MAJOR NON-CON TRIGGER WARNING!

Like, genuinely this is SOOOOO dark and upsetting. It upset me to write it. It's VERY harrowing so I wouldn't blame anyone if they wanted to give the upsetting part a miss. That part is the part between the two lines, and, at the bottom of the chapter, in the author's notes, I'm going to put a brief summary of what happens, so you can just read that instead if you want, because I don't want anyone to miss out on the plot because they don't want to read something horrible. Spoiler alert - It's not a miscarriage.


Alex was lying on his back, his arm wrapped around Norma, her head resting on his chest. It was one of their usual positions they fell asleep in, but tonight, something was different. She kept puffing out sad little sighs against his chest, her fingers twitching where they lay entwined with his against his stomach. She'd seemed distracted all night, spending a long time quietly talking with Norman as they tinkled around on the piano together, while he watched the game on the smallest TV in the world. He'd glanced over a few times to find them deep in conversation, occasionally shooting him furtive glances that he pretended not to notice. Surreptitiously knocking the volume down on the game, he'd still not been able to hear their conversation, silently chastising himself for trying to eavesdrop.

Still, he had felt the tension that, in truth, had been laying just under the surface ever since Norman had come home. Despite living with Dylan now, he seemed to be in the house almost all of the time, and Alex fought hard to keep his jealousy at bay, watching Norman desperately cling to Norma's attention, both men selfishly wanting her all to themselves.

"What's wrong?" He asked eventually, when it became apparent that she wasn't going to tell him what was upsetting her.

"Norman thinks you hate him." She said immediately, like the words had been ready to go for a while now.

Alex huffed out a surprised breath, his thumb's gentle circles around the back of her hand ceasing for a second before starting again.

"Well, Norman is wrong."

"Is he?" She asked accusingly, and he slid her hand up his chest, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Yes." He said seriously. "I don't hate Norman. I like Norman." He wasn't lying, not exactly, but the words sounded false even to his own ears and he sighed heavily before speaking again. "I sometimes... I'm not sure I entirely trust Norman." He finished, honestly, hating that she tensed in his arms, as if preparing to sit up and move away from him. He tightened his grip around her, and took a deep breath, trying to explain himself before she shut down the walls that he'd been breaking down so so carefully.

"I know he loves you. And I don't think he's a bad kid. I really don't." He strived to sound sincere. He meant what he was saying. He had always liked Norman, but there were some things he couldn't forget. "But... I can't forget that voicemail you left me."

He heard her gasp slightly, and carried on, his voice low and quiet, murmuring against the top of her head.

"You were afraid of him-" He felt her open to mouth to speak, cutting her off before she could. "-Don't." He interrupted gently. "You were. I heard it in your voice. You were scared of him. It sounded like you were saying goodbye." His voice cracked a little as he remembered listening to it, cursing himself for leaving his phone on silent, his blood running cold, feeling like he was going to pass out right there in the station. "That voicemail terrified me." He finished in a small voice, feeling her nuzzle her nose against his chest reassuringly.

"He's better now." She said quietly after a long, shaky pause.

He sighed, not knowing what to say.

"I know. I know. But it's hard to forget that."

There was a long silence, where she just nodded lightly, and he pulled her hand up close to him to play with her fingers, the way he always did when he held her hand. He always seemed so fascinated with her hands, wondering how those long slender fingers could work so hard, yet remain so soft and delicate-looking.

"I don't think he likes me very much." Alex said finally, feeling ridiculous as he said it.

She didn't disagree entirely, but tried to reassure him nonetheless.

"He's just... It's always been me and him. Just me and him. He feels like he has to protect me."

He puffed out a soft laugh, his hands still toying with her fingers, stroking down the length of each one, examining them and then starting again.

"From me? Big bad me?"

She sighed, not laughing and he felt he'd said the wrong thing.

She twitched her hand and his fingers stilled. She flattened her hand out, turning the palm towards him.

