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The Energy of Sun Rays

Amanda: Disconnected

They'd stopped to get some take-out sandwiches on the way back to the apartment, but Amanda had stayed in the car. For some reason, she just couldn't stop crying. She was able to calm down every now and then, but only for a few minutes before an errant thought would set them back off. Some part of her, somewhere in the back of her mind, was beginning to get frustrated and disgusted: wasn't it time to start working through this instead of crying over it? But that little voice was drowned out every time something set her back off.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed as they laid out their meal in his dining room. "I know you don't like tears —"

"Stop it," he answered, cradling her face in his hands.

"That's just it! I can't seem to stop. Even when I think I've managed it —"

"Amanda," he interrupted, before leaning down to drop a quick kiss against her lips. "If anyone has had reason to cry the last couple of months, it's been you. I've wondered if you've done it enough."

"If I've…" she trailed off. "I don't understand. You want me to cry?"

"I want you to feel." One of his hands was tracing her cheek now. "You've been trying so hard to either be strong for everyone else or push yourself to get through things you insist need to be done. When have you taken time to think about your own grief? Even though you're the one who lost both a parent and a child?"

Lost both a parent and a child. Tears began again at that phrase. He gently wiped them off her face before continuing. "I had been going to suggest that Jamie spend Thanksgiving with Joe and Carrie anyway. I just hadn't gotten around to it. He can use the time with his father, and we need some time to ourselves. You need some time without any responsibilities."

"By getting away from my other child? The one I didn't even notice was —"

"No," he interrupted again. A trace of frustration had come into his voice. "By taking the time you need to take care of yourself so that you can keep doing all those wonderful things you do. You haven't stopped, Amanda, since before the funeral, even though nobody's hurting more than you. We've all done things to take care of ourselves. Remember that time in the gym?"

He'd been an hour overdue from one of his mandatory sessions with Dr. Pfaff, long enough to concern her, so she'd gone downstairs looking for him. She'd heard him before she'd seen him, yelling wordlessly at the top of his voice while he pounded on something. It had turned out to be the heavy bag that hung in the tiny area they used for self-defense training; he was furiously attacking it with a flurry of punches and kicks. Despite being properly wrapped, his hands had blood on the knuckles, and he winced every time he stepped back onto his left ankle.

"Lee?" she'd begun, not bothering to hide the worry in her voice.

No response. The bag was definitely getting the worst of whatever was going on.

"Lee!" she'd called out again, louder.

At that, he'd abruptly stopped what he was doing, dropping to his elbows and knees on the mat. When he'd looked up, she'd seen that his eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and when he'd spoken aloud to acknowledge her presence, his voice had been hoarse and scratchy from all the screaming and shouting he'd been doing. Later, he'd explained to her that he'd started doing it during the counseling session and had kept right on with it for nearly the entire time he was in the gym.

She hadn't asked what he'd been so worked up about. She hadn't needed to. Instead, she'd just taken the first-aid kit down from the wall.

"Yeah," she told him now. "I remember. That wasn't the only time, either."

"No." He'd been late from several other sessions, too — some of which had been voluntary — coming back into the Q with his hair wet and skin damp, smelling of the industrial-issue soap in the locker room showers. He'd also posted a new personal best on the firing range ten days ago. "And I'm sure there are going to be others in the future. But you're changing the subject. Right now, we're talking about you. Do you know, Claudia told me this morning that you've missed your last two sessions?"

Amanda felt herself stiffen. "There's no point going. We just keep having the same conversations, over and over again."

"Because you're not processing anything! You're spending so much time trying to take care of everyone else that you won't let anyone take care of you!" Turning away from her, he scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Look, Amanda, I don't care what it is you need to do. Cry it out. Scream it out. Run around in circles if that's what it takes. But you've got to do something besides pushing all your anger and grief down. Or else you're going to keep doing the wrong things like unloading it on Joe and Jamie!"

"I'm —" she tried to take a long, steadying breath, but it came out uneven and hitching. "If I start, I…I don't know — I don't think I'll be able to-to stop. I'm just —" she couldn't keep her voice even no matter how hard she tried. "All I can th-think of to do is —" She had to take another breath. "Tr-try to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Because — because eventually, it'll go numb enough to d-d-d-d…" she couldn't get the end of the sentence out for the tears that had broken loose again.

