OMG so Kerry got married! And I still get childishly excited that that statement rhymes lol But yeah, I needed to write some fluff to process all of that after last night, so here it goes. Also, HAPPY 4th OF JULY!
They're lying on their sides, facing each other, their hands intertwined on the tiny chest. They watch it rise; their faces swallowed up by unconscious smiles.
"She's perfect." She says with a proud grin.
"She is." He strokes the back of her hand with his palm, softly; feather-like touches. "We did good." The baby stirs and then hickups making them both laugh.
"Shhhhh! You'll wake her!" She tries to sound stern, but there's nothing but warmth in her voice.
"You laughed too!" And she giggles, tossing her head forward and then back; the morning light hitting her face, illuminating the high cheekbones and the dark, almond-shaped eyes. She's so beautiful, he thinks to himself; his hand instinctively reaching to touch her face; to tuck a strand of her hair away, to cup her cheek – warm skin on warm skin. Both of them glowing, both of them happy.
He leans over and kisses her, it's light, the creases of their lips barely meeting, the imperfections in the skin complementing.
"What was that for?" She asks through a smile; her eyes still closed.
"Nothing. Just for being you. I love you."
She runs her hand down his chest, then back up again, resting it just above his heart, "I love you too." There's a noise in the kitchen, sounds of dishes clinking. "We should get up."
"You go get ready for work, and I'll go make some food."
"Have I mentioned how much I love you?" She says as she pulls her shirt over her head and drops it on the bed.
He swallows hard, before getting up. "Well, I hate you for doing this to me right now. When you know we don't have time." He whispers the last part as he pulls her into his arms and kisses her neck. She wiggles out of his embrace and runs in to the shower, dropping her underwear to the floor ceremoniously. "Tonight."
"Honey, I'm home." She yells excitedly as soon as she's through the door. He's sitting at the kitchen counter, music blasting loudly. She just stands in the doorway for a moment watching him, smiling. He notices and turns the volume up even more walking over to her, dancing awkwardly. She laughs, but he can't hear – he can just see – her face radiating happiness, radiating lightheartedness. He pulls her in and then twirls her around, before pulling her close – his hands resting low on her back, hers loosely around his waist; her head resting on his chest; their feet moving to the rhythm, slowly, barely. The song ends and there's a moment of quiet when they just stand like that – frozen in a perfect moment. And then another song blasts through the room, the beats too fast for them to meet. He lowers the volume, never letting go of her hand, their fingers interlaced.
"You're writing again." He hadn't been since he's come back. His laptop was tucked away – out of sight, out of mind, except it's never as simple as that. It was always there, in the corners of their consciousness, in the dark hallways of their brain, the ones they tried to stay away from. It was always there, a constant reminder of all they could have lost, easily, oh, so easily; everything they came so terrifyingly close to losing. Now, it was finally out in the open, the final step towards him – healing; towards them – healing.
"I spoke to the publishers. They're still interested. They've agreed to give me a few extra days to go over the book again. I spent the whole morning just looking at it, never venturing past the first page; not daring to go back there again. But then I just scrolled down and I started reading it, and suddenly, without realizing I was three chapters in, no longer in pain, no longer scared – I was just reading. I really think I want to publish it."
"You do?" She asks, and her voice cracks; just a little bit, but enough for him to hear.
"I do. It's important to tell these stories. Not doing that makes everything pointless. Me going there, James being there; all the lives lost, including his – would have been for nothing. This way, this, could be something."
"It's already everything." She says walking up to him and propping herself up on her toes, to lay a soft kiss on his lips. "When's the deadline?"
"Friday."
"Anything you want to change until then?"
"I'm not sure. I guess I'll just know." He chuckles quietly, to himself mostly. "Or that's what I'm hoping."
He spends the next few days reading, poring over every word, every phrase; getting more and more frustrated with every passing day. She walks in as a stack of papers comes flying, followed by a sound of a fist meeting the wooden countertop, and a "Damn it!"
"Hi." She says with furrowed eyebrows.
"Sorry, I'll pick that up." But her hand stops him from bending down, pushing his shoulder back up.
"Leave it for now, it's fine. Instead, please, do explain, what was that about."
"I just got frustrated."
She tries desperately not to smile. "Well, yes, clearly. What about?"
"Writing."
She sighs, this time a smile dances quickly across her lips. "Fitz, honey, I'll need you to start answering using sentences with some meaning."
"I can't figure it out Liv. There's something missing. But I can't figure it out."
"Maybe," she pauses, unsure if it's the right thing to say, but then she pushes her doubts away, "maybe, you could ask Cy to read it? He was your editor after all. This stuff, it's what he knows."
He doesn't react. Not straight away. He just ponders it for a moment, which she knows is progress. Two months ago, it would have been a straight-out no. "What if it just hurts him even more?"
"He's a big boy. He's read it already, and he knows if he can handle it. Just ask him."
Cy takes the stack of papers to bed with him, without saying anything aside from, "I can't edit shit on that thing.", as a reply to Fitz's offer to use his iPad instead. He walks into the kitchen the next morning, still wearing the same clothes and drops the stack of papers ceremoniously on the countertop. "It's not finished. Ending. That's what it's lacking."
"What do you mean?" Ftiz asks, looking up from the pan he's scrubbing. "You said it was fine the first time."
"Well yes, so did you, yet you changed your mind." Fitz makes a grimace, but doesn't say anything, no, he lets him speak. "It was fine. It is fine. But it's not great. It doesn't have that moment-of-silence-in-a-crowded-place, that makes you pause and think, not just about what you're reading, but about everything; about your life, yourself; it doesn't have that magical moment."