"I'm going to tell you how I got his scar." She flexed her palm, the faint silvery line of scarred skin just visible through the darkness. He'd noticed it before, but never thought anything of it. His own body was covered in tiny scars, and, despite having a dangerous job and and even more dangerous father, most were simply reminders of a clumsy, playful childhood. He had quietly hoped hers was the same. He stroked along the length of the small scar, waiting patiently as she took a shaky breath.

"I'm going to tell you because I think you need to know, and then we wont talk about any of this ever again."

He felt his body run cold, felt his breath hitch in his throat as he realised this was no childhood injury. He didn't want her to tell him, but the thought was selfish and, on some level, he wanted to know everything, all of it, so that, in some way, he could suffer like she did. He wanted to share her pain, take some of the burden that she'd been carrying around alone for so many years.

She sat up abruptly, pulling herself out of his arms and moving to sit cross legged next to him. He shuffled up the headboard, feeling his heart pound in his chest as he watched her visibly sag under the memory of whatever she was about to tell him, shakily touching the scar like it still hurt to touch it.

"Sam wasn't always violent." She said finally and his eyes drifted shut. He had been wondering whether she was about to tell him about Sam or Caleb. On some level, it was better that it was Sam, because another mention of Caleb might have had him pulling some strings to find him and put a bullet in him before he could see reason and he knew that wasn't what Norma wanted. Any mention of Sam gave him this helpless sense of rage though, because he was already dead and there was nothing he could do.

"He went out one night... He got drunk - He always drank alot - and I'd waited up for him because I used to worry back then."

Alex's heart broke at the idea of Norma waiting up late, worrying about her beloved husband getting home safely.

She shuddered slightly, pulling the cover up around herself though the night wasn't really cold.

"I was really sick. Just a head cold, but one of those really nasty ones, you know? The one's that really take it out of you. I sent Dylan to stay at a friend's house." She lowered her tone, her expression full of tortured guilt. "I said it was to stop him getting sick, but, to be honest, I took any excuse to get him out of the house. I couldn't stand the way he glared at me."

She rubbed at her wrist awkwardly, looking up to see Alex looking at her kindly. If she had been expecting him to judge her for that small admission, she'd been wrong. He would never blame her for the things she did in her past. From everything she'd told him, he wasn't sure how she'd survived.

She shook herself, her voice a little stronger now.

"So, he came home, stinking drunk. And we... argued... It was the first time he'd ever hit me. I mean, he'd slapped me before but nothing serious."

Alex felt physically sick that there had been a time in her life where she counted being slapped as "nothing serious." He watched as she hugged her knees up to her chest, closing her eyes as she remembered...


(Trigger warning)

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Out. I been out. So what?" He tried to hang his keys up, missing the hook in his drunken state.

"So I've been sitting here waiting for you!" She snapped, blowing her nose, wrapping her blanket more firmly round her shoulders. "Are you drunk?"

He didn't answer, just slipped his coat off ungracefully, dropping it to the floor in an untidy heap.

She tutted, lunging forwards to grab it.

"Sam-" She started quietly, chastising him for something she'd nagged him about a million times, cut off when he grabbed her roughly from behind. She tried to straighten up, his coat in her hands, but he pressed one hand against her back, holding her down, the other squeezing her hip too hard.

She let out a breathless, nervous laugh.

"Sam? Stop it..." She breathed out, relieved when he removed his hands, letting her straighten up, stretching her aching muscles. Her relief only lasted for a second though, as he spun her round, shoving her up against the kitchen counter, his lips pressing sloppily against hers.

"What are you doing?" She squeaked, trying to pull away from his mouth. "Stop! You're gonna get sick!" She warned, using the words as an excuse, trying desperately to squirm away from his groping hands that were snaking under her blanket.

"I don't care." He grunted. "I want you." He muttered, and for a second, he sounded like the old Sam, the one who had seduced her away from her simple, boring first husband, the one who had seemed so dangerous and exciting and passionate. "I want you now." He broke the spell, ripping the blanket from around her, throwing it to the ground, leaving her shivering in the cold of the unheated house.

"Sam! Stop! I'm sick." She protested weakly, as he roughly lifted her off her feet, spinning them round to deposit her on the kitchen table, which groaned under her weight.

