Story: Another Round
Chapter Title: Rain Come and Drown Me Out
Summary: Rogan. Future fic. There's a new arrangement between the two.
He held in his hands a Styrofoam cup filled with something that only vaguely resembled coffee. He was sure that hospitals served the mildest form of the commonplace drink, so as not to upset timid stomachs of the inhabitants further. He wondered what the overworked doctors and nurses relied on; figuring the weak, coffee-flavored water that he'd been trying to choke down wouldn't help them in the least.
He knew it wasn't what she'd be needing when she finally came down to him. He thought about seeking out a Starbucks, or at the very least a nurses' lounge that was sure to lead him to something drinkable, but here he'd remained, rooted to the uncomfortable plastic chair in the corner of the cafeteria, waiting. Waiting for her, not wanting her to feel abandoned.
He'd made her take a moment to collect herself before leaving the confines of the car early this morning. It might have been the last time he'd get to hold her hand, to offer support, to be her rock, for any amount of time. He wanted to throw all convention away and walk her up, his arm around her waist for support, being there for her to rest her weary head against, to be there just in case. In case of what, he didn't know, he couldn't bring himself to think in terms of the worst-case scenario. He knew she wouldn't want him to. But he couldn't let her just march up there as she was; shaking and frightened.
Holding her hand, he'd looked her straight in the eyes and told her it would all be okay. This had happened before, and her grandfather had been fine, right? He told her to take it one step at a time, all she had to do was go into the hospital and take it from there. She'd nodded, trying to convince herself as well, and he'd at last pulled her in for a kiss of reassurance and told her where he'd be waiting for her. That he wouldn't go anywhere without her notification to do so.
And somehow he'd managed to let her walk away from him, seemingly alone in this world. He knew the feeling, too well at times.
When she finally reappeared before him, she looked drawn and her lack of sleep was highlighted by the dried tears that streaked her face. She slumped into the seat next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. She moved her hand to encase the glass that sat more or less untouched by him, and he leaned his mouth down to speak softly to her.
"You really don't want that."
Nodding, she took his word as gospel and the tears began to fall against his jacket. His eyes closed, blocking any reality out as he wrapped both arms around her, letting her cry. He wasn't here to ask questions.
He felt her move slightly under his embrace, to wipe a few stray tears away, despite the redundancy of the act, and she let out a sigh.
"Can we go somewhere?"
"Name it."
"I don't know, anywhere with drinkable coffee," she suggested.
"I thought you might say that," he was sure the smile was apparent in his voice, as she remained with her head tucked safely under his. "Are you sure it's okay to leave?"
She nodded as she sat up, looking at him gratefully. "Grandma's asleep on a cot that she demanded be brought into his private ICU room, and Mom's asleep in the waiting room. I told them I needed to get some air."
"Let's go," he stood up and pulled her to her feet, letting her use him as a crutch all the way to his car.
--&--
She was on her second cup of coffee before she said anything, save for small apologies for his inconvenience, the disruption of their weekend, her inability to stop the intermittent bouts of tears. He continued to silence her, putting his hand up, on her knee, finally taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"He's lapsed into a coma," she swallowed back the lump that formed in her throat at the very notion. "From lack of oxygen, during the 'episode,'" she spat the last word out. "I don't know why they insist on calling it an episode, it was a heart attack. This isn't like the others," she looked at him imploringly.
"Does it happen often?"
She shook her head. "Just twice. Once, when I was in high school, the other right after I graduated from college. At the party they were throwing for me, in fact."
He nodded, letting her continue.
"I just, I guess you're never really prepared for stuff like this, huh?"
"No, you're not," he agreed, not wanting to run in with his own similar experience from the recent passing of his own grandfather. He wondered if she knew anyhow, as she kept track of all the journalism bigwigs, or if she tried to distance herself from him in all other aspects of her life, save for her sexual fulfillment. He pushed the thought from his mind, knowing she didn't need blame or bitterness from him, not now.
