Disclaimer: I didn't mention this in the last chapter, but I didn't own Desperate Housewives then and I still don't now. C'est la vie.

A/n: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I really appreciate the feedback and I'm glad you're all enjoying the story. Please continue to let me know what you think!

The Glow of the Moon on a Starless Night

A story by Ryeloza

Part Four: Salvage

Solace

That night Lynette dreamed of her childhood. Not of her school years, of moments she remembered clearly in her waking hours, but of days younger than that and of things she usually recalled more as feelings than as true memories: sitting next to her father on the couch while he drank a beer and watched football; singing made-up songs to her sister Lucy to keep her from crying; feeling the stale air around her as she pulled her comforter over her head at night to block out the sounds of her parents fighting. Her mother coming to her late at night and in a rare, almost fictional moment of love, holding her tightly and whispering hopeful, fanciful promises in her ear of how she'd grow up to be better. These flashes of time melded together so they flowed singularly, as though they'd been one day in her life instead of many, many days and weeks and months and years.

She dreamed of a time when Lucy broke their mother's lamp while their father sat like a lump on the couch and when her mother came in raging, demanding to know who was responsible, her father said, "Lynnie," in a way that made her hate her own name. And her mother had grabbed her by the arm, swinging her around so viciously that she dislocated her shoulder. When they returned from the hospital—the doctor more than satisfied with her mother's story of falling off of the garage roof—her father took her aside and said, "You're the oldest, Lynnie. It's your job to protect your sister."

She remembered waking up one morning to find her mother drunk and wailing about how Lynette and Lucy and the-baby-yet-to-come had driven away their father and at that moment in her five-year-old life she'd made some sort of vow of loyalty that she hadn't understood or been aware of at the time. As she grew it was a constant faithfulness that kept her from running away from home or from letting her mother drink herself to death. It kept her—even now—from cutting away the ties of her family and finding an easier road to take. It was something she recognized as irrefutable inside of herself; something that she would carry with her to the grave.

When she woke, restless and broken in a way she had repressed for years, there was a temporary solace in the arms of the man who held her and in the beating of his heart.

Wreckage

Lynette lived with a constant fear that once a person discovered her vulnerability—the weak little girl inside of her who couldn't fight back—then that person would leave. That seeing the thing she hated most about herself, that person would realize that she wasn't who she pretended to be and fade away from her like a shadow into the night. So when her veneer inadvertently cracked and her secret poured out, she slipped away before the other person could.

Tom wouldn't let her go.

The morning after her confession, Tom was physically present in a way that made her gasp for air. He followed her to the shower, played with her fingers while they ate breakfast, kept his hand on her knee during the drive to work. It smothered her and all she could think of was escaping.

At work she avoided him, burying herself in other accounts and going to lunch with another co-worker. She left before he did—an occurrence so rare that there was no way for Tom to suspect that she'd do it—and ignored his calls that night, burying herself under a mound of blankets and watching black and white movies until she fell into an agitated sleep on the couch.

All of her relationships were attractions based on sex that either fizzled out or grew until she ran scared. She chose men that she knew wouldn't pursue her and secretly wondered every time what she would do if one of them proved her wrong.

Tom badgered her for four days. On Friday night, when her phone didn't ring and there wasn't a knock on the door, she crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep.

Advice

On Saturday, she called Lucy, who came over with chocolate ice cream and tequila. Her little sister climbed into bed next to her and the two of them nestled together in the way they used to as children who only found comfort in one another.

"What happened?" asked Lucy.

"I was seeing someone. Now I'm not."

"This is about a guy? I haven't seen you cry over a guy since high school." This wasn't precisely true, but Lynette didn't point out that Lucy hadn't been around for a good chunk of her twenties.

"Luce, I need to ask you something. How did you tell Dave about Mom?"

"I gave him a shot and said, 'Prepare for the longest night of your life.'"

"No, I mean, how did you tell him about what our childhood was like?"

"He met Mom and realized what a psycho she is. After he asked me what it was like to grow up with her as a mother and I told him it wasn't easy."

"No details?"

"Sure, I told him that Mom smacked us around. I told him that she has a drinking problem. What else is there to say?"

Lynette hugged a pillow to her chest and watched while Lucy took a couple of big bites of ice cream. "Well what did he say?"

"He said, 'God bless you, Luce, for turning out half-normal.' Such a sweetie I married."

"You didn't care that he knew?"

Lucy rolled her eyes. "You are so sensitive sometimes, Lynnie. What did I care? I'd agreed to marry him. The man had seen me puking my guts out, taken care of me when I was sick, and didn't give a crap that I have to shave the little hairs off of my toes. What is the big deal if he knew that Mom was a shitty mother?" She scooped up another bite of ice cream and then stopped the spoon midway to her mouth. "Don't tell me you broke up with someone over Mom!"

"I don't like people thinking I'm weak."

"Lynette, you're the strongest person I know and deep down you're completely aware of that fact. You're proud of it. What you're really afraid of is letting someone take care of you once in awhile. You're afraid to let anyone get close to you."

Lynette thought of Tom and of how he always looked at her with a sort of tenderness in his eyes that she'd never seen from anyone else. Of how he had held her while she cried over childhood trauma she'd never before spoken about aloud, and of how attentive he had been the next morning. She thought about how just two weeks before that he'd been nearly panic-stricken when he caught her using his razor. She'd known then that she'd crossed some invisible line that he saw as commitment and that it scared him to death. She'd thought he was being ridiculous, but he had clearly gotten past it. Was this entire ordeal really just her version of that incident?