"Wait! Come on. I'm too sick. I'm cold." She muttered, one arm wrapping around herself, the other trying to push him away from her as his hands dug hard into her thighs, his lips pressing wetly against her neck.

"I'll warm you up, baby." He slurred into her ear and she shivered, both from the cold and from revulsion. She reared her head back, leaning away from him, both hands pushing hard on his chest and he finally looked at her.

"No. No! I don't want to." She said firmly, pleased with how strong her voice sounded, despite being so sick, rubbing her hand under her nose in an unladylike fashion. He dropped his gaze to the floor for a minute, and for a second, she thought he was feeling guilt. But then he looked back up at her, his bleary eyes full of rage and she shrank back a little.

"No?" He asked quietly. "You're tellin' me no?" His voice was low and menacing. She would have preferred shouting.

"Yeah, I'm saying no." She said definitively, her voice full of false bravado as his hands very slowly starting tightening their vice-like grip around her thighs. She pulled in a shaky breath as it started to hurt. "Stop it." She said quietly, her voice breaking.

"You're gonna say no... to your husband? To the man who puts bread on this table? To the man raising a kid who aint even mine?" His voice was still quiet and dangerous, only rising a little at the end of his sentence. She squeaked, trying to squirm away from his punishing grip, her words dying in her throat.

"You're hurting me." She whimpered out eventually, relieved when he immediately released her, leaving angry red handprints against her skin.

"Good! Cause you're hurting me, Norma!" He yelled harshly, like he was some victim in all this.

"You're hurtin' my feelings, babe." He said, lowering his tone again, reaching out to wipe an errant tear from her cheek, frowning angrily when she flinched away from his touch.

"I'm sorry." She breathed out, sniffling hard, feeling pathetic. She shook herself, wiping under her eyes, straightening up a little where she was perched on the table. "But I don't want to." She said quietly, trying to keep her tone soft, trying to reason with him. "Norman's just in the next room, and I'm so sick, and you're drunk, baby-"

She was cut off as his fist made contact with the side of her face, pain blossoming through her cheekbone, knocking her sideways onto the table. Her hand flew out to stop herself, knocking over a glass in the process, hearing it smash as it landed heavily on the edge of a plate from dinner.

Before she could catch her breath, her hand raising shakily to cup her cheek, which throbbed with pain, his hands were gripping her hips, sliding her off the edge and then flipping her over, bending her over the table.

"Sam!" She sobbed out, thrashing her legs out wildly, trying to get him off her. He'd been rough with her before, but this was something else entirely and her whole body tensed with panic and fear, her breaths coming out shallow and fast as she gasped for air, his hand pressing her too hard against the table top. One hand still holding her down, the other scrunched up her nightie, before she heard him fumbling to undo his belt, her desperate cries increasing at the sound. "Stop! Please..."

"Mother?" A tiny voice rang out from the doorway to the kitchen and both her and Sam froze. His hands moved to her shoulders, and he pulled her up, using her as a shield to cover the fact that his jeans were already down by his ankles.

Her mouth flapped open wordlessly, not knowing what to say as her five year old stood, rubbing his eyes sleepily, staring at them in confusion.

"Tell him to go back to bed." He ground the words out quietly in her ear, and she sniffled, wiping her hand across her face, wincing as she brushed against her throbbing cheek.

"Go back to bed, honey." She murmured shakily, trying to rearrange her face into a smile.

"What are you doing?" He asked curiously, cocking his head to the side, and Sam growled angrily in response, digging his fingers in tighter to her shoulders.

"Tell him we're playing a game or something." He slurred, grinding himself against her ass as he spoke, as if his son wasn't standing across the room.

"I just fell over and daddy was helping me." She trilled brightly, trying to keep the revulsion off her face as one hand drifted back down to her thigh, apparently completely bored by Norman's presence. Norman's face smoothed out, apparently appeased by her answer, the darkness apparently covering enough of their appearance to not give him any cause for concern.

