Disclaimer: Characters belong to Aaron Spelling, E. Duke Vincent, Gary Tomlin, NBC, et al and are used here strictly for non-profit entertainment purposes.
Rating: T
Genre: Drama
Spoilers: Everything through Episode 134, then it drifts into AU
Summary: Grief has two parts: loss and then the remaking of life. (Paraphrased from Anne Roiphe.)

Chapter One: "Breezes That Blow"

January 12, 2017

"What's that sigh for?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Liar."

"I'm an American driving a German car through the Italian countryside with my British wife as we listen to a Russian opera."

"There. Is that better?"

"Now, we're listening to an Irish singer."

"What a time to be alive, darling."

January 25, 2017

Casey

He sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. The jet engines roared and, as always, eventually subsided to a kind of white noise. It was there, but you got used to it. What other choice was there? What else could they do? Walk back from Italy?

Automatically, without thinking, his gaze drifted over to Olivia. His stepmother sat on the other side of the narrow aisle, but the row of seats she was in faced him. The dark sunglasses hid her eyes and most of the bruises on her face. Not that it mattered. She wasn't looking at him. No, her gaze was to the tiny window and fixed to the bright sunshine reflected off the cloud banks they flew over. She was leaning onto her left side, her right arm cradled safely in the sling the Italian doctor set it in before she was discharged.

Next to her, Sean sat quietly. He was unshaven and, in that moment, he never looked more like their father. He frowned to himself. Had he ever even seen Gregory be anything but clean shaven? His lips parted as an involuntary sob rose in his throat. He couldn't…he couldn't remember. Everything was a blank. Every memory was a black hole in the face of the sudden grief. Quickly, he shook his head and cleared his throat as he pushed himself up. "I'm going to get a coffee," he said aloud, not that either of his travel companions even noticed he stood. "Want anything?"

Sean's vacant gaze flickered to him. His hollow eyes were still glazed over with an ice-cold numbness. It had been fourteen days, but it hadn't worn off yet. The grief. The shock. The pain. He slowly shook his head before he turned his eyes back up to the ceiling.

He reached across his younger brother and gently – carefully – touched Olivia's right knee. It was the closest part of her he could reach that wasn't injured in some way. "Olivia?" he asked, fearing his question would be lost to the drone of the jet engines.

A moment later, she shook her head. But, she said nothing. She didn't look at him. He nodded and stepped away, realizing he didn't expect more from her. As he walked up the center aisle to the small galley in the back of the jet, he didn't know when to expect more.

Nothing was the same anymore.

Nothing.

January 12, 2017

Sean

"Delilah Ray Richards! What are you doing?"

"Playing, Daddy."

He sighed deeply and bent down to his youngest daughter. The small girl was surrounded by stacks of books that towered precariously over her. He didn't need to look at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to know they were empty. No, he could clearly see his and Shasta's entire collection of books piled around his daughter. "Playing what?" he asked as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"I'm playing Beauty and the Beast, Daddy. Belle likes to read, so I'm playing in the library room that Beast gives her."

He couldn't help it. He melted. He didn't understand fathers who only wanted sons. His twin daughters had completed his life in ways he hadn't known possible. In a way, he could finally understand the relationship Dad had with Cait and Evy. He understood it in the way he played with his twin daughters. They were just different than their brothers in every way. "Where's Hope?" he asked as he stood.

Delilah sighed far more dramatically than a child her age should know how to do. "She didn't want to play Beauty and the Beast. She wanted to play Frozen."

He chuckled and reached down into the piles, scooping up the little girl. "You know, don't you think Belle would've been friends with Elsa?" She cocked her head, her ringlets framing her face as she seriously considered his question. "She wouldn't have been afraid of Elsa the way other people were afraid. She wasn't afraid of Beast, right?"

Delilah grinned and nodded. "Right, Daddy!" She kissed his cheek even as she kicked her feet, a silent command to be put down. "I'm going to go make friends with Elsa!"

