SPN FIC - Moving On (7.02)
She's been The Late Mrs. Singer for a long time now -- but when you're tied to a place, and to someone you love, moving on's the last thing you want to do. Unless you've got a friend who'll give up everything to persuade you.
CHARACTERS: Rufus Turner, Karen Singer
GENRE: Gen (with background Karen/Bobby)
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: 7.02
LENGTH: 1507 words
MOVING ON
By Carol Davis
She wanders through the wreckage for a good long time. Not being able to touch anything makes her incredibly sad, but the fire burned so hot - not for very long, but as hot as the sun, she thinks -there's really nothing left to touch. The remains of a few books, big, mostly-melted lumps of metal that used to be the stove and refrigerator, not much else.
She's seen the aftermath of house fires before, but this is so much worse.
This used to be her home.
"Darlin'," Rufus Turner says from behind her.
When Karen turns to look at him, there's no impatience on his face, no annoyance, no frustration. There's nothing there but kindness, and a quiet sort of affection.
She knows that's what he's feeling, because she feels the same for him.
He's a good man.
He would have to be, or her Bobby would not have called him "friend" all those years.
"Why would they do this?" she murmurs.
It's a foolish question; she knows why. The emotion behind it makes Rufus reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder.
"He won't stay," Rufus says softly. "There's nothing to hold him here now."
Rufus came to her a while back. She knew about his passing, of course; that information made its way to her like a ripple on the surface of a pond, the same as when others of Bobby's friends crossed over. She's never been sure why that's so, but she's always been grateful for it. It connects her with Bobby in yet another way.
None of those others showed up here, though. When Rufus did, she asked him why.
"Unfinished business," he told her.
What that business is, is pretty clear now. He's ready to move on, and he's got it in mind to take her with him.
Rufus's eyebrows lift a little at her hesitation, and he says, still not unkindly, "What, you think he's gonna pitch a tent in the middle of all this rubble? Buy himself an RV and park it over there, so he can sit in the doorway and drink, and look at what's left?"
This was home, she thinks.
This was their home.
"Darlin'," Rufus Turner says softly. "The only way he got through what he's got through was believin' you've gone on to a better place."
"There's no place better than this."
She thinks maybe Rufus can remember what this house looked like before. Surely he can. When he burst into this house all those years ago, on the night she died, the walls and the floor and the furniture were doused with blood (hers, mostly, but some of Bobby's, too), and a couple of chairs and some of her knick-knacks were toppled and broken, a framed picture or two knocked down off the wall and shattered.
Surely he'd seen, though, what this house was really like. Simple, but clean. Neat and tidy. On a summer day the sun would flood through it from back to front.
They were in love here, she and her Bobby.
"He loved my cooking," she says for no particular reason. "I'd make a big pot of stew for him, or a chicken pot pie."
"Sounds fine," Rufus says appreciatively.
"I used to -"
That was what Bobby asked for, the time she came back. You'd think a man would head straight for the bedroom, but he held her face between his hands and asked if they could have supper together, the way they used to.
If she'd hum a little bit while she was cooking, like she used to.
"He got -" she says, and has to stop for a moment, because the memory makes her well up. Her hand drifts down to her belly, and she touches it lightly. "Before I - when I was alive. He loved my cooking so much, he got this little round pot belly. I told him -"
Again, she has to stop.
"I told him he looked like -"
"Don't go there," Rufus says. "No point in going there."
"I wanted to name her Lucy," Karen murmurs, looking at the charred wreckage of what she and her Bobby built here, off to the side of a county road a few miles outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. "It seems terrible now - I've heard him and the boys use that name for the devil. Lucifer. Luci. But that's not what I was thinking then. I wanted us to have a little girl, and I wanted to name her for Lucille Ball. Bobby and me, we loved to watch I Love Lucy. We'd curl up together on the couch and watch the old reruns and laugh. So I thought if her name was Lucy, she would always make him smile."
She realizes then - although Rufus has said nothing - that it's a horrible thing for him to ponder. A daughter. Having a daughter. Losing a daughter.
She shouldn't have said what she did.
"I'm so sorry," she says, and she is.
Has always been.
His face has gone still. Impassive. The few times the subject's come up before, he told her it's all water under the bridge, but that's a lie.
"You should go," Karen whispers, not for the first time. "Be with her."
Rufus lifts his booted foot and kicks at a fallen chunk of charred wood.
It has no effect on anything.
"What will he do?" she asks after a minute. "He depended so much on his books, and all those… those things he's collected."
"He'll find more."
"This isn't right. None of this. It isn't right."
