Disclaimer: None of this is mine.

Maelstrom

By Ryeloza

Part V

i.

He's always said that he can't remember much about the night he and Renee spent together, and it's mostly true. She was wearing a towel—there was a hell of a lot of alcohol involved—he's pretty sure he cried in front of her at one point. If he was a betting man, he'd wager that the sex was disconnected, desperate and rushed, though that part of the evening really is almost entirely lost.

What he remembers the most clearly (what he'll never be able to explain to Lynette in a way she could understand) is talking to this woman who he'd only met twice in his life, but feeling this insane connection to her because she was the only other person in the world who knew Lynette. Probably the only other person in the world who came close to loving her as much as he did.

It's funny that (other than the alcohol), that probably played the biggest role in their falling into each other's arms. Funny in a way that's not really funny at all.

ii.

She's not wearing shoes.

It's the most ridiculous thing to fixate on when his wife is standing in front of him obviously three sheets to the wind, swaying just slightly, her hair so sloppily pinned up that most of it has fallen ungracefully from its confines, wearing a shirt that's low cut and shimmering in some way he can't explain under one of his oldest button downs.

And no pants.

"Where are your shoes?" he asks, like that's the really mysterious part of this (like the fact that her shoes are missing is more confusing than the fact that she's not wearing pants and her legs look amazing—so long they go on forever. Or, for fuck's sake, like the absence of shoes is more absurd than the fact that she's here at all). It's just a thousand memories of hours spent in too-high heels or ankles swollen during pregnancy or feet exhausted from chasing their kids and running errands and going, going, going even in the most practical shoes, and sometimes at the end of the day he'd rub them without her even asking and run his thumb up the insole of her foot and she'd let out this little humming noise that was just so fucking perfect that he felt like there was nothing he could do wrong.

It's been a long time since he's felt that way. A really, really long time.

So long that he's completely fucking fixated on her feet, which has to be weird on every level and he should probably have his head examined. Or maybe just get a lobotomy and be done with this torture of thinking and feeling and being once and for all.

"What are you doing here?" he adds (the question he should have asked in the first place). He finally looks at her face, which is inscrutable. Usually she's the most open, ridiculous drunk and right now she's anything but, which makes him nervous for reasons he can't explain. Nervous enough that he starts babbling. "Where are the kids? It's almost eleven. Shouldn't you be at home?"

"I don't have to justify my whereabouts to you," she says (but it comes out I don' haffa jusafy my wherebout to you) and he catches her by the elbow as she swings her arm a little too hard and nearly falls. God damn, he's never seen her this wasted. "You're saying I'm a bad mother."

He doesn't comment. There's no use reasoning with her at this point. Unfortunately, there's also no choice but to pull her into the apartment and shut the door.

iii.

Lynette introduced Renee as her college roommate, and somehow being unable to separate reality from a bad movie, he immediately conjured up images of partying and giggling and maybe some one-time experimental kiss. Which sounds absurd in retrospect, but at the time he really didn't realize that he was walking into the middle of what seemed to be a fight that had been going on for years.

It was a night that left him uncomfortable, purposely pushed outside of whatever history there was between them, having no choice but to stand idly by through a barrage of verbal insults. He didn't—still doesn't—think they realize how painful this is for other people to witness, especially when it's so impossible to understand.

"She's as bad as your mother," he'd snapped at her when they got home from that initial meeting. "You went from one abusive home to another."

She'd looked surprised. Like the thought had never occurred to her. Then she'd taken his chin in his hand and kissed him and there had been this look in her eyes that he couldn't read then but he thinks now was some kind of thank you she couldn't say out loud.

He's still not sure what she was thanking him for.

iv.

That night was the first night Renee and Lynette made sense to him.

"She's not as strong as she wants people to think," Renee had slurred to him as they cracked open a second bottle of wine. "I could read it on her the second we met and I did everything I could to make sure she stayed that insecure."

"You're a horrible person."

She'd smiled wryly (or maybe that's how he imagines it now). "You know she finally got up the courage to dump my sorry ass—she was moving out and everything. She hated my guts."

"But?"

"But she happened to be there packing when my dad and stepmom showed up one day. I thought she was already gone or I would have never brought them back there. And let's just say she realized almost immediately that we're really not very different. Except…" And she'd paused and shook her head like she wasn't going to say it—admit it—but then she looked at him and something in her eyes weakened for the first time. So he'd prompted her.

"Except what?"

"She's a hell of a lot more forgiving than I'll ever be. In fact, she's probably the most forgiving person I know, and she doesn't even realize…"

And he'd known before Renee even said it, because he'd realized the same thing about Lynette months ago: that she had this wonderful, beautiful quality that she wasn't even aware of because it was so natural to her. This magnanimity that made everyone around her admire her more than she'd ever know.

Renee had smiled, like they were sharing a secret, like she knew that he knew, and that was when he realized, when he finally understood why she and Lynette were friends.

"That's what makes her so damn strong."

v.

As soon as they're inside, Lynette pulls her arm away from him, stumbling a bit as she does. He's so exasperated already; he doesn't have the patience to deal with this, and the feeling only intensifies when Renee reminds him that he was already in the middle of another infuriating situation. "Lynette?" she sputters, like she actually doesn't recognize her friend. "What are you—Where are your pants?"

Well at least one of them asked the more puzzling question.

Unfortunately, Lynette doesn't seem to take this as the genuine concern it actually is.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, the anger intelligible even if her actual words barely are. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Lynette…" Renee sounds more hurt now than she did minutes ago when he flung insults at her, and, bizarrely, confused, though it's abundantly clear to him what this looks like to Lynette. Horribly, he doesn't rush to correct this assumption, to defend himself or reassure his wife. Instead he finishes his drink and waits for the shit to hit the fan (because it's going to whether he tries to stop it or not).

And maybe some little part of him thinks that right or wrong, it's about God damn time.

"Are you sleeping with him? Is that what this is?"

"No! I would never…"

But that's a lie. And all three of them know that now.

"I just came over here to try to talk some sense into him," Renee starts again. "Since you won't."

"I don't want your help. You just make everything worse. Ever since you got here you've just made everything worse."

Renee is shaking her head desperately even as he's still trying to make out what Lynette is shouting, and then they both start talking over one another, a mess of unidentifiable words. It's nothing to listen to but pain and betrayal on both sides, and even though he's right in the middle of it, it really has nothing to do with him. He wants to push them both out the door, let them go back and forth all night somewhere—anywhere—else, but he just pours himself another drink.

"Shut up!" Lynette finally shrieks—really and truly shrieks like he's never heard before. It's so startling that he spills half his drink on the floor, and Renee actually stops talking, though her mouth hangs open in genuine surprise. "I don't care what you were trying to do! You slept with my husband! You're not allowed to be alone with him in some sleazy apartment in the middle of the night drinking scotch!"

Renee's eyes find him just for a moment and he knows that she expects him to fix this. To take back his words from earlier by correcting his wife. (No, she really was here to tell me I'm being a jackass…)

It only takes a second for her to realize that he's not going to. And maybe it's unfair, but the truth is that he agrees with Lynette: Renee has no right to get in the middle of this, regardless of her intentions.

Or maybe he really is a total jackass now.

Even in the face of this, Renee is nothing but dignity. She gathers her belongings and walks out the door with her head held high.

A/n: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You guys are awesome, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. I would really love to hear what you thought of this part as well, so big thanks in advance if you take the time to review!

-Ryeloza