We've Loved These Days

(6th and final installment in The Dillingham Chronicles)

by aubreysmom

Disclaimer: The STFBE characters are the property of Paxson Entertainment and Pebblehut Productions. All other characters are of my own creation. Sam Leland appears courtesy of RivenRebelPoet.

Author's note: This is rather bittersweet for me, because these characters have come to be so real. Closing the book on Elizabeth Dillingham Leland is like saying good-bye to a dear friend. I shall miss her keenly. But she's still here for me to visit anytime.

Remember, this series deviated from the show clear back during Seeing Double; we're still in that "alternate universe"...

Thanks so much to all who have betaed, inspired, taught, corrected, and basically bullied me to complete the series. H.S., R.K., Bren, A.G., Lane, and Paul…most special thanks to all of you.

Warning: This fic will deal with the death of a major character. Just so you know ahead of time.

Time Frame: Thirteen years in the future from the ending of The Beginning of Forever

NOTE: American Sign Language glossing is in ALL CAPS. If a long passage is in italics, it's a memory (ie, Chapter 2). Song lyrics and characters' thoughts are also in italics.

&

Chapter 1: Changes

Leland Residence

Columbia Heights, Washington D.C.

Sunday, October 21, 2018

What would very likely be the last big rainstorm before winter set in was lashing at the windows, driven by a wind that howled around the house like a thing possessed. Within the warmth of the home, however, it simply served to complement the Bach concerto on the CD player and the mahogany-paneled walls of the study.

At 5 p.m., the sun had already left what little light it had cast today to the charcoal of twilight, and the glow of the desk lamp illuminated the dark walls to an amber radiance that enveloped the lone figure at the desk.

A leather book sat open on the desk, and the scratch of a fountain pen, preferred instrument for the current project, was the only sound that permeated the music and the storm. Solitude in the written word combined with the rush of nostalgia that had plagued the writer all day.

The meeting with Dimitrius yesterday evening had prompted a flood of memories that followed him as his family had wandered around DC in the rain today, one of their favorite pastimes. He'd been able to handle it— until they got home and he was left with his thoughts while the girls got cleaned up. Now it was high time to sit down and get it all out onto the paper.

Twenty-five years. How is it possible for so much time to have passed in what seems like the blink of an eye? The pen flew over the paper, the writer becoming lost in the series of numbers one used to document one's life. Forty-eight years since birth, twenty-five with the Bureau, thirteen of marriage and eleven as a father. Five years since Mom died, eight since Dad, ten since… since things changed irrevocably at work.

He sat back for a moment with a frown, not ready to let his memories stray in that direction just yet. Some events just never got put behind you, no matter how hard you tried to push on. Later, Myles thought. There'll be time enough for that later. I'll deal with it tomorrow, in the chapel at the Bureau.

Pushing his journal aside, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, allowing the classical music to do its job… clear his mind. He looked up a moment later when a soft hand touched his shoulder.

"You okay?" Elizabeth Leland's voice was soft, but it had never lost the unique quality he'd never been able to put a description to, yet craved from the first time he'd ever heard it.

"Mmm-hmm," he murmured, pulling her down onto his lap and holding her tightly. "Just trying to process all this, is all. Twenty-five years… it's just a strange feeling to realize it, I guess."

She ran her hand through his hair; the touch of grey at his temples wasn't that noticeable in the blond strands yet, but she teased him anyway. "I doubt you're ready for a rocking chair yet, love, or they'd have not offered you this position."

"I know," he chuckled. "Just… teaching at Quantico… can you see me in front of a class of wet-behind-the-ears cadets who all think I'm teaching because I can't handle the field anymore?"

Her laugh echoed around the room, stirring his soul just as it had every day for the past thirteen years. "Yes, and I can see their faces after you bring every one of them to their proverbial knees when you prove them completely wrong and then classically gloat about it. You and Jack both."

She leaned over and kissed him, and he let the feeling complete his journey back from the dark memories of a few minutes ago. His arms tightened around her; he'd always drowned in her kisses, her touch, the feel of her in his arms…

"Mom! Dad! Oh, sheesh…" Two faces appeared in the doorway, noses wrinkled identically in the disgust only parental displays of affection can have on offspring. "Mom, are we gonna make dinner, or are you two going to spend the rest of the afternoon making out?" Her fingers flew almost as fast as her words, and her sister giggled.