"Ok." He replied simply, meeting his mother's eyes for a second, looking slightly startled as a car went by, the headlights lighting up the room for a moment. He shot her a strange, sad look that made him seem older and more worldly than his five years and she flashed her eyes back at him, desperately trying to warn him. It was ridiculous, of course - He was five. The unspoken nuances of non-verbal communication were bound to be lost on him, even if he did realise there was anything wrong. She hoped his innocent little mind wouldn't figure out she was in trouble.

"Ok honey. Why don't you go back to bed? Start thinking about what you want me to make you for breakfast." She breathed out, the words tumbling out too fast as Sam's fingers pressed against her hip, grinding his erection against her ass, growing impatient with waiting.

"Ok. Can I have pancakes?" He started sweetly, as she started to feel Sam's hand pressing against her shoulder, trying to push her down again.

"NORMAN! Go to bed!" She shouted out harshly, watching as the little boy jumped, flinching at her loud tone, the one she usually only reserved for Sam, or Dylan on the very rare occasion. She never shouted at Norman, not like that, and she watched the hurt flicker across his little face before he scampered away, hearing his bedroom door slam like he was a teenager not a toddler. It hurt to shout at him that way, but she would rather have him hate her for a day or two than bear witness to what was happening.

The second the door banged shut, Sam slammed her face down against the table, his hands pulling her nightie up again and she squirmed, silently crying as she tried to wriggle away, knowing it would do no good.

"Please, Sam!" She whispered, wary that Norman would still be awake. "Please, please don't do this." She sobbed out quietly, her hands scrabbling against the surface, looking for purchase to push herself up. "We can't come back from this." She tried to explain. She had forgiven alot over the years - Cheating and gambling and harsh words and arguments ending with slaps that he always looked like he regretted so much. But this? This was It - This was the day she'd stop loving him, stop forgiving him. They couldn't come back from this.

But he either didn't hear her or didn't care, and then it was too late. She stopped loving him in that split second. Any shred of care or compassion she had had for him disappeared in an instant, replaced with only pure hatred. She bit her lip as she sobbed silently, her forehead banging against the plastic table top. She couldn't let Norman hear. He couldn't see.

"I love you." He grunted out against her shoulder and she let out a sob before she could stop herself. She didn't say anything back. There was nothing to say. She just resigned herself to it, going limp against the surface, feeling the sharp edge of the table cutting into her thighs with every thrust.

"Tell me you love me." He demanded, quickening his pace, earning a trembling cry.

"No." She whispered defiantly, gasping as his hand drifted from her back to around throat, squeezing. She jerked as his hand tightened a little, his drunken rage controlling him and she panicked, her hands flailing out wildly. Her hand landed heavily on a piece of broken glass on the table, letting out a strangled scream as the glass cut into her palm, feeling her blood spilling out straight away. He either didn't notice or didn't care, his grip tightening, growling down at her, as black spots started to swim in front of her vision. She couldn't let him kill her. There would be no-one left to protect Norman, or Dylan, sullen little Dylan who hated her so much, and the thought of never seeing his scowling little face again made her cry even harder as she gasped for air.

"Ok, ok. I love you!" She choked out. "I love you." She sobbed with relief, instantly feeling his hand loosen, and then it was over. He slammed into her one last time with a strangled groan and then he was done and she lay there still for a moment, watching the blood pour from her hand onto the yellow plastic, her entire body aching so much that she couldn't even pinpoint the pain in her hand. The thought scared her, but she couldn't will herself to move, not even as she felt him move away from her, zipping himself up, taking a few shaky steps back.

"Fuck." He breathed out, sounding shocked and alarmed, no doubt taking in the scene before him, fully realising what he'd done. "I'm sor-" For a second, she thought he was beginning to say sorry, the words barely audible through his slurring tone, but then he stopped himself and whatever he was about to say remained unsaid.

He left without another word, grabbing his keys and sweeping out of the house on unsteady feet. It was only when she heard the engine start that all the tension left her body and she slid to the floor, her trembling legs giving up on her, curling in on her self, desperately trying to keep the sobs that wracked her body silent. Numbly, she registered that she had slipped into shock but she couldn't will herself out of it, her breathing shallowing as she hyperventilated, her whole body shaking violently, cradling her injured hand against her chest, unable to summon the strength to treat it.

