Call Him Aidan
A/N: I know my updates are often sporadic and I apologize for that. I've not forgotten about anything I have going, though, and I appreciate every one of my followers. Thank you for being understanding and sticking with me despite any gaps in updating. This is the sequel to Undercover Infatuation. It's not necessary to read that one first, but if you want a little background information before diving into this, it may be good to do so.
Warning: This story revolves around a child being born with a physical disability, how that can affect a family, a marriage, and one's esteem and view of themselves while facing challenges many never have to think of and naturally, will deal with some heavy material in some chapters. If that isn't something you think you can handle, this is your warning. I myself have lived with a physical disability since birth, and though this will not be strictly based on my life experiences and is a work of fiction, writing this definitely stems from a place of knowledge and understanding. My own challenges are not something I typically go into detail about, and I will not do so here but as well as providing (hopefully) interesting reading material to my followers, I also did this in hopes of maybe spreading even the slightest bit of disability awareness to those who may not have previously thought about it at all.
Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order: SVU nor any of its affiliated characters. Any additional characters or situations within this work of fiction are figments of my own imagination and intended to bear no real resemblance to specific persons or their circumstances.
Chapter One:
Guilt
"Guilty is the only way to describe it; the kind of guilt that shows itself in the tear stains on my pillows at night, even if its presence is irrational. The kind that is ever present, all consuming, and may never end. That's what's on my heart every day."-Amanda
"I want a yellow one!"
Amanda Rollins heard the voice of her son pulling her from yet another one of her deep trances. She slipped into these almost comatose states of mind frequently and consistently with the turn her life had taken. They happened during her morning coffee, while she hastily flipped the pages of the morning paper, not really processing anything, the words becoming mere blobs of ink before her. During quiet days at home, while she worried about how her only child was faring at school, hoping it wouldn't be yet another day he came home crying because heartless inconsiderate children wouldn't embrace him. They happened too, during what were supposed to be important conversations with her wife. Olivia would all too often catch her daydreaming, knowing that these 'daydreams' consisted of concern, worry and stress rather than happy things. Sometimes what would have been a simple conversation between them in years past took much longer to get through due to the older woman having to repeat and remind her of what it was she was saying.
"You do? Well, when we go see the special doctors again, you tell them when they give you the big book of colours to choose from that you want a yellow one, okay?"
"I will."
The feeling of a much stronger and more masculine hand covering her own made the corners of the blonde's mouth lift slightly into a smile as they drove on toward the direction of home and she continued listening to the back and forth between the five year old and his mother as they discussed what he most looked forward to with the impending arrival of a new wheelchair.
He needed them frequently, as he seemed to grow faster than either of his mothers could blink. Something was always needing altering, adjusting, or changing, and when it became impossible to accommodate his ever growing and changing young body any longer, one piece of equipment was swapped for another, all the paperwork and funding requests for something that was so necessary and seemed so simple, (but was entirely too complicated) having to be done once again.
"You okay?" The brunette sitting next to her in the driver's seat didn't let go of her hand as she asked this. Her tone was soft, expression concerned.
"Yeah, just thinkin' is all. I'm fine." Rather than look at her, she focused her gaze on what was passing by outside the windowpane. It was hard for her to hide her real feelings in moments where her eyes locked with Olivia's; as if she could see right into the depth of her soul, knew exactly when her spirit was broken, even when Amanda insisted it wasn't. For this reason, she tried to entirely avoid confrontation with the truth.
"You're not fine, but we'll talk about it at home."
They did their best not to have arguments or talk about adult things in front of Aidan. He had a knowledge beyond anything his five years called for, and had already seen and dealt with so much no child should ever have to. They tried to make him feel as loved and provide as normal a life as possible. It wasn't easy, though. Many nights since his arrival into the world one or both of the two women had risen their voices what they believed to be a little too loudly, fought over insignificant things while avoiding the bigger problems, and cried themselves to sleep. Sometimes, in entirely separate locations in the house.
"Mommy?" his voice was small and curious in the back seat, and Olivia momentarily feared that he'd picked up on pieces of their adult conversation, having been unable to hide anything within the cramped quarters of their vehicle.
"Yes, baby?" she said as cheerfully as possible, glancing at him through the glass of the visor mirror slightly askew in front of her.
"Do I have to go to school tomorrow? I wanna stay home with you and Mama."
"Yes, Aidan, you do." The blonde piped up, uncharacteristically firm and authoritative before Olivia had a chance to respond. Though she would stand by her wife in her position, she was taken aback by her sternness. Usually, she was the stricter parent, while Amanda was a lot more lenient. That's not to say she wasn't a good parent, because she was an excellent one. There wasn't anyone she could think of to better mother her kids with. They just had their own ways of dealing with the feelings that came along with having to raise a special needs child, and Amanda sometimes indulged his desires more because she felt guilty. The logic may not make sense to a lot of people, but having been by her side every step of the journey, Olivia understood it.
"But I hate school."
"Why?"
"'Cause kids always make fun of me, and nobody wants to play at recess. They all think I'm weird."
Olivia was pretty good at keeping her emotions in check in front of him when it came to things like this, but one look at Amanda and the hard exterior she'd instantly tried to assume and it was obvious her blood was boiling on the inside, yet another small notch, sharp as jagged broken glass, being carved out of her once whole and intact spirit.
"I'm sure that's not true, honey." Only Olivia heard the thickness of tears lodged in the back of her wife's throat that she was trying so desperately to hide.
