That afternoon, Jamie Reagan was studying for a science test.

An actual science test, this time, not a science test of the oh-shit-its-actually-history variety. He'd been allowed to retake that history test the week after the whole Billy Carlotti-debacle (or was it the weed-debacle? The disappearing Dad-debacle? he couldn't decide) and had scored well on it. Although there had been nothing to be done about the actual science test that he'd got a C on. He was working on that.

The house was quiet around him, which was reasonable since he was the only one there, but it wasn't that terrible death-silence of the weeks immediately following Mom's death.

Jamie wasn't quite sure why.

Maybe it was because Joe had dropped him off after school. He had jogged into the house with Jamie and had nabbed three donuts from the fridge, before Jamie could tell him that they were Gramps'. Joe always moved fast, which most of the Reagans tended to do, but he did it with such grace that he never ended up storming like Danny invariably did. Joe still slept in the guest room about once a week, more out of habit than because he still needed something to prevent him from going off to O'Flanagan's. He'd promised Jamie, through a mouth filled with donut on his way out the door, that he'd bring ice-cream tonight, if Jamie could wheedle Dad into grilling burgers. It was a Friday evening, after all.

Maybe it was because he and Dad had had a long, in-depth conversation about Napoleon's march into Russia over breakfast. He liked Napoleon, and Dad preferred the Russians for some reason, and they'd spent a very pleasant thirty minutes arguing heatedly about it. Dad was still quiet sometimes, because you don't just get over the death of a loved one in a matter of weeks or even months. But he made a real effort to control his own darkness at least around Jamie, and Jamie had the feeling that it had become easier and easier to do as the weeks passed.

But neither Dad nor Joe was here, right now, and the house still felt alive.

Maybe it was because he could think about Mom again, without his throat closing up like a clenched fist. The countless memories he had of her no longer filled him with desperate loneliness, but rather with a soft, happy-sad feeling that was difficult to describe. Sometimes the grief still overwhelmed him, but then he could talk to Dad and cry a bit and just allow himself to feel it.

The house was quiet, yes, but it was a quiet in which you could grow. It was no longer only a quiet that echoed of old happiness, but a quiet that promised happiness yet to come.

Jamie leaned forward, focusing his attention on his textbook again.


And so this story comes to an end! Thank you so much for the support that you've given me in writing and posting this, it has been so encouraging.

I have some ideas for stories and fandoms I want to work on next, but please let me know if there is a specific prompt that you'd like to see.

Tremulous xx