She didn't know how long she lay there, propped up against the table leg, her dazed eyes watching her blood drip out onto the linoleum when a small hand reached out to touch her knee and she flinched.

"Mama..?"


"It was Norman who found me." She choked out, her tears falling freely now. "He... He'd seen everything." She sobbed out, and Alex's hand flew to his cover his mouth in horror. "He brought me the first aid box and fixed up my hand. I should have got stitches really, but... I didn't. He just cleaned it up and bandaged it with Barney bandaids because it was all we had. He cleaned everything up because I couldn't."

She turned her face away, ashamed, remembering the way he'd dragged the little stool to the freezer, grabbing her a bag of frozen peas to press against her swollen cheekbone, before grabbing a broom, looking absurdly tiny as he struggled to sweep up the broken glass. She'd been frozen in place, watching him, knowing she shouldn't let him help her. He was so small, so young - She had no right to ask him for his help, but she hurt so bad, and her traitorous limbs just wouldn't do what she wanted them to. So she'd just cried silently, watching as he tottered around the room, looking strangely resigned to his task like he always knew it would come to this, before grabbing the blanket and tucking it around her, clambering into her lap and cuddling her while she wept.

"He never saw it again." She clarified quickly, feeling the shame burn her cheeks as she took in Alex's horrified expression. "I made sure of that. It was just that one time." The words tumbled out, knowing it probably wasn't 100% the truth, but she was feeling like he was judging her for letting her child clean up the aftermath of something like that. "I know he was too young. But I couldn't... I just couldn't-"

Her voice broke off into ragged sobs, as he pulled her towards him, letting her clamber onto his lap, her thighs straddling his legs, her arms wrapping around him. It was a position that would have been sexual any other time, but not today. Today, it was just a way to get as close to each other as possible, pressing her wet face against his neck, his arms gently folding around her, holding her tightly against him.

"I'm so sorry." He breathed out into her hair, feeling guiltier than ever for ever trying to have sex with her on that damn fornica table. The table was different, but her fear had been the same. It was weeks ago now, but her panic attack made more sense than ever now, as she wept in his arms. She cried like that for a long time, and he tried to swallow the guilt he was feeling. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't her fault.

She took a deep breath, pulling back to gaze at him, tilting her head to the side to gaze at him curiously. Her hand drifted to his face, her thumb brushing away a single tear that had escaped from his long lashes. He didn't realise he had been crying till she did that, too caught up in her own sorrow and terror to realise how listening to her had affected him. He watched as she shot him a shaky smile through her tears, both of them wiping each other's tears away.

"I didn't mean to make you sad." She breathed out softly, and he breathed a slightly exasperated laugh out. She was always worrying about someone other than herself.

"I didn't tell you to make you... I just wanted to..." She struggled to find the words, sitting back heavily on his legs, their hands intertwining against his chest. "I just wanted you to understand. It's always been me and him. He's always been there. He's always been there to protect me."

Alex nodded, realising what she was getting at. She unconsciously pulled one of their sets of entwined hands against her stomach, pressing it against where their child was growing. He noticed she did that alot, pressing his hand against the slight swell of her stomach without thinking, and he could never stop the smile, always amused that she seemed to have no idea she was doing it.

"Do you understand now? Everything that he'd been through, everything that he'd seen - That's why he is the way he is now. He doesn't trust anyone around me."

"He can trust me." He said softly, his hands darting to where their hands were wrapped around each other then back up to her gentle smile.

"I know that." She murmured, almost rolling her eyes at him.

"I'll try harder with him." He nodded at her, feeling her weight sag in relief as she breathed out a happy sigh. "I'll make him trust me."

He pulled her free hand up to his face, turning it over and pressing a soft kiss against the silvery white scar that marred her palm.

"I promise."


Summary of the middle, flashback part of the chapter, for those who didn't want to read it: Sam comes home drunk and begins to force himself on Norma. Five year old Norman interrupts and Norma yells at him to get him to go back to bed, and then Sam carries on, and Norma tries to be silent, so Norman doesn't hear. She cuts her hand on some broken glass during the struggle and, after Sam leaves, slips into shock. Norman finds her.