Disclaimer: Nothing's changed since chapter 1.
A/N: Thank you to those of you who read and reviewed the first chapter. I hope you enjoy this one as well
"You know the things that I am afraid of,
I'm not afraid to tell.
And if we ever leave a legacy,
It's that we loved each other well.
Because I've seen the shadows of so many people,
Still trying on the treasures of youth.
But a road that fancy and fast ends in a fatal crash.
And I'm glad we got off to tell you the truth."
Your marriage has changed you in ways you never would have expected. One of the most obvious changes is your newfound ability to trust at least one person in the world. You are also more willing to share your problems with someone, to let your friends and family comfort you when you are frightened. But you have made several smaller changes as well. Your spaghetti no longer resembles a hunk of plastic, and you actually have real food in the refrigerator.
Your marriage has not taught you to be outdoorsy.
Unfortunately this did not occur to you until you arrived at the far edge of Derek's land and pulled the tent from the back of the car, at which point you realized you haven't the slightest inkling how to erect the thing. You spend a full hour trying to transform the mass of canvas and mettle poles into some type of shelter which, in the past, would have given Derek no end of amusement. You can almost picture the grin on his face; you can almost hear his gentle laughter. There is no grin today, not even the tiniest of smiles. He sits sullenly in the car, watching you but not really seeing you. You finally have to admit defeat, and so you return to your vehicle. For a moment you just stand there watching your husband. He is still in his seat, seatbelt securely fastened. His shoulders are slumped and his face holds a pained expression. A half remembered Greek mythology class flashes into your mind, and you wonder if this is what the god who literally carried the world on his shoulders looked like.
You knock gently on the window, and he continues to stare blindly ahead. It takes two more forceful raps to break his trance. "I need you," you say after he roles down the glass. Your words don't faze him though your unintentional double meaning stops you cold.
"What?" You sigh inwardly and wonder if he even heard you.
"The tent," you explain, gesturing lamely to your pitiful attempt at erecting shelter.
"The tent?" he asks without looking.
"I don't know how to make that mess a tent." You catch yourself biting your bottom lip. He nods, gets out of the car, and strides toward the mess in the middle of the clearing.
"Maybe this is why men are usually left in charge of building," you say trying to lighten the mood. You are rewarded with an unintelligible grunt clearly meant to discourage conversation, but you have never done well with silence. "I mean seriously, I suck at that. Building I mean, I suck at building, and putting things together. I had a set of Lincoln Logs when I was a kid and my houses always ended up falling apart, or else those little notchy things never lined up right. I'm better at repairing things that have already been created. Maybe that's why I'm a doctor. Because we fix things. Or people, actually we fix people."
"Will you hold this?" he asks, effectively cutting off your rambling. You take the tent poll he is offering and hold it up while he does whatever has to be done to make the thing a tent.
"Hey, look at that!" you exclaim in shock. "You built it!" He shrugs.
"I just put some poles in the ground and covered them with canvas," he says modestly, "I don't think that actually counts as building." It's a simple sentence, but your face breaks into a huge grin because this has suddenly become a conversation as opposed to a monologue.
"Well, I mean it's not a five star hotel or a fancy camper or anything, but considering the mess I made of it it's pretty impressive." You head back to the car to retrieve the cooler. "Could you, I mean, um would you light the fire? There's already wood and everything, Mark helped me chop some when I started planning this which is good since it took a while and we should probably eat soon which means we wouldn't really have time to get it all gathered up and light it and cook and stuff." By the time you have finished saying all this he is squatting by the pit you and Mark dug together and the small pile of kindling is burning brightly.
Dinner is a simple quiet affair. You packed hotdogs, because you weren't sure what else people eat when they go camping. You cook them on sticks just like you see in movies, and even Derek has to smile when you admit that you forgot buns and condiments. When you see that tiny upward curve of his lips you reach up and gently kiss him. "What was that for?" he asks.
"Nothing special," you say without thinking. The look of utter shock on your husband's face nearly breaks your heart, and you wonder how long it has been since you even attempted that. Some how you have become so accustomed to him pushing you away that you stopped trying to get close. And so you wrap your arms around him and once again press your lips to his. He deepens the kiss and you realize that you are both stumbling toward the tent. For a moment you consider pulling away. You brought him here to talk, to bring him back to you, not to have sex. Derek's shocked expression flashes across your mind and you realize that this might be as much a form of healing as talking, that sometimes making love has as much meaning as saying those three all-important words.
When it's over you lay beside him, both of you on your backs staring up at the canvas roof. "I'm sorry." The words are so quiet you wonder if you really heard them.
"What?"
"I'm sorry it's not a fancy camper," he says softly. "I'm sorry we don't have… It's all so simple." You reach over and gently place your finger over his lips.
"Its perfect," you say, and you mean it. "We don't need a camper, or anything fancier than what we have. More often than not that stuff just makes people's lives more complicated." You prop yourself up on one elbow and study the face of the love of your life. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and lines in his forehead you don't remember. "Get some sleep," you whisper as you place a feather-light kiss on his nose. He is too exhausted to put up a fight.
"So we're okay,
We're fine.
Baby I'm here to stop your crying.
Chase all the ghosts from your head.
I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed,
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart.
We'll look at them together then we'll take them apart.
Adding up the total of a love that's true,
Multiply life by the power of two.