"Does anything Cy?"
"Of course it does. The last line in 1984, that, that is pure brilliance. The moment you find out that Holden wants to be the Catcher in the Rye. The moment he stabs the painting in Dorian Gray. Now, those are the moments."
"But that's fiction."
"That doesn't matter." He says with an exasperated sigh. "It's not the genre, those are just examples. I mean, Chasing the Flame, there's a moment at the very beginning that takes your breath away. It's so much more poignant because it's real. It's not the genre, it's the story; it's the way you write it. Only the greats can do it –give us a moment to reflect."
"You think I'm great?" His voice is quiet, his eyes focused on the pan in his hands.
"Well, not right now, but you could be; you have it in you. The way you're bringing up your kids, the way you are with Zoey; the way you told me about James – it's all stuff of the greats. This, this isn't there yet. But it could be, it just needs an ending. It needs one more story, a story to explain why it was all worth it. Because the first time, the first time we read it we weren't questioning that; we weren't questioning that doing this, writing this is worth it, but now, now we question it; we wonder if it was worth it, indeed. And that's what this book needs to say – not just the issues, the policy considerations, the problems and the sad stories; no it needs to say why we should care, although it's half a world away, although caring could be at a risk to ourselves."
"I have one more day. The deadline is tomorrow."
"Well in that case, I suggest you start writing." He walks over to him and takes the pan away from his hands, and trying to help him get a pair of oversized yellow latex gloves off his hands, which are now excitedly shaking. "I'll take Nur out for a while and we'll pick up Zo from her ballet class. You, you stay and write."
"Thanks Cy." He stands there awkwardly, towering over the old man, smiling. He wants to hug him, but he can only imagine the word-vomit that would come out of Cy's mouth if he gave it try, so he just pats his shoulder clumsily. He spends the rest of the day writing, never-tiring; the creative-high fueling him. He knows she came home, and he faintly remembers her kissing him, but then she disappeared with Cy, taking the girls out. And he remembers them coming back and heading to bed, but it's all a blur, moments of life tied to freshly-typed words.
"You're still up." The sound of her voice, quiet and hushed makes him break out of his bubble and look up.
"Yeah. I'll just be a little bit." She nods her head and disappears. He thinks she went to bed, but then she comes back with a cup of coffee. She puts it on the table, and wordlessly kisses his temple. He takes her palm in his hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it softly. "Thank you." She kisses the top of his head, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, massaging softly.
"You're welcome." And with that she's gone again; returning shortly with peanut-butter sandwiches – his favorite. She doesn't go to bed, she lies on the couch, so that she can see him at the kitchen counter, and she just reads. She doesn't say anything, or do anything else; no she just lets him be – staying close by in case he needs her, but giving him a space to breathe, to think.
As the dawn comes in the form of light pink sky, he exhales, leaning back slightly, running his hands through his hair, "I finished it." She looks up and smiles. "You want to read it, before I send it in?"
"I'd love to." She blurts it out and then takes a breath, "if you want me to. It's fine if you don't." She tries to play it cool, to keep her enthusiasm in check, but a huge grin gives it away.
"I want you to. I need you to."
"OK. C'mere." He crosses the room to where she's sitting and collapses onto the couch, handing her his laptop. He snuggles up to her, his head in the crook of her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her. She starts reading, words and sentences rolling off of her tongue and into her mind; the room perfectly quiet, but their even breathing.
Why should we care? A friend of mine asked me that, and the best thing, the only thing, I could come up with, was – Because if we don't care, what else do we have left? If we forget about the humanity of people elsewhere, if we see their cause and their struggle, but not them –it's a slippery slope to overlooking those the closest to us in the same way. How do we limit our not caring, how do we box it in, without letting it spill? Caring is how we connect; it's how we make sense – of others, of ourselves. You can't see a lone star, not without the other ones, illuminating the night sky. So in those moments of sorrow, moments of regret, when you look up, seeking out the comfort of the past remember that although you have lost those you loved, there are others to love, yet.
Quiet. A moment of quiet to reflect. A moment of quiet to fully appreciate how much she loves this man.
"It's perfect." Her finger caresses his cheek. "It's the stuff of the greats." She leans down to kiss him, but then notices he's sleeping. He's eyes closed peacefully, his mouth slightly open – he's lost in his dreams. She smiles to herself and then nudges him gently. "Fitz, you need to send this."
He just stirs slightly and holds on to her even tighter. "Can-you-do-it-please." He asks with his eyes closed, his lips barely moving as he speaks.
"Sure." And she attaches the document, taking a deep breath. She opens it one more time, just to make sure it's the right one. The cover is still blank, so she scrolls down until the first letters breaking up the whiteness of the screen:
To my kids – Karen, Gerry, Zoey and Nur – this book is for you, so that one day you'll live in a better world.
To Liv – you are everything; you are the stars, the constant light guiding me home. You taught me the beauty of reality, magical beyond my wildest dreams.
To Cy and James – you saved my life, more than once.
And to all those who are brave enough to care, because that is what truly makes a difference.
She smiles and presses send. This is the right one. She should get up, make breakfast, get ready for work; she should. But she can't bring herself to. No, instead she stays with him, slipping into a beautiful dream; but this time – even their dreams fall short of reality.
I hope that cheered you guys up a bit (although hopefully you didn't really need cheering up), but yeah, I just needed a day to write cuteness! And, once again, thank you so much for your reviews and enjoying this story - literally brights up my day. TvIsForever's 20 minute comment cracked me up so much, literally gave me life!
Edit: I added Nur in the dedication. I can't believe I missed my own brain-baby out XD