Author's Note: No actual Timmy/Trixie in this chapter, sorry. It's actually what happened with Trixie's parents…so, I suppose, although I'll be a little hurt, you can skip this one.
The big date's next chapter.
Disclaimer: For the love of God, I don't own FOP! And, ugh…Harold...
Chapter Sixteen: Two Roads Parted in a Wood
Just seeing her takes his breath away. In the nearly eleven years that have passed, his impression of her was the teenager he'd last seen. Perhaps, in his heart of hearts, he'd wanted to see her as he had then and this could be all over. He could make the right decisions and finally have her.
But time was not as kind to Patricia as he'd have imagined. Wrinkles line her face, as well as bags under her eyes, and, where the makeup does not touch, he sees the weariness from resignation, the pangs of loneliness, and a deep misery. She isn't happy…nor is he. This was not what either wanted, in any way, shape, or form…and perhaps, with her parents deceased and his in a resting home, he can rectify it.
He stares at her through the hotel window. In his right hand, he fiddles with Trixie's cell and searches for one of the last called numbers. Veronica, Veronica, Veronica…that girl needs more friends…
However, as soon as he reaches a promising number, he finds it's blocked. Apparently, this must be it, because every other number, he has no problem accessing. Trixie isn't as clever as she makes herself out to be. (Although it would indeed be sad if his ten year old daughter could outsmart him).
Now, he has to ponder her password. Well…considering that he's fairly certain he knows her inside out, she won't have made it terribly difficult. Hmm…what can it be?
Veronica, Gucci, and Versace, none of these work. Frustrated, he pounds in Timmy's name, only to discover this one does indeed unlock the number. Leave it to her to use a silly boy's name as a password.
Before he can hit send, however, she walks out of the hotel into the balmy May breeze. The wind shifts past her face, whipping her long black hair about. It falls in her face, but she takes no note of this. Her eyes flit across and finally, as she moves closer, they fall upon him.
An expression of astonishment glides across her face as she moves closer, close enough for them to speak without being overheard. Her hand reaches for his but pulls back immediately. Unlike before, she holds herself with an air of restraint.
Her eyes are rooted to him and his to hers. Time has not been kind to her, endowing her with bags under her eyes not even makeup can hide and sorrow marks her face. Clearly, by a glance, he can discern that after them, there was never another. If she found happiness afterwards, it fleeted.
Comparing her to Trixie, he sees nothing of her seventeen year old sense. Indeed, if perusing her face tells him anything at all, it is what she will look like given the same heartrending situation. The way her eyes search his, the pain within, it stings his heart. This is all his this fault; he has ruined her, damned her to this.
He can almost hear her thoughts regarding him. She knows almost as well as he time has ravaged him. For one thing, he's lost his height. (He did, after all, used to be taller).
For another, he's grown stout in his older age. When they were teens, he was leaner, built for the track team, back when he was used to getting exercise. Now, of course, it's a rare formality only permitted when his schedule can fit it.
"Patricia…" He breathes, narrowing the space between them but not touching her. Something about her communicates her distaste. Well, perhaps that's too strong a word, but surely, after all this time; she cannot want him to touch her.
Although she does not smile, the grim line defining her lips becomes softer, less severe. Again, her hand lingers close to his, but, again, she pulls it back. They are no longer seventeen, things have changed too drastically.
In an even tone, communicating no emotion whatsoever, she replies, "Harold."
His name has never sounded so cold as just now. It's almost as though their legacy is false and they are mere acquaintances, meeting on the street. Trixie never happened and she's just visiting Dimmsdale.
"How…how are you?" He's aware of the falsity in his words, how little she wants to hear them. But, surely, she must recognize he has nothing to truly say. All his words died a long time ago. Now he hands out the credit cards and lets Trixie walk all over him. He's given up.
"Fine," She replies through gritted teeth. Her face pulls together, taut. She's not in the mood for small talk- that much is apparent.
Her eyes dart back and forth, as though seeking another. They search frantically, driven by desperation. No…she came all this way and she's being denied her daughter!
Finally, her gaze falls upon his hand and a look of utter contempt crosses her face. Only a ten year old fashion minded child would have such a cell phone and planner…he must have appropriated them from Trixie. Even though she has no children of her own, other than Trixie, they both know the mannerisms and possessions of one.
This, to her, is both the ultimate umbrage and intervention. Not only can she no longer speak with her daughter on the phone or communicate with her by letter, but she cannot meet with her in a private meeting. She has no idea what Trixie even looks like…how dare he do this to her!