There's a vehemence in her voice she hasn't conjured up for a long time. It makes Rufus frown for a moment, then his face goes still again. That happens a lot, and it's never been surprising. What is surprising is that he's stayed here for so long.
With her.
"You should go," Karen tells him.
Rufus isn't looking at her when he says, "I can give him this. Couldn't forgive him. Might never. But I can do this."
He lets her think about that for a while. Then he steps up close to her again and lays a hand on her arm. "He won't stay," he says quietly, but firmly. "Could be they've done him a favor. Cut the cord. He can close the door on all of it now, and get on with his life. What of it he's got left. Let him do that, will you? He ever found out you've been hanging around here all this time, it wouldn't make him happy. You believe anything, you can believe that."
"I do believe it. But -"
"You are his great joy, darlin'. That's gonna be true as long as there's time. But there's a light waiting for you. Been there for a long time."
She looks up into his face - this face that's become so very familiar to her, even though she never knew this man when she was alive.
There's nothing there but kindness.
"I can't leave him alone," she says.
"He won't be," Rufus replies. "You listen: it's what he'd want. What he figured was the truth, when you passed. Both times," he reminds her. "If you love him, you'll give him that. Let him believe you're at peace."
This was their home, she thinks.
This pile of wreckage, of burned wood and old, ruined books.
"I promise you," Rufus Turner says. "He will not ever be alone."
It's not fair, she thinks. It's all so terribly unfair. They had so little time together, she and Bobby. They were going to build a life here. Have a family. They were going to grow old together, here in this place.
Now neither one of them will do that.
"I knew that old son of a bitch a long time," Rufus says. "A lot longer than you did. Trust me: he only wants one thing. He dreams about something else, but he only wants one thing. So you give him that. He's not gonna stay here any longer, and neither should you. If you're here all by yourself, it's gonna make you angry. Gonna turn you into one of those things he hunts. You don't want that."
"No," she says. "No, I - I don't."
"Then it's time you do what's right."
She looks past him at charred wood and ruined books and the blackened heap that used to be her stove.
"I want to wait for him," she says.
"You can do that there as well as here, I figure."
He smiles.
It reminds her of her father, long ago, when it was time for her to give up the day and go to bed. That smile.
I love you, she thinks, as loudly as she can muster. Where Bobby is right now, she's not sure, but maybe, somehow, he's heard her.
"All right," she murmurs. "All right, then."
Letting go is easier than she thought it would be.
Rufus Turner's face is the last thing she sees before the light closes around her.
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Rufus Turner, Karen Singer
GENRE: Gen (with background Karen/Bobby)
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: 7.02
LENGTH: 1507 words
MOVING ON
By Carol Davis
She wanders through the wreckage for a good long time. Not being able to touch anything makes her incredibly sad, but the fire burned so hot - not for very long, but as hot as the sun, she thinks -there's really nothing left to touch. The remains of a few books, big, mostly-melted lumps of metal that used to be the stove and refrigerator, not much else.
She's seen the aftermath of house fires before, but this is so much worse.
This used to be her home.
"Darlin'," Rufus Turner says from behind her.
When Karen turns to look at him, there's no impatience on his face, no annoyance, no frustration. There's nothing there but kindness, and a quiet sort of affection.
She knows that's what he's feeling, because she feels the same for him.
He's a good man.
He would have to be, or her Bobby would not have called him "friend" all those years.
"Why would they do this?" she murmurs.
It's a foolish question; she knows why. The emotion behind it makes Rufus reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder.
"He won't stay," Rufus says softly. "There's nothing to hold him here now."
Rufus came to her a while back. She knew about his passing, of course; that information made its way to her like a ripple on the surface of a pond, the same as when others of Bobby's friends crossed over. She's never been sure why that's so, but she's always been grateful for it. It connects her with Bobby in yet another way.
None of those others showed up here, though. When Rufus did, she asked him why.
"Unfinished business," he told her.
What that business is, is pretty clear now. He's ready to move on, and he's got it in mind to take her with him.
Rufus's eyebrows lift a little at her hesitation, and he says, still not unkindly, "What, you think he's gonna pitch a tent in the middle of all this rubble? Buy himself an RV and park it over there, so he can sit in the doorway and drink, and look at what's left?"
This was home, she thinks.
This was their home.
"Darlin'," Rufus Turner says softly. "The only way he got through what he's got through was believin' you've gone on to a better place."
"There's no place better than this."
She thinks maybe Rufus can remember what this house looked like before. Surely he can. When he burst into this house all those years ago, on the night she died, the walls and the floor and the furniture were doused with blood (hers, mostly, but some of Bobby's, too), and a couple of chairs and some of her knick-knacks were toppled and broken, a framed picture or two knocked down off the wall and shattered.
