.)

You'll close your eyes and think of what to say, try to imagine the future that will come from your words.

(It will be the blinding hope of an unplanned pregnancy, and the devastating low of losing your baby before you'd even told people. You'll only confide in David about that, because it will seem too personal, too painful to bare for other people's judgements too. You'll try again after that, but nature will deem fit for that window to close, and it will seem too unfair to finally know what you want in life when it's too late to have it. It will be having a quiet conversation with the court clerk about why you're presenting a death certificate for a woman named Brooks and marrying another.)

(It will be the IVF finally sticking two years later. It will be holding Abigail in your arms. It will be coming home late at night and finding Jessica seated on the rocking chair nursing her, and counting so many blessings in your life that you can't even conceive of yet. It will be watching Jack grow into the best big brother a sister could want.)

(It will be loving her. It will be her loving you. It will become the warm, comfortable certainty that you two have braved enough traumas together that any storm can be weathered. It will be letting go of the secrets, lies, and fears that have haunted you your whole life. She will be the best thing that's ever happened to you. You will be the best thing that's ever happened to her. It wont feel like a betrayal when you realise that.)

(It will be a life. The life you should have had sooner, the time you'll be making up together. It will take time to build and grow, it will take work and pain, it will take strength. You'll build something magnificent together, not with overt declarations or displays, but by stacking together little tiny pieces of trust, patience, safety, and love.)

(It will be Jack's graduation, Abigail's first science fair, sending Jack off to college, catching the tumour in Jessica's breast early enough. It will be retiring when she'll finally convince you that other people's lives aren't a debt you owe. One distant day from now, though it'll hardly feel like a minute, it will be sending Abigail off to college and then to the academy too. It will be reading Jack's articles in the political newspapers, it will be watching them find love and feel loss too. It will be watching them have families of their own.)

(It will hurt. Life is like that, it will hurt. You will grow old together, love one another. Together you will face the most painful reality of all, the inevitability that all which lives dies. She will hold your hand as you take your last breath, and she will follow you even to the very grave a year later.)

You'll open your eyes, stare at her, quiet the fears in your mind and heart. You will be so brave. "So stay," you'll tell her, with a voice that will sound more confident than you'll feel.

(It will be worth it. She'll be worth it. They'll be worth it. Every moment together, every memory created, every challenge mastered, all of it. It will be worth it.)

She'll close the door, reach out and grasp your arm as though trying to confirm that you're real, that what you're offering isn't just vapour. She'll nod, just once, before letting go and going back into her room and unpacking her bag. There wont be any fireworks, just acceptance, just some idea that there will be a long road ahead of you.

Just a glimmer of hope.

(It will be worth it.)