He chuckled to himself as she ran off, her feet pounding on the wood floor. As he turned back to the book piles, trying to remember his wife's overly-complicated method for organizing their book collection when the phone rang. He pulled the iPhone out of his back pocket and glanced at the screen. "Hey, Casey."

Silence.

Sean pressed the phone to his ear, trying to figure out if his brother pocket dialed him. The hum of static. The sound of waves. "Casey? You there?"

"Sean." His brother whispered his name, sounding as if he was hiding somewhere and didn't want to be discovered.

"You alright, man?"

"Sean, I-"

He chuckled, holding the phone between his left cheek and left shoulder as he reached down to scoop up an armful of books. Did she alphabetize them? No, that was too simple for his wife. Maybe by type? "God, Delilah took every book Shasta and I own and made herself a castle from the stacks. Shasta is going to flip when she-"

"Sean, something happened."

He pushed the books onto the shelf and clutched the phone in his right hand. "What's wrong? The kids?"

"No. No. Sean, it's G-Gregory. He-he-"

There's no way to prepare for death. But, in the end, it finds us all. In an instant, the way his lungs knew to breathe, Sean knew his father was dead. He heard it in the broken way his older brother stuttered, trying to find the words to explain. To make him understand what he knew. His legs gave way beneath him and he stumbled into the sofa, catching himself. "M-Mom?" he asked as he collapsed onto the arm and leaned over his knees. His head thundered, a million thoughts swirling in the numbness. "Is Mom…"

He heard Casey inhale sharply, almost as if he was relieved he didn't need to speak aloud what Sean was imagining. "She's hurt. Badly. She's in a hospital in Floren-"

"What happened?" he gasped, oxygen flooding lungs. It made him dizzy.

"It-it looks like a car accident. There was ice on the road and-"

His thoughts jumbled together and he involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut as the phantom sound of car brakes shrieked in his mind. "Did you call Cait?"

A split second of silence. "Should we call Charlie? I don't know if she-"

"I'll call him." He glanced down at his watch, struggling to see the face through the unshed tears. "Shasta will be home in less than an hour. I can get a flight to Italy tonight."

"I'll come with you. I can have Bette stay here with Harrison and Nicola."

"Is Mom- is she going to die too?" he whispered into the phone.

"I-I don't-"

He shook his head and stood, running a shaking hand through his dark blonde hair. "Evy."

Casey was silent for a long moment. "I-I'll call her."

He nodded, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. "Jesus," he sighed, barely noticing as Delilah chased Hope around the sofa.

"You going to be ok until Shasta gets back?"

He chuckled ruefully as he gazed out the window. A moment later, his chuckle segued into a sob as he lowered his face. "Yeah. Call Evy."

"I'll call you back when I get my flight to Florence booked."

"Yeah," he sniffled, suddenly conscious of the fact that his twin daughters were standing silently next to him. The twins held hands as they solemnly gazed up at him. He wiped his eyes and forced a weak smile as he murmured, "I'll call you back too."

January 25, 2017

Evy

She folded her arms tightly over her chest as she leaned against Dad's car. It was breezy on the tarmac. A dry wind rolled across the runway, moaning ominously. She bit the corner of her lip as she brushed a flyaway piece of blonde hair behind her ear. There was a crackle of static and, a moment later, she felt the hulking presence of the TSA agent next to her. "The pilot just radioed the tower," she heard him say. "They'll be on the ground in less than five minutes."

With a vague nod, she turned her face up to the sky. The bright sun shone down, making her squint. She held up her hand, shading her face as her swollen eyes screamed in protest. She flopped back against the car as she forced her dry eyes to blink. She hadn't cried in two weeks. Not since she got back home. She cried every tear in her first-class seat as she flew back from New York after Casey called her. He and Sean didn't think she should make the trip to Florence. They thought it was better she be in Sunset Beach. They were worried about her, but they didn't want to say it. Evy, I'll feel better knowing you'll be there for Harrison and Nicola. She narrowed her eyes, her hand gripping involuntarily around Dad's key ring. Never mind that Diana arrived a few days after she did. Not Allie though. She stayed in Islamorada until closer to the funeral.