Surely he'd seen, though, what this house was really like. Simple, but clean. Neat and tidy. On a summer day the sun would flood through it from back to front.
They were in love here, she and her Bobby.
"He loved my cooking," she says for no particular reason. "I'd make a big pot of stew for him, or a chicken pot pie."
"Sounds fine," Rufus says appreciatively.
"I used to -"
That was what Bobby asked for, the time she came back. You'd think a man would head straight for the bedroom, but he held her face between his hands and asked if they could have supper together, the way they used to.
If she'd hum a little bit while she was cooking, like she used to.
"He got -" she says, and has to stop for a moment, because the memory makes her well up. Her hand drifts down to her belly, and she touches it lightly. "Before I - when I was alive. He loved my cooking so much, he got this little round pot belly. I told him -"
Again, she has to stop.
"I told him he looked like -"
"Don't go there," Rufus says. "No point in going there."
"I wanted to name her Lucy," Karen murmurs, looking at the charred wreckage of what she and her Bobby built here, off to the side of a county road a few miles outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. "It seems terrible now - I've heard him and the boys use that name for the devil. Lucifer. Luci. But that's not what I was thinking then. I wanted us to have a little girl, and I wanted to name her for Lucille Ball. Bobby and me, we loved to watch I Love Lucy. We'd curl up together on the couch and watch the old reruns and laugh. So I thought if her name was Lucy, she would always make him smile."
She realizes then - although Rufus has said nothing - that it's a horrible thing for him to ponder. A daughter. Having a daughter. Losing a daughter.
She shouldn't have said what she did.
"I'm so sorry," she says, and she is.
Has always been.
His face has gone still. Impassive. The few times the subject's come up before, he told her it's all water under the bridge, but that's a lie.
"You should go," Karen whispers, not for the first time. "Be with her."
Rufus lifts his booted foot and kicks at a fallen chunk of charred wood.
It has no effect on anything.
"What will he do?" she asks after a minute. "He depended so much on his books, and all those… those things he's collected."
"He'll find more."
"This isn't right. None of this. It isn't right."
There's a vehemence in her voice she hasn't conjured up for a long time. It makes Rufus frown for a moment, then his face goes still again. That happens a lot, and it's never been surprising. What is surprising is that he's stayed here for so long.
With her.
"You should go," Karen tells him.
Rufus isn't looking at her when he says, "I can give him this. Couldn't forgive him. Might never. But I can do this."
He lets her think about that for a while. Then he steps up close to her again and lays a hand on her arm. "He won't stay," he says quietly, but firmly. "Could be they've done him a favor. Cut the cord. He can close the door on all of it now, and get on with his life. What of it he's got left. Let him do that, will you? He ever found out you've been hanging around here all this time, it wouldn't make him happy. You believe anything, you can believe that."
"I do believe it. But -"
"You are his great joy, darlin'. That's gonna be true as long as there's time. But there's a light waiting for you. Been there for a long time."
She looks up into his face - this face that's become so very familiar to her, even though she never knew this man when she was alive.
There's nothing there but kindness.
"I can't leave him alone," she says.
"He won't be," Rufus replies. "You listen: it's what he'd want. What he figured was the truth, when you passed. Both times," he reminds her. "If you love him, you'll give him that. Let him believe you're at peace."
This was their home, she thinks.
This pile of wreckage, of burned wood and old, ruined books.
"I promise you," Rufus Turner says. "He will not ever be alone."
It's not fair, she thinks. It's all so terribly unfair. They had so little time together, she and Bobby. They were going to build a life here. Have a family. They were going to grow old together, here in this place.
Now neither one of them will do that.
"I knew that old son of a bitch a long time," Rufus says. "A lot longer than you did. Trust me: he only wants one thing. He dreams about something else, but he only wants one thing. So you give him that. He's not gonna stay here any longer, and neither should you. If you're here all by yourself, it's gonna make you angry. Gonna turn you into one of those things he hunts. You don't want that."
"No," she says. "No, I - I don't."
"Then it's time you do what's right."
She looks past him at charred wood and ruined books and the blackened heap that used to be her stove.
"I want to wait for him," she says.
"You can do that there as well as here, I figure."
He smiles.
It reminds her of her father, long ago, when it was time for her to give up the day and go to bed. That smile.
I love you, she thinks, as loudly as she can muster. Where Bobby is right now, she's not sure, but maybe, somehow, he's heard her.
"All right," she murmurs. "All right, then."
Letting go is easier than she thought it would be.
Rufus Turner's face is the last thing she sees before the light closes around her.
* * * * *