Prompt 10: It's time to come home. Pick one character that has to return with their tail tucked between their legs and the person they return to.
Answer: Totally Freddie and Margaret. I always thought their relationship was the best and the most beautiful and the most underexplored by the fandom but anyway, I really love them.
He'll be here.
The silence folded around Margaret like a wet blanket that she clung to in the cold. It would kill her, she knew, but she had no other protection. She couldn't turn on the news—his face would be all over it—and she definitely couldn't talk to her sister—even the brief discussion she had with her while dropping off Billie was way too "I hate Freddie"-centric for her—so all that was left was sitting in silence and commanding herself to believe that he would return. But the quiet played tricks on her and she was too close to heartbreak to change that. What would happen if he didn't come back? How could she take care of Billie on her own? Sure, she could do it on the good days but the bad days would be too hard. That was what she needed Freddie for; she needed him to scare the bad days away.
He'll be here.
Margaret stood from the couch and stomped to the kitchen as she immediately pulled out a knife from the drawer and stabbed the wooden cutting board. No. He betterbe here. She didn't know what she would do but to God she demanded that he return Freddie or she would spend her life fucking up his perfect plan. Federico Gonzalez was supposed to be her gift for going through the darkness and coming out alive. Her family with Billie was supposed to be the promise that nothing bad would happen to her again—and she deserved it…after what she had been thr-
HE'LL BE HERE.
She couldn't go down that path. She couldn't think about it. For Billie's sake she had to be a big girl and swallow the pain or shout at the memories to leave her alone. Freddie had taught her to face her terror head on and it will shrivel away with no idea how to respond. But the black was creeping on the edges of her vision as if to promise it would swallow her whole. She gripped the handle of the knife and shut her eyes as she made herself big and tough. Four years of krav maga had taught her how to defend herself and her continual practice with Freddie made it all stick. She would fight her way through the black if it threatened her again. She had to be strong for Billie.
The door opened too subtly to be an intruder and from the night came the stranger. Not a stranger but a stranger that had taken over her love. After tough days at work he would often just come in without a greeting to find the shower and stay in there for as long as he could and this was no different. But it was. Even in his worst state she could see the light in his eyes but in that moment he was like a statue with no life in them. He reeked of piss, of blood, of fight, and most of all death.
That was the exact smell the police had recorded when they found her all those years ago. She was a wreck for so many years after and still occasionally was thrust into that dark place. That was hell and she prayed no one she loved would ever have to go through that…but it was apparent that Freddie did.
It was never easy for Freddie to apologize.
Margaret found that out the hard way after their first fight when he had gotten drunk and broke nearly every dish in her house because he thought she was talking to her ex-boyfriend. They had only been a month in and she was positive he was a keeper but that day he showed his ugliest side and then came hers. The crashing and anger and terror consumed her and all she could remember was sobbing hysterically in his arms while he rocked her and tried to calm her by stroking her hair and getting her to relax. He left that night after she had finally gone to sleep and she didn't hear anything from him until two days later. Everyday for the next week he left a few dishes to a set in front of her apartment door until it was complete and then he moved on to bigger gifts. He didn't buy her jewelry but instead bought her favorite cereal (she had been running out), a DVD copy of her favorite movie she had broke weeks before, some light bulbs and things of that sort.
She finally called him and they met up to talk. He didn't apologize once but somehow he did manage to sweep her off her feet again. That was the thing about him. He couldn't explain his feelings with words because he was a man of action. He was the kind of guy that would walk away from a conversation to fix something that was absentmindedly complained about. He was a doer, he was an understander, but he was not an apologizer.
So she knew full well she would never get an explanation and she didn't need one. The shower was running and she was able to remember her fragile state after being found without going back to it. All she wanted was something familiar and warm and welcoming that would not judge or for what she was forced to do. She knew that safe place was their bed. She knew it was her arms.
When the shower ended she was already in her night gown—his favorite one that she wore that was his favorite color and satin—standing at the edge of the bed and gazing at the door for him to come. He was naked and still with that expressionless stare he got when he was trying to figure out things that weren't meant to be figured out. He stopped in the door way and she could see a terror in his eyes for a moment that quickly faded into tears. She had never in her life seen him cry outright but in that moment it was the most beautifully heartbreaking thing she had ever witnessed.
Her arms stretched out to him and he was in them in a second. His strong arms grasped her so tight and though he was sad she felt an overwhelming safety fill her and she had to return the favor. She wrapped her own arms tight around his shoulders and then used her legs to climb around his waist so she could hold him with her whole body like he always said he loved. It was then that he began to cry harder and she pressed her mouth to her ear and whispered, "Come on, my love. It's time for bed."