She glanced down, the words echoing through her. The funeral.

It was sickening that today should be a sunny day.

Dad was dead. Mom was hurt. Caitlin was a wreck.

But, the fucking sun was shining.

The birds were chirping.

The breeze was blowing.

The rest of the world kept spinning even as theirs ground to a screeching halt.

She inhaled sharply, ignoring the way the point of the house key dug into her palm. If Dad was here, he'd be on the golf course. Or, swimming laps in the pool. Or, looking at listings for Tuscan villas with Mom.

Something. Anything.

At the far runway, she watched the jet land with a graceful bump. They were home. Her throat tightened as she struggled to swallow past the boulder now permanently lodged there. Next to her, the TSA agent shifted back on his heels as he glanced up at her. "Sorry about your old man," he finally said and she looked up slowly. He shrugged and stroked his goatee as he continued, "My lady and I binged Miscarriage of Justice in one day."

With a vague nod, she was suddenly grateful for the mirrored lenses of her aviators. That way, he couldn't see the way she rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was listen to him wax poetic about the documentary series that made her father an Internet celebrity last winter. Dad hated it. It drove him up the wall whenever she showed him the tweets and posts from strangers about him. It drove him nuts when random people would try to take a selfie with him.

"-do it?"

"What?" she asked, watching as the jet touched down on the far runway.

"Tony Dwyer. Your old man's client. Did he kill Kristen?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Attorney-client privilege, you know?"

"Right, right," he said seriously as the walkie-talkie mounted on his shoulder crackled. He turned away, talking into it as the jet slowly taxied into the hangar.

Evy pushed herself away from the car, her hair blowing like a dervish in the wind flow from the engines. She continued to grip Dad's key ring as the cabin door opened and the Customs crew boarded the jet. Slowly, as the engines slowed to a stop, other sounds were allowed in. The way the breeze howled between the hangars. The way the metal roof groaned in the heat from the sun. The way the TSA agent's walkie-talkie squawked and beeped. The way her brother's feet clomped down the jet's stairs.

Her stomach flipped, watching as Sean extended his hand, helping Mom off the jet. She shoved Dad's keys into the pocket of her shorts. Like a melting snowman in the winter sun, she felt her face crumble as she hurried across the pavement. Her sandals flopped against the ground in time with her pounding heart as she watched her mother. She seemed…smaller. Somehow. Mom was looking down at the ground as if she was worried about watching her step. But, she moved slower and she leaned against Sean. She saw Casey following behind them, carrying a small metal urn.

An urn.

That was all that was left of Dad.

Her throat swelled and she blinked away the tears suddenly burning her eyes. For her whole life, Dad was always taller than her. He towered over her. And now, all that was left of him was in Casey's arms. She sobbed aloud, her hands pressed over her mouth. It wasn't right. Her larger than life father was in an urn. A fucking urn.

"Mom," she cried, flinging her arms around her mother. Mom had spent the better part of the last two weeks – since the car accident – medicated in some Italian hospital. The few times Evy tried to speak with her on the phone, Mom uttered barely two words. Casey said it was shock, her head injury, and the sedatives. Now, she heard Mom gasp, a strangled gurgle that caused her to jump back in shock. Did she hurt her? She looked urgently at Sean, panic coursing through her veins.

"Easy, Evy," Sean said softly as Mom turned her face into her shoulder, her breathing raspy. "It's going to take a few weeks for her cracked ribs to heal."

"I'm sorry, Mom." She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, watching carefully as Mom looked up. Her sunglasses hid a lot, but not all, of the hideous rainbow of black, purple, and red on the right side of her face. Suddenly, she squeezed her eyes shut, tortured with a vision of her parents' rental car flipping down the Italian hillside.

"Evy."

She forced her eyes open, tears burning her eyes as she heard Mom say her name. With a sob, she gently returned to her mother's side and felt her left arm go around her. Two weeks of heartbreak and devastating sadness crested in the way she desperately cried into Mom's left shoulder.

Dad was dead.

The sun was shining.

The birds were chirping.

The breeze was blowing.

Dad was dead.