I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.

Or firearms. Now.

And Baby Makes Four

In Mourning

". . . would have done without you these last few weeks, Lucy."

Bette felt their conjoined chest tighten with emotion at Dot's words.

The thought of facing the unknown alone seemed impossibly frightening and daunting.

Lucy's misty-eyed expression matched their own as she gazed at her friends.

"It's been the least I could do since you saved me from . . ."

She trailed off momentarily before picking back up the thread of her love and gratitude for her friends.

"And I'm just glad I can be here for you both in your time of need now."

All three women fell silent as they tidied up what little kitchen mess there was.

Listening to the radio broadcast turned down low.

". . . quoted as saying, 'Let them see what they've done.' Such brave and noble words . . ."

"Almost time for the service," Bette stated quietly, glancing up at the clock.

"I only wish Jimmy . . ."

But Dot couldn't finish the sentence.

Instead she took a deep breath, steeling herself for the wash of collective sorrow along with the unrelated inevitable sidelooks of pitying compassion she and her fused twin would be inundated with this morning.

It's okay, sister. We'll get through this together.

I know. I just . . . I can't . . . it's just too much. How could this happen in the world?

I know. But when it's over, we'll come home and rest. Let somebody take Annabel and just sleep a little while.

They hadn't gotten much sleep in the last several weeks.

Especially in the last couple of days since Jimmy . . .

"We need to get dressed before Kathy gets here," Dot said aloud to Bette for the benefit of their non-linked friend.

Lucy nodded and the sisters moved into their bedroom.

The bed was made, easier now that they slept alone.

Jimmy had always hogged the covers.

It had irritated them from time to time, one always waking up chilly.

No problem with that now.

All was still in the nighttime hours.

And they slept worse now that they didn't have to battle the Ruthless Bedsheets Bandit.

I miss him there with us.

So do I.

They clothed themselves in one of their few more formal black dresses.

Brushed their straight dark hair.

And placed their signature headbands.

You know, I was thinking of changing up our look before . . .

Yes. Me too.

But now . . .

I know.

It just doesn't feel important.

Maybe some day . . .

Yes. Maybe.

Suddenly overcome by another bout of emotion, the sisters felt weak and sat shakily in a nearby armchair.

Oh, sister, I just can't believe he's gone!

Neither can I. He was such a good man. I loved him.

We both did.

And now . . .

They stood once more, gathering strength from each other's presence.

I just can't believe . . . how could somebody shoot him?!

The old anger returned, brighter than ever.

In a way, it was a comfort.

They could burn in their anger easier than drown in their sorrow.

What had he ever done to deserve such violence?!

Nothing, sister. Not a damn thing. He only ever tried to make it better.

At least they caught the bastard.

Yes. There is comfort in that.

Not much though.

No, not much.

They secured one of their few pairs of dressy heels on their feet.

And stood.

Gazed blankly at their conjoined reflection in the full length mirror hung on the back of the door.

Remember his handsome smile?

Oh yes. When he smiled, you just felt there was good in the world.

And he knew just what to say to make us feel like we could accomplish anything.

Bette sniffed as Dot wiped away a tear.

Remember when he pardoned the Thanksgiving turkey?

This brought the reprieve of a chuckle to their brooding thoughts.

Oh yes, everyone talked about how silly it was. But you could tell it brought joy.

I think that's what I'm going to try to remember, sister. That smile. And that turkey.

It's a good legacy.

Certainly a special one.

Feeling a bit calmer, they left the room and headed back into the living room.

And gazed with renewed love at the sight before them.

Their little daughter sleeping on the couch.

Protectively snuggled up with her daddy.

Who cradled her carefully with one arm.

As the other stayed securely bound in a restrictive sling.

He had been home a week, the life threatening infection in his body successfully beaten by a stout mixture of drugs, treatments, prayers, and vigilance.

We almost lost him, Dot.

I know, Bette.

I'm so grateful he's still with us.

Me too.