"I don't know how to be that person."

Lucy snorted. "That's because that person is someone who has to let go of control for awhile. Look, Lynnie, it comes down to this: do you ever want to settle down and have a family or do you just want to stay completely isolated for the rest of your life?"

"I think you mean independent."

"No. I mean isolated. Being with someone doesn't mean you have to become co-dependent. If Mom taught us anything, she taught us that." Lucy laid her head on Lynette's shoulder and squeezed her hand. "Just something to think about. Now where did you put that tequila?"

Awakening

Lynette opened her door to let in her youngest sister, cursing Lucy under her breath all the while. The day Lucy kept a confidence was the day hell froze over. Inside, Lydia dropped her purse on the floor and opened her arms. "You need a hug," she said and she stepped forward to lightly squeeze Lynette.

"Hey Lydia."

"Lucy told me everything!"

"Of course she did."

Lydia stepped back and entered the living room, curling up on the couch like a lounging cat. Reluctantly, Lynette sat down in the chair across from her. Considering romantic advice from her married sister was one thing; even hearing romantic advice from her chronically dysfunctional sister was entirely another. "Look, Lydia, this really isn't necessary."

"Of course it is! I know what you're going through! Do you think Lucy knows anything about this?" Lydia waved a dismissive hand. "She's married. We're the ones in this together. Do you know how many guys I've scared away by talking about Mom?"

Flabbergasted, Lynette's mouth bobbed up and down, trying to comprehend her sister. "I…No…"

"Dozens! At least!"

"You're twenty-four."

"So?"

"Yeah…Well, see, Lydia, here's the thing: Tom didn't leave me, I've been the one avoiding him."

Lydia sat up and leaned forward. "What?"

"What exactly did Lucy tell you?"

"That you let Mom get in the way of another relationship. So you're telling me that you found a guy who is okay with all of your mommy issues and you let him go?"

"I don't have 'mommy issues.'" Lynette scowled. "Look, Tom asked me about the scar on my back and I told him what happened."

"And?"

"And…nothing. We went to sleep."

"Do you realize how ridiculous you sound right now?"

"I—"

"Did you cry in front of him? Is that what this is about?"

"No."

"Uh-huh. Look, I love you, but you're an idiot. This Tom sounds like a good guy! Why are you letting yourself get in the way of something that could be great? What are you afraid is going to happen?"

"I don't want to discuss this with you."

"Lynette…"

"No, Lydia, this is stupid. I already had this conversation with Lucy."

"Well clearly you need to have it again! Just answer my one question: what are you afraid will happen if you actually try to have a real relationship with this guy?"

Lynette managed to hold back her scoff at her baby sister talking about being in a real relationship and slowly, hesitantly, answered her question. "He'll leave once he knows who I really am."

Lydia reached across the coffee table and took Lynette's hands in hers. "Lynnie, I hate to break this to you, but he already knows who you really are and he didn't leave. You did. Stop being stupid."

Relief

Beyond all of her good common sense and instinct, on Monday evening Lynette stood outside of Tom's apartment as per her sisters' prompting. She felt ridiculous, as though now she was the one not getting the not-so-subtle message. She hadn't heard from Tom all weekend and he hadn't shown up to work today, claiming illness. Probably she was better off letting sleeping dogs lie and pretending that the past month or so simply hadn't happened. Probably.

She knocked on the door anyway and spent the next agonizing two minutes shifting her weight from foot to foot and resisting the urge to run. When she heard him approach the door, she shifted her purse on her arm and fidgeted with her car keys, sporadic movements meant to quell her anxiety.

Tom opened the door and immediately Lynette felt foolish for assuming he'd called off of work to avoid her. He stood, wrapped in a blanket with bleary eyes and a pale face. "Lynette?"

"You're sick," she observed stupidly.

"Yeah." He stepped away from the door and Lynette took it as an invitation to follow him inside. She was slightly surprised when he went straight back to his bedroom and flopped down on his bed. Apparently he'd been there all day: tissues and half-filled glasses of water and various cold medicines surrounded his messy bed. He sighed as he settled back against the pillow. "What's up?"

Lynette felt off-kilter and baffled. She'd barely talked to him for a week and he was acting like none of it had happened. In a weird way, she was almost insulted.

"I came to apologize," she said.

"Oh. For what?"

"Tom!"

"Oh, please don't make your voice go that high. I have a headache."

"I just…You…"

Tom opened his eyes and looked at her. "Is this about avoiding me last week? Because I got the message: you needed some space."

"Space?"

"Yeah. Anyway, you lucked out because I've spent the past couple days passed out on my bed, so I didn't really have the energy to bug you over the phone. Guess it worked."

"So what? That's it?"

"Lynette, I understand. You were overwhelmed. It happens. Anyway, you're here now." Tom shut his eyes again and burrowed further into his pillow.

"You knew I'd be back?"

"Well, yeah. Sure."

Against all odds, Lynette felt her eyes well up with tears again and she was glad that Tom had his eyes closed. He knew her. He knew her and he was lying in his bed sick, perfectly comfortable with her presence. And he knew her. "I'm going to make you some soup," she said, swiping her eye. "You want some soup?"

"I don't have any soup. Just come to bed."

Lynette nodded as she toed off her shoes, pausing just a moment to kiss his forehead before climbing into the bed.