There's probably going to be either 10 or 12 parts to this. Thanks to all those who are reading, especially reviewers but also to the many lurkers. ;) I appreciate you all!
I posted this a few days ago at my livejournal, but then I went away for the weekend... and forgot to post here. D: I'm sorry!
Part 7
(Someone—Lexie, or Molly; he isn't sure—finds him on the couch.)
No. It must be Molly. Lexie isn't here.
(There's an arm around him, under him, wrapped. Supportive. A scent wraps around him with it, light and floral and feminine, so he knows it's one of his—two—girls.)
But wait. Lexie is here now.
(He doesn't want support. He's just so fucking sick of these strong women he's accidentally surrounded himself with, treating him as if he can't feed himself or decide when to go to bed. It's his goddamn life, isn't it?)
Yes is the only answer. It is his life.
(His daughter is here, living with him, as if it's fifteen years ago and nothing has changed. She sleeps in her old room, says goodnight when she goes to bed, kisses his cheek and calls him Daddy.
But the word Mommy no longer passes her lips, and he knows there is one inescapable fact that shatters their comforting illusion.)
She's here because of What Happened.
(He shrugs out from underneath the arm and a soft sigh follows him as he lurches down the hallway. Was there always a wall there?
Great.
Not only is his wife dead and his daughter a murderer, but now someone's renovating his home without fucking telling him.)
Dammit. His wife is dead. Which means… he remembers what happened.
His fingers clutch reflexively around a bottle that is no longer present.
(Next time he won't let himself be found so soon.)
Lexie tells him she's going to work at Seattle Grace, and suddenly he can't remember why this moving-back-to-Seattle thing didn't seem like a horrible idea before.
He had kept tabs on the hospital. Married to one of its top surgeons, he has friends and contacts there; has had dinner with Patricia and known Debbie since she'd started as a wide-eyed new nurse.
She sets off early that morning, before he wakes. She's so excited, and he is excited for her.
Really.
He is.
There's a sense of protectiveness, too. Like once more she's six years old, going off to school, and he wants to protect her from the bullies who will make her feel small.
He never felt that way about Meredith, he realizes. He's always considered her able to protect herself, now, since she's grown up.
He never got to see her off to school.
She comes home guarded, sorrow peeking through the cracks of her smile.
(Thirty, thirty-five years ago, fiery auburn tresses arrived through a different door. She smiled a little, a smile of bloodlust and superiority.)
He looks at his elder daughter, her dark hair bouncing around her shoulders as she starts making breakfast. He studies her warily.
It will be the beginning of her downfall.