AN: Chapter title from 'Big Girls Don't Cry' by Fergie.
"Fairy tales don't always have a happy ending, do they? And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay. And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket, but I've got to get a move on with my life. It's time to be a big girl now. And big girls don't cry."
Chapter 8: Big Girls Don't Cry
We made love twice before he finally fell asleep. I'd been up for two days, but it didn't matter. I couldn't sleep now. The sun was coming up, the first glints lighting the room as they cut though the blinds.
I studied him. The planes and angles of his face. The strong jaw. The crooked nose. Thin, soft lips. The grey-spotted sideburns that framed the slightly large ears. Dark brows and long eyelashes, the startlingly blue eyes closed in peaceful sleep. I looked down to his chest, bare in the toasty room, the salt-and-pepper hair curling wildly in a thick patch almost obscuring the well-defined muscles below. The hair narrowed to a thin trail as my eyes traced down his stomach, lean and strong, down further to where the sheet tangled low across his narrow hips. I touched his hand, resting across my stomach, and wondered at the length of his narrow fingers, the softness despite the calluses.
I tried to memorize his feel, his smell, his presence in these last few moments I had with him.
I thought of writing a letter. Leaving it on his pillow and simply disappearing. But it wouldn't work. He wouldn't let it work. He'd never stop looking for me and I couldn't have him wasting his life like that.
I tried to be quiet as I left our bed and slipped into the bathroom. Hopefully he'd be too tired to join me in the shower. I wanted him to remember me the way I was. He didn't need to see what these weeks away had done to me. He didn't need the guilt.
I only hoped that when I told him what I had to that he'd let it be. That he'd accept it. If he didn't…
I didn't want to hurt him anymore.
I stepped into the hot shower, steam immediately filling the tiny space.
And yet, I could feel the warmth leaving me.
I finished in the shower and re-braided my hair. I'd have to get it cut. I knew Carlton liked it long, but it was too hard to manage. Just one more thing.
Wrapping the small, scratchy towel around myself, I slipped back into the bedroom, hoping to get my clothes on before…
"Angeline," Carlton called quietly, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
The light from the window streamed in through the blinds behind him, making him look like he was glowing. Like an angel or a saint.
Saint Carlton. It almost fit. Not sinless, no, but still perfect in his way. Such a far cry from my own darkness.
"Carlton," I answered noncommittally, moving towards the bag that held my clothes.
He grabbed my arm and turned me towards him. I flinched a little at the sudden movement.
"Hey," he said soothingly, his grip loosening, "it's okay."
"I know," I said, forcing a small smile. It wasn't okay. It'd never be okay again.
He reached up, frowning, and touched the small scar beneath my chin. Not the new cut, lower and thinner, but the old one. The one Daemon had given me three weeks ago.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Nothing," I muttered, turning away.
"Angeline," Carlton said, standing, "Tell me, please." His voice bordered on an order, but the guilty frown on his face let me know what he was thinking. The bad thing was that he was right. The worse thing was that there was more.
I didn't want to deal with this. I'd hoped to be dressed before he woke up. Hoped this conversation would never have to happen. But I should have known he'd be too observant for that.
"Daemon," I said softly as I picked up my bra and panties.
"When?" he asked, his voice tight.
"Right away. In the woods," I said, my hands clenching as I tried to block the memory of that hopeless night when everything changed.
He nodded, his eyes haunted.
"I went there," he said, "I knew… But there was more blood," he said, looking at me, suddenly puzzled.
I sighed and let my towel fall.
His eyes immediately saw what the darkness had hidden last night.
His long fingers brushed against the small scar above my left breast and I hissed in pain.
He jerked away.
"Sorry," I whispered, "Too deep. Hasn't healed yet."
"Too…" he repeated, his hand clenching at his side.
I put on my bra and slipped into my panties. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I started to pull on my jeans, sighing as Carlton's hand encircled my wrist; stopping me from pulling them all the way up.