"He didn't want me to get married, you know," she confessed, her voice lowering to show the secretive nature of the very conversation.
"Your grandfather?"
She nodded. "He's always been a big supporter of my education and aspirations. He and Grandma have saved every article I've ever written, including all the ones from Chilton," she smiled. "They have quite an extensive collection of scrapbooks."
He gave a soft chuckle. His own father would have killed to be able to make so many showcases of his son's journalistic achievements. He'd just never been one to inspire a trophy case or proud boasting at business and social functions. Not that they weren't one in the same for his father.
"Grandma was the one that really pushed the marriage. And maybe if I'd listened to Grandpa, then I wouldn't be in such a mess," she ran her hand through her slightly matted hair.
"Why didn't you?" he couldn't help himself. He had to know more.
"I … it was all planned, you know, and I'd accepted it as what was going to happen. I really thought he'd sort of let me do my own thing and really only pull me out for special occasions. I had everything else I needed."
She sounded like every other society wife he'd ever known, the way they describe their lives; the loneliness, the isolation, the sporadic necessity to pull themselves together to put on a painted face. Only he knew that she'd just wanted to be left to travel the world, working most of the time—free not to worry about pay, but to chase her dream. All she'd wanted in a partner after accepting that true love might not be in the cards for her. Just to let her be.
"Shouldn't he be here, not me?"
She gave him a soft, sad smile. "He's in Aruba. He said not to disturb him unless his money was stolen," she seemed to glower at remembering his words. "It's all he cares about really, his money and his status."
"Doesn't sound like your kind of guy," he pointed out the obvious.
"He's a really good liar," she took the last sip of coffee in her cup. "It's sort of like an art form for him, I think he would liken it to acting. He had me completely fooled for a while, and by the time I had him figured out, it was too late. Too much premarital paperwork had signed my life away in contractual obligations."
"Meaning?"
She sighed and placed her empty paper cup on the table. She pressed her lips together and gritted her teeth. "Meaning, I'm legally obligated to stop working now that he's about to begin his political campaign. I'm not free to leave him until I've produced an heir, and we have to produce a child to pass his family fortune down to by the time we've been married five years, or he gets none of his inheritance."
"Wait, you're free to leave him after you give him a child?" Logan's mind could easily wrap around such an insane deal—the society life was full of eccentric contingencies to keep the blue-blood lines propagating. It was her having agreed to such a deal that he was having a little trouble swallowing.
"Yes."
"But, what about what you want?"
"Logan," she shook her head, not wanting him to get into this here, now, under these circumstances.
"He should be here with you, if he's so hell-bent on upholding pretenses," he spat out.
"I don't want him here! I want you here," she spoke the last part softly, as she could see her first outburst had drawn several looks from other patrons. Luckily they were in a part of town that no one should know her, or him, or think twice of seeing the two of them together. Still, she knew Hartford wasn't the safest place to be seen with Logan of all people. Or anyone except her husband for that matter. It was amazing how fast word got around, as the older society women served as spies on such matters. They were everywhere, always looking for something to talk about at the next function.
"We should go, I should get back. I can get a ride home later, if you want to go," she conceded to having told him too much at this juncture; ready to understand if he needed to flee.
"I'm going to drop you off at the hospital and get a hotel room near by. Here's the number to my driver, call it when you're ready to come to the hotel."
"But, you don't have to," she started, but sighed with weariness as she could see his protest ready on his face. "Thank you."
He watched her tuck the business card into her clutch purse and sit back against the back of her chair. He wanted to tell her to come have a rest at the hotel for a while, to just get some rest before heading back to what she might face at the hospital, to just let herself recharge in a positive environment for awhile, but he knew she would do no such thing. She would go where she thought her place was, no matter the cost to her well-being.
"You ready?"
She nodded, standing up and following him to where he held the door open for her, ushering her through, placing her in his car; doing all he possibly could to make things easier for her. Even if he was only allowed to do small things, behind the scenes. He could only hope that it was the small things that would make all the difference.
