A/N: AHHHHHHH!!! Didn't you love last night's episode?! I was literally dancing during the commercial breaks! Plus Weiss is back from the dead, and he's been reincarnated as Cupid! I won't bore you with all the great moments, since you probably saw them, just thought I'd mention them for some reason...
Chapter Three---Radio Wars
Hoping to break the unbearable silence, he jabbed at the radio and music flooded through the car. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, singing some of lines he remembered to himself, finally diverting his attention from the woman next to him. It was hard to believe the songs he had grown up with were now considered "oldies", funny how times changed.
Sydney suddenly jerked up from where she had been sitting, watching the landscape out the window, and hit the radio button, plunging them back into the agonizing quiet. "I can't stand love songs," was all she gave in way of explanation. If she was expecting an argument, he didn't give her one, merely glued his eyes back to the windshield and pressed his lips together in a thin line.
Sydney had broken her self-imposed discipline with the movement, and she couldn't force her eyes back to the outside, found them drifting to her ex-husband. She had felt herself changing all these years, but she had not realized until that moment that he had too. His shape was subtly different than the one she had known so well, there was a little bit more to him, just a little thickened at the waist and a bit broader at the shoulders than he had been in his younger years. His hair was lighter too, just around the edges, where he'd let the first hints of gray creep in. She was fascinated by a new scar she found on the inside of his palm where one of his arms lay upturned on the armrest between them, it ran nearly from his wrist to the beginning of his ring finger, but when she discovered a faint itch in her fingers to explore its length, demand the story behind it, she buried her hands in the pleats of her skirt. She tried to count the trees and the cars they passed by, but her attention kept returning to little nuances about him that she had never noticed before.
He caught her sideways glances at him, unsettling in their frequency and intensity. "What?" he snapped, nerves frayed.
"Mmmm," she hummed the sound to cover her quick fumbling for a lie, "I was just wondering what all the boxes in the back seat were for."
"I'm moving." His voice was clipped; he wanted to make her fight for the full answer because she suddenly no longer deserved his complete honesty.
"Moving where?"
"Here."
"Here? As in...God, when where you planning on telling me this, Michael? Or did it just slip your mind?"
"I got transferred. It wasn't my decision to make. End of story, I'm not going to bicker with you about this."
"Okay, you got transferred, but when where you going to tell me? Were you just going to show up on our doorstep? Waltz in and mess up our lives without so much as a 'by your leave?'"
"If I knew I was going to 'mess up' your life so damn much I would have never married you!"
"Don't say that." Her voice, which had been escalating to full blown screaming, dropped unexpectedly into a small whisper. "Don't you ever say that. I don't care where we are now, Michael, but I will never regret marrying you. You gave me my daughter, and if for that reason only, I will never be sorry for our time together."
The air buzzed with heavy, brutal tension and breathing became a grueling task. He was nearly shaking with relief when her house came into view; they both winced as the car rocked as they pulled up the driveway, finally finding an excuse to wrench their awareness away from each other. Their doors opened in a synchronized fashion, and they avoided any contact as they gathered their things and climbed out.
"My purse," she murmured more to herself than anybody else as her hand felt around the carpet on the floor. "I must have locked my purse in my car. I'll have to go back for it tomorrow..." He gave a stiff nod, unsure any response was required of him, and she walked over to stoop in front of the side door, dragging out the spare key from its hiding place.
He followed her inside as the door swung open, keeping a careful three paces between them. She really did have a beautiful house, more spacious than any teacher could really afford; the government would have given her anything she asked for after her years of service, barring actual recognition, but all she asked for was the this house. The wide marble foyer led in one direction to the kitchen and the dining room, or in the other to the family room and master bedroom. The stairs, also curling up from the foyer, conducted you to their daughter's room and the guest room. The door they entered through, though, opened right into the kitchen.
"Mom?" A voice called from the depths of the house. "I've been trying to call you for over an hour! Oh, by the way," footsteps began making their way down the stairs, "Will called. He's going to be in town next week and wanted to know if you wanted to go out Saturday." His hand froze in the process of closing the door. Will Tippin. Would he spend his whole life being jealous of Will Tippin? "But I told him that we already had plans to--"
His daughter appeared through the doorway, and she stopped when she saw him. He had once assumed that no one could rival Sydney, but Laramie was certainly coming close. She was taller than the last time he'd seen her, nearly her mother's height already, and by now seemed to be passed the awkward portion of her teenage years. She had her mother's hair and distinctive jaw line, but if you got close enough, you could see she had his eyes: green, flecked with brown so they could almost pass for hazel.