"Sarah Anne Leland, where did you get such a mouth on you?" Elizabeth signed back as she spoke; she was smiling, though.

The eleven-year-old shrugged. "Uncle Sam— where else?" She grabbed her sister's hand and they bolted from the doorway, still giggling.

"This is your reward for letting Sam and Tara baby-sit them as much as you have," Myles smirked. "It's your own fault. I warned you."

"I had hoped that Rachel might be spared the influence," she sighed dramatically. "But Sarah will make sure that she's well-versed, I'm certain. You want to come have a glass of wine while the girls demolish the kitchen?"

Myles laughed again. "Sure. I can meander down memory lane later."

&
Sunday dinners were usually a pretty quiet affair; Elizabeth would either have something simmering in the crock-pot all day, or she'd defrost something out of the freezer (tonight was "Mom's lasagna," which was legend in DC). Then they'd all pitch in and put together the finishing touches. It was their special day together.

It was one of the things that Myles was most looking forward to with this new job; being able to be there every week now. He'd been fortunate over the years; he hadn't missed very many. And they always made sure Dad did more than just sit back and watch; tonight he was in charge of chopping tomatoes and zucchini for the salad.

They made sure? he thought now with a smile as he watched Sarah whipping up her special garlic butter for the bread. I wouldn't miss this.

His oldest was something of an enigma at eleven, and he knew it would only get worse as she navigated through adolescence. But he knew her; she was the image of him at that age, though a lot happier. Only her eyes were different, the emerald pools inherited from Elizabeth. Blonde hair swung across her shoulders now as she put a little muscle into mixing the butter she hadn't quite softened enough.

She had his intense personality, the dry wit (although a great portion of that came from Sam's tutoring, as well), the tendency to lock her feelings away when they got to be too much. But she also had his innate protective streak, as well as his brand of temper. It might take a while to brew, but when it did… He watched now as she whipped around.

MOM! she signed. Then she placed an "R" handshape over her heart. RACHEL! THROW CARROT HER HIT ME! Her face was scrunched into a scowl, and her voice rose in pitch as only an outraged pre-teen's can.

Elizabeth turned and looked at her. NO, she signed with a giggle. THROW CARROT ME HIT YOU. Her eyebrows went up and her eyes widened on the emphasis of ME.

DADDY! The sign held as much drama as her voice. Rachel, catching that his attention was focused behind her, had turned around now as well from tearing greens for the salad, and was watching the exchange with a grin.

Myles gave his wife a mock-stern look. ELIZABETH, he signed as he spoke, raising an "E" handshape to his right temple. Then he shook a finger at her.

Rachel was giggling at her sister. Her face broke into a wicked grin as she signed and spoke, beginning by bringing an "s" hand to her temple. SARAH CARROT NOT LIKE; THROW ONE WAY SHE EAT.

The use of the namesigns, rather than fingerspelling, was a natural progression as they'd dealt with Rachel's loss. Because Elizabeth's sister, Connie, was Deaf, the signs had been used occasionally, but now it was a regular thing in their family. The day he'd married Elizabeth, Connie had given Myles his own namesign.

It wasn't something you chose for yourself, most especially if you weren't Deaf. A member of the Deaf community usually did, and it was generally defined by something specific and unique to the individual, and involved the first initial.

For example, because he was known for his collection of suspenders, and generally was more comfortable "dressed up," his namesign had evolved into an "M" handshape placed sideways at the right side of the chest, then pulled out slightly as if pulling on a pair of suspenders. The girls still giggled about it even today.

Right now, though, Sarah wasn't anywhere near giggling. She leveled a glare at her mother and her sister that rivaled anything Myles had ever leveled at Howie Fines. It might be mostly for dramatic effect, but there was a bit of that temper swirling around like a hurricane. She huffed once, exaggerating it for her sister's benefit, and flounced back around to finish spreading the garlic butter on the bread.

Myles chuckled softly as peace (or at least quiet) returned to the kitchen. He dumped the chopped vegetables into the salad bowl, then sat back as Rachel tossed them. His gaze was on his older daughter, though, and his thoughts strayed to just how appropriate the hurricane image was for her…