Dot reached out and brushed a gentle hand upwards along the beloved face of her husband.

He turned into her palm slightly as did he did whenever she touched his face.

Lucy and Kathy, along with a myriad of neighbors, had been providing them casseroles, pies, and well wishes as they turned inward to heal and comfort their little family.

Jimmy had required more help than usual with his day to day activities.

Which were severely limited by every single person he came in contact with.

"Jimmy Walker, set that down!"

"Jimmy, darling, what did we say about overexerting yourself? Let us help you!"

"Dada, no!"

Which he had not had the strength to fight, being so weak and tired from the healing process his body was going through.

He had been sleeping on the couch since his return home because it helped stablize his healing shoulder.

And Dot and Bette had slept fitfully as they had both kept ears open for him in the night should he need anything.

He was too weak to be very social in the house, much less out.

But he was here, he was whole, and he was alive.

She felt her tears, this time happy ones, starting in her eyes again.

But she resolutely pushed them back.

Not quickly enough though.

For her lover, her friend, her support, opened his own dark eyes.

A dopey smile forming on his face as he felt the presence of his darlings near him.

A smile which then abruptly faded as he took in Dot's face.

"Oh hey, what's wrong?"

Dot shook her head, her eyes bright as Bette spoke for them.

"We're just grateful you're still here, darling."

His smile returned, dimpled as ever.

And he glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Almost time to go?"

Bette nodded.

"Yes, Kathy should be here any minute."

His expression grew solemn. He'd been overly anxious about the four of them being seperated at all since his incident.

"I've never known you to be church people. Or really political."

Dot ran her fingers through his hair, mussing it up in that way she adored.

"He was going to make the world a better place, Jimmy. More civil rights for African Americans . . ."

". . . It would have come to people like us eventually too."

"He cared. He believed."

He nodded. He knew. They all did.

"And it's so similar to what happened to you . . ."

Jimmy flashed a sardonic grin.

"Only I'm not as important as him."

Both of his darlings shot disbelieving looks at him.

"Oh, but, Jimmy! You're so much more important . . ."

". . . because you belong to us!"

He felt his heart swell. Just like it did every time they spoke something in the same vein to him.

Bette drew caressing fingers across her daughter's cheek, holding back her renewed tears as she considered what might have happened to Jimmy if the robber had aimed a little higher.

Then she brought herself back again.

"We told Lucy you said she didn't have to stay . . ."

"But of course I ignored it as medication-induced babble," Lucy chimed in softly from her place in the kitchen.

Jimmy and his darlings shared a smile.

"And we want to go to pray for his family, Jimmy. We just can't imagine our little girl not having her daddy anymore. And his children will never see him again."

Jimmy paused, something he couldn't quite hear whispering in his mind that the lost, little children just might and that he, Jimmy, had absolute proof.

But that was a long thought for another time.

Because his little daughter sleepily raised her head from her daddy's chest.

"Too much talk. Too much noise. Dada hurt. Dada resting. Shhh."

And plopped her head back onto his chest again.

"We love you," his wives whispered.

"I love you two," he whispered back.

And Dot and Bette Walker left to attend a prayer vigil mourning the loss of a great man.

Because it was November 23, 1963.

And John Fitzgerald Kennedy had been shot dead only twenty-four hours before.

Of course you all knew Jimmy was going to live.

But I didn't have to just hand it to you, did I?

Anyway, we all now know JFK wasn't exactly the perfection the American people made him out to be. But at this point, they weren't quite there. So, you know. The end of Camelot.

Plus, as they mentioned, Bette and Dot are emotionally connecting it with Jimmy's shooting so they're not crazy, just dealing with extra feels. Like going through battle or something.

Thanks to DinahRay, LuciaDiAngelo, autumnrose2010, midnightrebellion86, Bumblebee93, brigid1318, and The Cry-Wank Kid for hanging in there with me.

Thanks as well to all the silent readers of this story.

And be safe.

And next time, we'll amp back up on the fun happy, okay?