"Dad! You're here! And it's not a holiday!" She glanced beside him, her brows drawing up like his sometimes did. "With Mom..."
He held out his arms to her, and she hurried over to give him a hug. "Your mother and I were just discussing that actually...It seems that I've been reassigned here."
"Really? You'll be living here?" She frowned for a moment, pulling back out of his arms to regard him. "You got rid of Stephanie before you moved, didn't you?"
He ignored the glance Sydney shot him at the mention of the latest in his long string of girlfriends. "It's been almost two months since I last saw her, actually."
"Good. I was getting worried, she lasted longer than any of the others."
He laughed and pulled her back towards him. "You know none of them will ever match up to my standards; who could ever compare to you?"
"Daddy!" she shrieked, the way she always did when he paid her a compliment.
"I know, I know. I can't tell you how beautiful you are, but all those boys can..."
"Daddy!" she repeated as he found her ticklish spot, and she writhed against him until she disentangled his fingers. When she caught her breath, she asked, "So where are you staying?"
"Well," he began, more serious this time, "I was thinking I would stay in a hotel until I can find an apartment."
"A hotel! You can't stay in a hotel!" She turned beseechingly to her mother. "Can't we lend him the guest room, Mom, just 'til he finds a place?"
He caught the glare Sydney sent him over their daughter's head, but simply shrugged his shoulders; there wasn't anything he could do to change Laramie's mind. Stifling a sigh, she answered, "Yes, of course he can."
He spent most the evening catching up with his daughter while Sydney cooked dinner. During the meal, Laramie tried so hard to get her parents to talk to each other, it nearly broke his heart. So, he put forth his best effort at civility, and Sydney seemed to notice he daughter's hard work too, even smiling and laughing at his jokes and stories like she used to. That fact only made it worse on him, since all he really wanted to do was grab her and shake some sense into her, convince her that it didn't matter if she loved him or not, just that she took him back.
Long after the two of them went to sleep, he wandered the house, bathing in the artificial glow of the television, feeling like some sort of intruder. He finally made his way upstairs, but he never made it to the guest room, simply stood watching his daughter sleep.
A board creaked, and he reached for a gun that wasn't there; it was in his trunk, he would never bring a gun anywhere near Laramie. But now he wished he had. He did as thorough a search of the house as he could manage, even thought about telling Sydney, but that would require approaching her bedroom, which he just couldn't do. Instead, he dismissed it as nothing, and settled down at last for a night of restless sleep.
Chapter Three---Radio Wars
Hoping to break the unbearable silence, he jabbed at the radio and music flooded through the car. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, singing some of lines he remembered to himself, finally diverting his attention from the woman next to him. It was hard to believe the songs he had grown up with were now considered "oldies", funny how times changed.
Sydney suddenly jerked up from where she had been sitting, watching the landscape out the window, and hit the radio button, plunging them back into the agonizing quiet. "I can't stand love songs," was all she gave in way of explanation. If she was expecting an argument, he didn't give her one, merely glued his eyes back to the windshield and pressed his lips together in a thin line.
Sydney had broken her self-imposed discipline with the movement, and she couldn't force her eyes back to the outside, found them drifting to her ex-husband. She had felt herself changing all these years, but she had not realized until that moment that he had too. His shape was subtly different than the one she had known so well, there was a little bit more to him, just a little thickened at the waist and a bit broader at the shoulders than he had been in his younger years. His hair was lighter too, just around the edges, where he'd let the first hints of gray creep in. She was fascinated by a new scar she found on the inside of his palm where one of his arms lay upturned on the armrest between them, it ran nearly from his wrist to the beginning of his ring finger, but when she discovered a faint itch in her fingers to explore its length, demand the story behind it, she buried her hands in the pleats of her skirt. She tried to count the trees and the cars they passed by, but her attention kept returning to little nuances about him that she had never noticed before.
He caught her sideways glances at him, unsettling in their frequency and intensity. "What?" he snapped, nerves frayed.
"Mmmm," she hummed the sound to cover her quick fumbling for a lie, "I was just wondering what all the boxes in the back seat were for."
"I'm moving." His voice was clipped; he wanted to make her fight for the full answer because she suddenly no longer deserved his complete honesty.
"Moving where?"
"Here."
"Here? As in...God, when where you planning on telling me this, Michael? Or did it just slip your mind?"
"I got transferred. It wasn't my decision to make. End of story, I'm not going to bicker with you about this."
"Okay, you got transferred, but when where you going to tell me? Were you just going to show up on our doorstep? Waltz in and mess up our lives without so much as a 'by your leave?'"