"Yes it is, nobody wants to be friends with me. Everyone gets to do fun things and I have to stay behind."
Amanda felt her heart crush into a thousand pieces at the sadness in his voice. The hardest part was not that he was sad, but that he was living a type of sadness which she knew she couldn't fix. One that she feared would manifest itself all the more deeply and permanently as he grew older and all the obstacles in his world became greater. The things he understood, were things she often wished she had the power to erase from his young mind.
"I would be friends with you," Olivia piped up, looking in the mirror and seeing that her attempt to lift his spirits had at least made him giggle a little. "I'd be your bodyguard against all those mean playground bullies, with my bulletproof vest and everything."
"You're my Mommy, you're 'posta say that!"
"Maybe, but I still would. Mama would too. We would both do anything to protect you, Aidan. We just want you to be happy."
"I know Mommy, I love you."
"I love you, too."
The movement of the car and the comfort of having both his mothers with him seemed to be enough to put Aidan Rollins into a deep sleep, but neither woman was surprised. Even as a baby, long walks or car rides at any hour had seemed to be enough to eliminate any long nights of fussing or crying and left the two ladies relatively stress free throughout a good period of his infancy. They were grateful for it, too. A lot more than they'd expected had been in store for them when it came to their son and when it hit, his sleep or lack of it had become the least of their worries.
"I got 'em," the blonde said, automatically delegating the task of retrieving the day's haul of groceries and other goods to the older woman while she ducked down into the car for their sleeping child, trying to manoeuvre so she could get a decent grip while not waking him at the same time.
"I'll bring his chair in when I'm done hauling this," the brunette said, lifting up the bags in her arms to emphasize what 'this' was, as if her wife wasn't already aware.
Amanda acknowledged her wife's statement with a brief nod of the head and carried her son, sleeping in her arms, positioned as if he were an overgrown baby, into the house. The victory she felt in not having woken him was a small one, but it was one to her nonetheless. Both ladies knew that when Aidan was awakened for any reason, the task of getting him back to sleep could feel like hell on earth.
Placing him gently down in his bed, she felt a knot start in the pit of her stomach as his eyes fluttered, beginning to open. This knot came about for many reasons, and so often, that she second guessed a lot if it ever really went away or had just become a permanent fixture; a mere annoyance that she'd become so accustomed to she began not to notice it.
"Mama, I'm hungry. Where's Mommy?" he said groggily, attempting to sit himself up but laying gently back into the pillow when he seemed to recall the affliction with which he'd been born, realizing sitting up required support that at the moment, he didn't have.
"I know you are. Mommy is getting stuff out of the car and then I'm gonna start dinner, okay? Go back to sleep and one of us will come get you when it's ready."
"Okay." Closing his eyes, a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Amanda stayed just long enough to hear his breathing even out and tiptoed out of the room, happy that for once getting him back to sleep hadn't seemed like a knock down drag out fight.
Making her way out into the kitchen she saw Aidan's chair folded neatly against a wall, all the pieces that had been detached in order to fit it into the trunk of their car placed just as tidily next to it. The sound of chopping caused her gaze to move swiftly from the chair to the middle of the kitchen where her wife was standing, methodically chopping vegetables and waiting for something to cook in the oven behind her.
"Y'need a hand?" The question was met with a smile from the older woman, and eyes that were warm and appreciative.
"Sure, I'm almost done chopping these, but you could chop some onions and throw together a salad for me if you want."
"Absolutely." As she moved about the kitchen opening random cupboards in search of a chopping board and salad bowl, there were brief moments where she brushed unintentionally against Olivia; their hips colliding, hands making the briefest of contact as the brunette moved her things over to make space for her wife at the worktop, sending little bits of electricity shooting through each of their fingers.
"Sorry," Amanda mumbled almost incoherently. She wasn't sure why, but the contact had caused her cheeks to redden considerably, and with unfounded self consciousness flooding over her, she felt the need to utter some kind of apology.
"For what?" Head cocked to one side, eyebrow raised, the brunette looked at her quizzically. "I'm your wife, and you need to apologize for a couple of our body parts touching? Honey, are you feeling okay?"
Guilty is the only way to describe it; the kind of guilt that shows itself in the tear stains on my pillows at night, even if its presence is irrational. The kind that is ever present, all consuming, and may never end. That's what's on my heart every day.
Flashing involuntarily back to the words she'd said in confidence to her therapist just days prior, she knew in her heart of hearts she wasn't really okay. She hadn't been herself for a very long time, and it made her wonder if the old Amanda was lost forever. Therapy wasn't even something she'd wanted, not at first. It had been like pulling teeth for them to get her to talk. The first few sessions were wasted money, and though she wasn't one to accept charity from others, this was one time she'd been glad the money burned hadn't been hers. Eventually, she'd begun to tell this stranger things she hadn't even disclosed to her wife. It had become nice to have someone to talk to who could be objective about a situation and wasn't going through it with her. What scared her the most was that now, five years in to the roller coaster that had become their lives, she'd gotten better at talking to a stranger about the biggest obstacles and issues in her world and worse at being truthful with the woman who'd been there all along.
"Yeah, I'm okay."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. But it was like a rush of waves she couldn't silence; the false assurances, fake smiles, pretend happiness. She made sure all of that surrounded her family, when what was going on inside of her was so loud it couldn't be drowned out. She wasn't sure if they suspected anything, but she wasn't okay. She was ridden with guilt of the deepest kind, and didn't know if okay would ever be a feeling she experienced again.