I looked up at him but he was staring down at the scar on the inside of my thigh.
"Was he trying to kill you?" he rasped, "Jugular, aorta, femoral artery," he said, pointing to each in turn.
I shrugged. Trying to? No. He would have. He was letting me know just how easy it would be. Just how little effort it would take for him to end my life.
I pulled my wrist from his loose grip and fastened my jeans. Slipping on a t-shirt, I leaned down and pulled on my boots.
"Angeline, please talk to me," Carlton implored as he donned his own clothes.
I didn't want to. The minute I told him what I needed to…
Oh, God, I didn't want to do this.
"I'm leaving, Carlton," I said softly, neatly folding the small pile of clothes I'd worn yesterday and placing them in the plastic bag that held everything I owned.
"Leaving? We can't go yet. You heard Gibbs; we have to stay in town until tomorrow at least."
I set the bag down next to the door and made sure I knew where my coat was. Good. It was hanging on the back of the door, ready to go. I unfastened my necklace; the ring cold between my fingers.
I turned towards Carlton and took a deep breath.
"No, Carlton, you don't understand. I'm not going home."
"Not…? What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice rising as he shook his head.
"I'm…" my voice gave out and I swallowed, "I'm breaking up with you," I said, handing him the necklace and ring.
His eyes flashed grey in shock and then darkened in anger, his long fingers closing around the tiny ring.
"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice rough, "I just found you."
"I know, Carlton!" I shouted, unable to hold back my emotions so I twisted them into anger, "It took you three weeks to find me! Three weeks! What do you think I was doing all that time? Throwing tea parties?"
"I… I…" he stuttered, fist clenching.
"I was with men, Carlton, lots of men. It wouldn't be right for me to stay with you after…"
"Damn it, Angeline! Is that all?" he roared, making me flinch back in surprise, "It didn't bother me before, and it doesn't bother me now! Well, it does for your sake, but not for me! Never for me! Do you think I thought you wanted those men? Wanted to do what you did? I know you didn't!"
"What if I did?" I shouted back, angry tears hastily wiped away.
"I know you," Carlton said, his voice lowering back to normal volume, "I know you."
Damn the man. I knew he wouldn't make this easy.
"I can't have kids," I said, the hopelessness creeping into my voice despite my best efforts, "I can never have kids."
"How do you…?" Carlton started to ask, concern and worry heavy in his voice.
"The doctor at NCIS. He… I…" I unzipped my jeans and pulled them aside roughly, showing him the faint surgical scars.
"I'd forgotten," I whispered, "that the doctor had come. That he took…"
"Oh, Angeline," he said quietly, reaching towards me.
I pulled away and zipped up my pants.
"I know you wanted kids. I can't give them to you. It isn't fair to stay."
He was silent for long moments and I thought that I'd finally gotten through to him. That he finally understood why I had to leave. And then he spoke.
"Angeline, I love you. We can adopt. We don't even have to have kids if you don't want them. I love you. I want you. Nothing else," he said, his hand held out; the ring shining in it.
I shuddered. I didn't want to lie to him. I didn't want to hurt him this badly. But I had to. If he was ever going to move on, I had to.
"I want to be free, Carlton," I said, my voice cold, "I've been trapped by men long enough. I'm not going to be controlled anymore."
He cringed away, taking a step back.
"I'm trapping you? I thought…" he whispered.
I laughed bitterly.
"You're the worst of all. What do they call it? The gilded cage," I spat, tamping down on the urge to comfort him as I saw how my words stung.
"I won't… I'll let you do whatever you think you need to," he said, practically begging, "Just don't go."
I was breathless; pain like a vise around my heart. I'd brought down this strong, good man. Reduced him to pleading with me to stay. I'd broken him. I'd already done what I never wanted to do.
"I can't stay," I said softly, turning away so he didn't see the tears in my eyes.
"Goodbye, Carlton."
I pulled on my coat, picked up my bag, and left. I didn't look back.