"If I knew I was going to 'mess up' your life so damn much I would have never married you!"
"Don't say that." Her voice, which had been escalating to full blown screaming, dropped unexpectedly into a small whisper. "Don't you ever say that. I don't care where we are now, Michael, but I will never regret marrying you. You gave me my daughter, and if for that reason only, I will never be sorry for our time together."
The air buzzed with heavy, brutal tension and breathing became a grueling task. He was nearly shaking with relief when her house came into view; they both winced as the car rocked as they pulled up the driveway, finally finding an excuse to wrench their awareness away from each other. Their doors opened in a synchronized fashion, and they avoided any contact as they gathered their things and climbed out.
"My purse," she murmured more to herself than anybody else as her hand felt around the carpet on the floor. "I must have locked my purse in my car. I'll have to go back for it tomorrow..." He gave a stiff nod, unsure any response was required of him, and she walked over to stoop in front of the side door, dragging out the spare key from its hiding place.
He followed her inside as the door swung open, keeping a careful three paces between them. She really did have a beautiful house, more spacious than any teacher could really afford; the government would have given her anything she asked for after her years of service, barring actual recognition, but all she asked for was the this house. The wide marble foyer led in one direction to the kitchen and the dining room, or in the other to the family room and master bedroom. The stairs, also curling up from the foyer, conducted you to their daughter's room and the guest room. The door they entered through, though, opened right into the kitchen.
"Mom?" A voice called from the depths of the house. "I've been trying to call you for over an hour! Oh, by the way," footsteps began making their way down the stairs, "Will called. He's going to be in town next week and wanted to know if you wanted to go out Saturday." His hand froze in the process of closing the door. Will Tippin. Would he spend his whole life being jealous of Will Tippin? "But I told him that we already had plans to--"
His daughter appeared through the doorway, and she stopped when she saw him. He had once assumed that no one could rival Sydney, but Laramie was certainly coming close. She was taller than the last time he'd seen her, nearly her mother's height already, and by now seemed to be passed the awkward portion of her teenage years. She had her mother's hair and distinctive jaw line, but if you got close enough, you could see she had his eyes: green, flecked with brown so they could almost pass for hazel.
"Dad! You're here! And it's not a holiday!" She glanced beside him, her brows drawing up like his sometimes did. "With Mom..."
He held out his arms to her, and she hurried over to give him a hug. "Your mother and I were just discussing that actually...It seems that I've been reassigned here."
"Really? You'll be living here?" She frowned for a moment, pulling back out of his arms to regard him. "You got rid of Stephanie before you moved, didn't you?"
He ignored the glance Sydney shot him at the mention of the latest in his long string of girlfriends. "It's been almost two months since I last saw her, actually."
"Good. I was getting worried, she lasted longer than any of the others."
He laughed and pulled her back towards him. "You know none of them will ever match up to my standards; who could ever compare to you?"
"Daddy!" she shrieked, the way she always did when he paid her a compliment.
"I know, I know. I can't tell you how beautiful you are, but all those boys can..."
"Daddy!" she repeated as he found her ticklish spot, and she writhed against him until she disentangled his fingers. When she caught her breath, she asked, "So where are you staying?"
"Well," he began, more serious this time, "I was thinking I would stay in a hotel until I can find an apartment."
"A hotel! You can't stay in a hotel!" She turned beseechingly to her mother. "Can't we lend him the guest room, Mom, just 'til he finds a place?"
He caught the glare Sydney sent him over their daughter's head, but simply shrugged his shoulders; there wasn't anything he could do to change Laramie's mind. Stifling a sigh, she answered, "Yes, of course he can."
He spent most the evening catching up with his daughter while Sydney cooked dinner. During the meal, Laramie tried so hard to get her parents to talk to each other, it nearly broke his heart. So, he put forth his best effort at civility, and Sydney seemed to notice he daughter's hard work too, even smiling and laughing at his jokes and stories like she used to. That fact only made it worse on him, since all he really wanted to do was grab her and shake some sense into her, convince her that it didn't matter if she loved him or not, just that she took him back.
Long after the two of them went to sleep, he wandered the house, bathing in the artificial glow of the television, feeling like some sort of intruder. He finally made his way upstairs, but he never made it to the guest room, simply stood watching his daughter sleep.
A board creaked, and he reached for a gun that wasn't there; it was in his trunk, he would never bring a gun anywhere near Laramie. But now he wished he had. He did as thorough a search of the house as he could manage, even thought about telling Sydney, but that would require approaching her bedroom, which he just couldn't do. Instead, he dismissed it as nothing, and settled down at last for a night of restless sleep.