"Okay." With shaking hands, he pulled her back against him. "All right. Let it out."

"But — but dinner — it's —"

"— just sandwiches," he finished as he leaned back slightly so that he could brush her temple with his lips. He began to tug her toward the couch. "It won't get cold or go bad, at least not right away. So it can wait. You can't. Not right now."

She had no idea how long she curled against him on the couch, crying, but she'd given herself a headache by the time she was finally able to get the sobs under control. She rubbed her eyes as she sat up. "I'm sorry. That was — I'm sorry."

"I'm not," he told her. "You shouldn't be either." Cupping her chin, he reached up to wipe her face with his palm. "You've needed that for a long time."

"I guess." Now that she'd wept herself out, she could feel herself starting to go emotionally numb. It was a welcome sensation. "We should eat now."

"Hey." He took her hands. "Uh-uh. Don't go away."

"What makes you think I'm going to leave? I don't have anywhere to go any—"

"I don't mean physically." He stood up, pulling her up alongside him. "Don't disconnect again. That's what got us here in the first place."

"I'm not disconne — what are you talking about, not disconnecting physically? I've been right here the whole time!"

"You're answering with a question again." He shook her slightly. "Don't go numb, or shut down, or whatever it is you're calling it. It doesn't work. All you've been doing is just pushing everything down and then it starts building up to come out the wrong way again."

She certainly wasn't feeling numb right now: instead, she was annoyed, and badly enough to pull her hands away from him as she stalked toward the dining room. "If you're not going to eat, I am."

"Damn it, Amanda —" he grabbed at her hand, yanking her around so hard that she staggered against his chest, forcing him to throw both arms around her waist to steady her. His words had already made his attitude clear, but there was no way to mistake the disappointment and anger in his expression. "I told you to stop disconnecting and running away!"

He wanted her connected? Fine, then; she'd give him connected. Her arms slid up his chest, linking around his neck, and she pushed up into him. Their mouths crashed together, teeth clacking before he realized what was going on and began to kiss her back. She felt his hands tangle into his hair, pulling at it, demanding that she tilt her head back and open her mouth fully to him. It was angry, greedy, biting. Fiery, vehement, passionate, and full of every emotion she could name right that second, and when they came up for air both of them were gasping, their breaths coming in huge gulps.

He found his voice first. "Is this what you need?" His tone was as harsh as it had been that day in the gym. "Is this what it's gonna take to keep you here with me?" He kissed her again, still hot and ardent and temperamental, before she could reply. It didn't matter; he knew the answer and she knew it. A second later his hands slid out of her hair, down her back and under her rear so that he could pull her up, off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he began to carry her toward the bedroom.

They came together sloppily, messily, urgent and needy and totally without finesse. She had no idea where their clothes had ended up, how many bruises she might have picked up, how late it might have gotten. But afterward, when their heart rates had returned to normal and their breathing had slowed down to something close, he pulled her down onto his shoulder and kissed her forehead gently, and Amanda realized she didn't care. She had needed it. She guessed they both had. It wasn't the first time they'd used sex for comfort, and it likely wouldn't be the last. The important thing, she thought, was that they had come together instead of heading down a path that would end with them tearing themselves apart.

She could both feel and hear Lee's voice, rumbling in his chest. "That didn't take long."

"Well, we were both pretty determined, and it's been a wh—"

"That's not what I meant." He dropped another gentle kiss, against her hairline this time. "Those wheels in your head are starting to turn again. I can hear them."

With a long sigh, she wrapped her arms and legs around him. "What are we going to do about Jamie? And those awful taunting kids?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But we don't have to figure it out tonight, or tomorrow, or even over the weekend." His fingers began to comb through her hair. "We have time to work out the priorities before we make a final decision."

As if in response, her stomach growled, and when his answered it she started to giggle. He responded with chuckles of his own and after a few moments both of them were truly laughing. Amanda couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this light, and she shifted to give him a long kiss — a real one, this time — before pushing up, off the bed, and pulling him back toward their dinner.