More Richard/Julia fluff! I've been meaning to write more of them, but life got in the way. I loved the interaction with them in the Northstar episode that aired last night. No spoilers here, but there may be some in the next drabble/story. Enjoy!
There isn't a single day in the nine months he's gone that she doesn't think about him. Sometimes she feels angry. She wishes she could see him one more time just to give him a piece of her mind. She doesn't need any more complications in her life-another mouth to feed, another fractured soul to try and mend. She doesn't need the legal bills, and the paralyzing fear that keeps her up at night. At four a.m., the possibility of losing Tommy to that woman becomes very real. She paces the kitchen in her robe trying to think of all the possible outcomes. Dad tries to assure her that justice will prevail, but even he seems anxious, and in desperate need of a drink after a day in court. This is your fault, she thinks. I didn't ask for this.
Sometimes she feels wistful. When Tommy starts school she thinks of how much he would have liked to be there to see him come home with a fistful of drawings in his hands and a dozen stories to tell. Despite what's happened, Tommy remains the delightful little boy who "walked the whole way" to her house for Easter dinner. There is no denying that he is thriving under their care. The trust he places in her makes her feel strong and in control, even when she isn't. The first few weeks, he crawls into her bed in the middle of the night and holds her hand to fall asleep. He brings out a fierce protectiveness in her that she didn't know existed; a fierceness that allows her to compel Dad to stop drinking, to ignore the whispers when Tommy accompanies her to the grocers, to shout out in a courtroom.
She watches Dad get down on the floor to play, like he hasn't done since she and Freddie were kids. The first time she finds him down there with Tommy she flashes back to the last time she saw him like that – Richard choking an apology out of him. She almost scolds him until she sees the toy soldiers in his hands. She holds her breath waiting for him to break his promise and fall off the wagon, as he's done so many times before, but miraculously he stays on. If only he could see this, she thinks.
Sometimes she feels hurt. She wonders how he really felt about her. Despite all that they shared, she feels like he has used her. This feeling is the worst of all. Ultimately, he left her to pick up the pieces for him – by herself. His quiet presence, a welcome surprise to a fate to which she'd resigned herself, suddenly gone without a warning. It was like walking a tightrope only to find the net below missing. He may be on the run, for reasons she can't reconcile, but he sends her no word. No postcard to say that somewhere, without her, he's still alive and thinking of her. Clearly, she thinks, I mean nothing to him. I am nothing.
Sometimes she feels embarrassed. She hates feeling foolish. She thinks of how forward she was with him - more so than with any other man. Inviting him to dinner when he showed up at her door. Desperate, she chastises. Kissing him, in front of all those people. Even Dad hears about that eventually from the guys down at the legion. He scolds her – reminding her of what happened last time with Douglas. Do you want to be a spinster? Who is going to want used goods? Of course, she doesn't listen. A moonlit walk on the beach, a fire, and a few soft words is all it takes for her to pull him under the boardwalk and give herself away. Stupid.
Sometimes she feels scared. Not for herself, but for him. She finally has the time to reflect on those odd violent outbursts that she was so quick to dismiss. When Tommy eventually starts talking she listens quietly and nods, offering a hug and a night-time cuddle. She presses his face into her blouse so that he can't see how pale she is, how she cries. Later, when he is asleep, she goes downstairs to the backyard and vomits in the snow. Dad finds her there, almost hysterical, and helps her into the house. They have coffee together and he talks long into the night. He tells her about the first life he ever took. He tells her that he thinks Richard is a hero. She thinks he's a murderer. She feels nothing but pity and bitterness, and a deep sadness that makes her feel like she's aged a hundred years overnight. What kind of future can he possibly have? How long will it be before he is caught? Oh, Richard. Why?
Sometimes she feels lonely. It's the most familiar feeling of them all. She wishes he was there for her to talk to, not that he ever said much, but she misses his attentiveness. The way he read her so that, sometimes, she didn't have to speak in order for him to hear her. An outstretched arm and a pointed look were all it took. Even in the darkness, when their bodies pressed together, she only had to breathe in his ear for him to know what she wanted. Now when she steps into her shoes, she can almost feel his hands, like a kiss, on her ankle, securing the tiny buckles with deft fingers as he did that morning. The memory of it sends her reeling for a moment, until Tommy calls her name and she moves on with a blush. Worse still are the moments in the bath when an errant bead of sweat runs down her neck, caressing a secret spot that he once discovered with his nose and eyelashes. It makes her shiver. She leaves the tub feeling colder than ever. She wants to will these feelings away, but they stay with her all night. I miss you, she sighs to the ceiling.
She feels everything, but it doesn't matter. He isn't here. There are bills to pay and laundry to do.