Mary took a deep breath, and let it go. All 3 tests she'd taken this morning had been positive. Excitement permeated her entire being, but she continued sewing the last patch onto her son's jeans; boys were always wearing through the knees. When she heard her husband come through the door, she sat up a little straighter out of anticipation of sharing the news. No mayhem preceded or followed him, so Mary asked, "What poor soul did you leave our boy with?"
Shaking his head and slightly chuckling, John simply replied, "Haly."
"Ah."
Mr. Haly treated their 8-year-old like a grandson; in short, thoroughly spoiled him. After being talked to about it many times over the years, now he was just much sneakier about it. She imagined how Haly would be with another grandchild to spoil. Maybe this time, a little girl...? Glancing up from her musings, Mary noticed her husband seemed preoccupied too, but for a reason unknown to her. John was lost in thought, not for the first time.
She set down her patchwork for a moment, giving him her full attention. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing I suppose, just something Santiago said while we were feeding the horses." John toed his boots off then hung his jacket on a hook.
As he turned towards his wife, she patted the open seat alongside her. An invitation. Mary knew that if she simply gave him a moment, and an open ear, he would find out exactly how he wanted to express his usually many thoughts.
John was looking at her now, looking and... pondering? That sure seemed like his pondering face. She quirked her head slightly, a question, and held his gaze.
Finally spurred into action, as if drawn to her like a homing beacon, he joined her on the couch. Once settled, John slowly reached for Mary's left hand and fiddled with her wedding ring.
"As we were finishing up at the stable Santiago was confiding in me about his divorce; it has been several years and as it is still a painful topic for him, and he rarely brings it up, so I was a little surprised. But he said to me at one point, 'Marriage is hard work.'"
Mary waited, knowing they were only at the surface of this train of thought. Largely what drew her to John in the beginning was his depth. He was her poet, her philosopher, her romantic; he was the music she danced joyously to. He not only dives deep into his own mind, but others as well, and feels things to his core. Because of this he often needs time to translate these thoughts and feelings properly into actual language. So, she waited.
"Our marriage," he paused, shifting his gaze from Mary's ring and looking into her eyes with openness, sincerity, and so much softness. "Our marriage. It is not hard work; to me, our marriage is like breathing." He took both of her hands now in his own; strong, calloused and gentle. John took a deep inhale.
"Mary, you are of this world like oceans and wildflowers and music are of this world, yet somehow no part of creation could compare to how you steal my breath away simply by existing. My breath is arrested in amazement when I dance with you on air, captivated by your elegance and strength. Seeing your brilliant smile because I know that you know I will always catch you.
I say our marriage is like breathing because of the shaky, unsteady gasps I take in when neither of us can stop laughing, as we find humor and joy and surprise in this life together.
On our wedding day, my lungs disappeared, and my heart stilled the moment my eyes met yours. When our lips met as husband and wife for the first time it was nothing short of a breath of life, and a promise of forever. And every time I worship you in our bed, you capture me with your body and spirit; I feel as though my chest might collapse in on itself, erratic and unmoored as it breathes in only you.
Our marriage is like breathing because my breath carried desperate, broken, pleading prayers to any god listening that you would not leave me when your life started slipping away after delivering our child.
Our marriage is like breathing because of the little sighs you make when you are incandescently happy. It is like breathing because when you are asleep, held in my arms with your cheek gently resting on my chest, I can feel your every breath against my skin.
Our marriage is like breathing because of the way I truly cannot breathe when I contemplate a universe without you in it. It is selfish and unfair, but I will not apologize for hoping to either leave this world before you, or with you, because I refuse to exist in a world without you.
Our marriage is like breathing because it is essential, it is lifegiving, it is written in the breath of fate. My soul has known yours since before time knew itself. I contemplate the spirit of the world and pray that I may move through it like endless waves upon the sea, so that I'll always spend just one more lifetime with you, over and over again. Because you are who I choose in every one of them.
I am humbled and honored to love you. I gaze upon our son with reverence and see in him your passion, joy, brilliance, kindness, and wisdom. I hear your beautiful voice in his laughter. When he dances, I see your grace, and when I look into his eyes and see love, I see that those are your eyes looking back at me. He is a work of art because you were the artist; your flesh, blood, and your very breath created, and forever are, a part of him."
Mary shakily inhaled as John let go of her hands and gently caressed her face instead, wiping away tears.
"So you see," John continued, "Our marriage could never be hard work. It is as easy as breathing."
Author's Note:
Hi guys (:
Today John and Mary Grayson were my muse. If you want further details on this story: Right before the story starts, Mary set up the camcorder to get John's reaction to the pregnancy reveal but ended up accidentally capturing that moment instead. She forgot it was on and the tape ran out of space eventually. Later that night is the night John and Mary were murdered, and that week their friends have to clean out their trailer; Mary's best friend saves the home videos but its too painful to go through them so they sit and collect dust. Some years down the road Mary's friend does go through all the home videos of the Graysons and this is the last one she finds, still in the camcorder. She packs it all up and ships to it Dick's address which is of course Wayne Manor; Dick is say, 13 by now. Bruce screens all packages vigorously of course but once he realizes that these are home videos of Dick from ages newborn - 8 years old, him and Alfred watch them all in one sitting and neither acknowledges that the other one has a tear or two at some point. Bruce later lets Dick know that there is a package for him and where/who its from, and Dick asks Bruce to stay with him while he watches these videos he himself has never seen of his childhood. Some of it he remembers, most he does not. There are LOTS of tears. Bruce had already seen the home videos once, so this time he just watches his son.
I was 15 or 16 when I started writing YJ stories...hard to believe that was around 10 years ago. Any old faces still around?
I've wanted to get back into things, but always feel stuck with all the unfinished stories I left for myself. If I ever come back regularly, I think I might switch over to Ao3. Let me know what you guys think. And if this story (and backstory) were as devastating to you as they were to me I apologize, at least we suffer together :)