Title:
Parle-moi de ma mere
Fandom: General
Hospital
Characters: Tracy Quartermaine
Prompt:
#16 Peace
Word Count: 787 words
Rating:
G
Summary: Tracy has a quiet moment on a rainy French
afternoon.
Author's Notes: Set after the 1981 banishment.
Tracy has left her second husband, Mitch Williams, and taken refuge
in the French countryside. The title means "Speak to me of my
mother," and refers to a duet of the same name from Bizet's
Carmen (which I was listening to when I wrote this).
She wanders the riverside pathways of Limoges, watching as the rain plays on the Vienne. It is a beautifully sad picture, a young woman in the rain, alone on the streets of an ancient medieval French city as the sky looms heavy and grey above.
She thinks maybe she should go inside, back to her hotel, back to her cases and purses and shoes all lined neatly against the wall of the closet. She thinks maybe she should duck into a café, sip heavy, dark coffee like the locals do, and maybe nibble around the edges of a croissant.
She thinks maybe she should bang on the doors of Saint-Etienne, a modern-day Esmerelda seeking a different sort of sanctuary. The clouds rumble gently above, and the young woman laughs. Tiny drops of rain, cool against the humid warmth of summer, play on her lips as she does, and she licks them with the tip of her tongue.
The rain is sweet in her mouth, and she longs to drown in it, open her lips wide and devour the rain.
She wants to dance naked in it, letting it wash away the grime from her body and soul.
She wants to be judged and found wanting, if only the penalty would be death by rain drops.
The gods have different plans for her, she thinks, than salvation in a gothic cathedral.
She is forgotten there, outside this place, back in the other world of skyscrapers and fax machines and notary publics who don't ask questions when authenticating wills.
She is forgotten there, in that place where the rules are more ancient and cruel than any of the gargoyles guarding Notre Dame.
Damned, and forgotten.
Cast into the pits of hell by God himself, the cruel god of the Quartermaines.
She is the sullied woman, the cast-off, Esmerelda the Whore, yet it doesn't bother her here in this ancient town in southwestern France. She has divorced her husband, her tormentor, and she has fled the world of telephones and Quartermaines.
A hint of thunder in the sky, and a rational part of her wonders if perhaps she should seek shelter. Tracy presses her hand to her heart. It's there, still safely wrapped in a handkerchief, still folded neatly in the international envelope with the perfectly-European letters addressing her name.
Her salvation. No need for skull-capped confessors. No need for the scourge and the sack-cloth.
Her salvation, in the form of a single-page letter. She doesn't need to open it, doesn't need to read it. Her heart has memorized every single word.
My darling Tracy,
Thank you for your recent letter. I know the decision to end the marriage with Mitch was a difficult one, but I understand completely why you chose to do so. Your father, of course, is furious. Do not worry about me, sweetheart. I can handle him.
I will not say that it is safe for you to return home yet. There is so much anger, so much blame being bandied about this place, that I don't feel it would be wise for you to attempt a reconciliation at this time.
But I will tell you that your father grieves the loss of you, just as sharply as I do. He is a stubborn and a proud man, just as foolish and difficult as you yourself can be, my Tracy. He will come around in time, I promise you. Under it all, your father loves you, and someday soon, I promise, we will be a family again.
Until then, my darling one, know that I love you, and forgive you your mistakes, and congratulate you on your bravery. You are a Quartermaine, my love, with all the good and bad that entails. Until we can be together, imagine my arms around you, my kiss on your cheek. Know that I always believe in you; that no matter what, I will always be your loving mother.
Until we're together…Lila
Tracy watches as a lone seagull braves drizzling rain to fish in the river. It alone, amongst those coastal birds seeking life so far away from their native waters, has the determination to fish despite the weather.
She is forgotten, on the shores of her home waters. Forgotten, except for the one soul who loves her most, who loves her unconditionally.
She is forgotten, this modern-day Esmerelda, except by the only person who counts, the only person who holds her heart and hope in hand.
Tracy watches the seagull. Tracy watches the rain play on the river, feels it tickling her skin.
Perhaps, maybe…
Perhaps, someday…
She smiles, and raises her face to the sky, tasting the rain on her tongue like a little girl catching snowflakes.
Perhaps…
The End
Written for the 100situations Challenge.