Trembling in anger, she stubbornly refuses to believe he's come alone and shoves him aside. No…there are no children forthcoming. No one, only the wretched Harold who ruined her life and robbed her.
In a verbal assault, she proceeds to scream her lungs out at him. None of what she says would make a Disney executive particularly happy, nor did it particularly enthuse Harold. Instead, it served only to remind him further of his guilt.
Everything that's happened to her, from living on the streets until she could find a waitressing job to living in a rat infested apartment, she reminds him, this is all his fault. She wouldn't be here if he hadn't lost his backbone. God…he'd never realized how much resentment she must have held towards him.
After all, compared to her living, he's in the lap of luxury. He has everything, servants to clean up after him, money, and her daughter. And he doesn't even appear to notice how lucky he is!
He winces, however, since her words contain no sugar coated lies, only the harsh, cruel truth. Is he truly this horrible? Surely, she might accept some sort of weak apology.
However, before he can open his mouth, she slaps him as hard as she can. She's struck him so hard; he can feel the imprint on his cheek.
Tears shine in her eyes and she snaps, "How could you do this to me!"
It takes him a second to try to place what exactly she's accusing him of. Is it the original situation? No…it has to be the disappointment. She came here to see Trixie…and she never will.
However, before he can focus on this, his mind reverts back to that day and what he'd wanted to say to her.
"I didn't mean to! I'm a coward, I'm a fool! I was afraid! Why can't you see that?"
Why can't you see the frightened little child I was? My parents ruled over me with an iron fist…and they were so commanding…
Startled, since she meant as he'd originally thought that this was about Trixie, she retorts, "Why couldn't you tell them what you really thought? Why did you only tell me? Why are you such a goddamned coward?"
The words bursting out of him like a precariously situated dam, barely maintained, he snaps, "I did it because I thought it'd be easier!"
For whom remained to be determined. If he shunted her away, he wouldn't have to deal with his authoritarian parents or the pressures of having a child at his age. Indeed…in retrospect, he'd been horribly, terribly selfish.
"You thought it'd be easier to chuck me out of your life and take my daughter!" She replies, a tear sliding down her cheek. He reaches to thumb it away but she slaps his arm away.
"Goddamn it, Pat, I made a mistake! Can't you tell I'm paying for it?" His eyes plead with her, silently begging her to see the truth…but she's the wronged one, not he. How can he make her see his side when he knows there's no sense in it?
Doesn't she know how much it pained him to choose his parents over her? How he rues his decision, how he wishes he had the courage to overthrow them. But, no, he had to grow up a spoiled, subservient little brat. Damn him.
"All I can tell is that you're cutting me and Trixie off from each other and you're teaching her she was obviously born from immaculate conception! Damn you…why can't you see she needs me!"
She places her hands on her hips and frantically blinks her eyes. No way will she permit herself to cry in front on this peon. She's wasted enough tears over him.
"I didn't want her to be hurt!" He retorts, aware of the feebleness of his defense.
"So this is the way? Keep her sheltered until someone else comes along and Daddy dearest isn't around to protect her? That way, when she finds something Daddy can't defend her from, she completely panics?"
Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinizes him. God, she'd thought him better than this. Then again, not hearing her daughter's voice again until this afternoon and never receiving a response should have told her otherwise…
"She's only ten!" He partially whines. It seems everything he does only serves to make him weaker in her eyes.
"But soon she'll be eleven and then she'll be twelve, then a teenager. You know as well as I that when she becomes a teen, she'll rebel big time. How are you going to deal with that when you can barely deal with the fact that when you were a teenager, you couldn't control yourself either?" She counters. She's not backing down…no way in hell.
"The situations are completely different!" No…they're exactly the same…
"Are they? They seem to me as though they're the same. Both cases, overprotective parents try to shield their kids against the elements and the children fall prey to them anyway. When are you going to learn, you can't treat her like this!"
And when are you going to let me see her, Patricia thinks, anger surging. This is my last day here.
"If I didn't protect her, then she'd now the truth. And if she doesn't already hate me, she'd start then. She'd be your splitting image, complete with your hatred."
"I don't hate you…" She turns away from him and her shoulders shake, but it's indiscernible as to whether it is with sobs or anger.
"But it's too late for us, isn't it?" He approaches her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She sighs, shutting her eyes. In her mind, she relives the past, what once was…and what can never be again.
"Yes, yes, it is." As softly as she can, she kisses him on the mouth before shoving him away and walking towards her car.
She turns it on and, after attending to the last bit of business, leaves her birthplace, this time for the last time.