The day had passed excruciatingly slowly. Neil, Eddie, Lily and Lennox had wandered in an out at several different points, sometimes bring water and food, sometimes just bringing their presence, a few kind words here and there. He'd been grateful for them, for all of them, the best friends he'd ever had, both on and off the island. They were his family, all of them, just as much as the woman lying quiet on the bed.
Lennox had left his side for the first time since that afternoon, mumbling something about going to bring Chris and his father some food before ducking out into the night. The only reason Chris even knew it was night was due to the darkness that cast over the hut, crowding in uncomfortably. The hospital room had been bright at all times, it felt like, even at night, the nurses coming in every couple hours to check on his mother's vital signs
( ... )
The procession of people unnerves Gordon, with the small sliver of himself that he's devoting to the outside world right now. They're all close and they're all...family, yes, he can even admit that, though coming from him he realizes it doesn't mean much. But the grief is so raw that he feels numb to their coming and going. His world has been narrowed down to Peggy and to Chris, who had had to do this all on his own
( ... )
Chris had to look away then, swallowing hard against the way his throat seemed to suddenly close up as he watched his hand move over the skin of his mother's arm again. It was more than he'd ever imagined his father saying. The simple fact was that he'd never imagined it, not once. His father was stubborn, a brick wall Chris hadn't ever been able to talk to since even before his mother had finally gone. The idea that his father might ever understand it'd been like, much less actually apologize for it, had never once occured to him
( ... )
"I know," Gordon said softly, back to looking at the bed linens. Ten years of time had happened to Gordon that hadn't happened to his son, and there had been words exchanged. That much he had remembered. "She loved the game, or maybe she loved it for me. I suppose I won't know now but..."
Something that was trying to be a smile came and went on his face.
"You were her angel. Back in the early days...before everything got grim. You were her light. Some days, you were the only thing that could make her smile -" His voice cracked and he clenched his jaw, fighting it back down by force of will. "She just...needed you."
It was harder then, harder to hold it back as his father spoke and his eyes flickered up to her face, almost like he was looking to her for confirmation. Or maybe reassurance. Or maybe in apology.
He took another shaky breath and let it out slowly, willing himself to not lose it yet again, his thumb brushing over along the curve of her hand, trying to soothe her even though she seemed to be resting comfortably enough.
"I wasn't enough," he managed after a moment, speaking quietly. "I tried, but I was just a kid, Dad. And she needed you, too. She needed-- she needed the both of us."
Gordon didn't react, he didn't more, and for a long while he didn't speak. His eyes were on Peggy's wrist, the bruises and the bandages from so many IVs. His throat and his heart and his gut all felt like they were in completly the wrong spot.
"I've lived each day with that guilt for years," he said roughly, looking up but not at Christopher. "Every morning. Every time I step on the ice. And each time...you look at me like that."
For a long moment he was silent. "Never assume, Christopher, that I am so totally unaware."
Chris shook his head quickly, letting go of his mother's arm only long enough to wipe the back of his hand across his cheek as he gave another strained sound. It almost sounded like a laugh, but wasn't nearly light enough for that.
"I'm not saying it to make you feel guilty, Dad," he said, his gaze never leaving his mother. It almost felt like they were speaking to each other through her, though her quiet, barely-alive body. "I'm just-- I'm telling you she needed you. She needed you and she loved you. She loved you-- God, Dad, she loved you so much."
"I know," he murmured indistinctly, his eyes glassy before he closed them for a long, lingering moment. "God, I know that Christopher. She was everything I had, her and you...that was everything. Watching was...too much."
"I can't change that, not now." He gazed up at his son. "I should have been there and...I was not. I don't know what depth of humanity could forgive something like that. Certainly no the kind in my conscious."
"All she ever wanted was for you to be happy, Christopher," he added, gently. "She would have been...so incredibly proud of you now. So incredibly proud.."
He couldn't help it then, something hard and knotted and seventeen years in the making shattering inside him as he shook his head again. His shoulders shook a little as he fought back the rising lump in his throat, his eyes stinging with tears he refused to let escape.
Somehow, it helped to keep looking at her, his gaze fixed on her hand, his own holding it gently.
"I'm not any better than you," he replied, his voice quiet and strained. "I was so worried, you know? Worried I was exactly like you and-- I am. I cheated, I lied, I left my team and my town. Hell, I left my fiancee at the fucking altar. There's no way she'd be proud of that."
"You're here," Gordon said softly, looking down at his wife, feeling something underneath the grief, way down. Something that felt a lot like pride.
"You're married, you're happy. You have put shelter over dozens of people's heads. You have friends, Christopher. You have family. You were young and stupid but you have grown into a man that I can no longer take credit for. You've grown into a man that would astound her."
He pulled the sheet flush to the edge of the bed. "As you've astounded me."
Chris glanced up then, taken by surprise, his eyes wide and just a little red as he swallowed again, taking a moment to try to collect his thoughts.
It wasn't anything Chris could argue, especially not the young and stupid comment, but there were many times still when Chris felt young and stupid. The whole thing with the Golden Broom and Julie had been less than two years ago and still hung over his head like anvil at times.
He also knew, somehow, that it'd probably taken everything in his father to say that, to admit that he was even a little bit proud of what Chris had become. If nothing else, that hit him in a way nothing else could; he'd never had any idea how much he'd needed his father's approval.
"I'm glad you're here," he said after a moment, his voice still a whisper. It felt important to say for some reason. "Not just-- I don't mean with Mum, well-- I mean, yeah. That, too. But, on the Island. Here."
Gordon looked up then and his eyes were glassy. The lines around his eyes and mouth suddenly looked a good deal more pronounced. And then he almost smiled, slightly. There was some kind of ironic tilt to his mouth.
Even so, it was a long, uncertain moment before he could trust his voice.
"Thank you, Christopher," he said, very hoarsely, some kind of waver in his voice. "I admit that occasionally I feel that this place has become as much a home as Long Bay. In fact...I get to see ten years of you that I never expected to be privy to. It is not an opportunity that many would pass up."
He gave another quick laugh at that, the sound only a little bitter, though that didn't quite feel like the appropriate description either. "Still missed a year," he said, quirking a very slightly smile as he finally chanced a very brief glance upward, catching his father's eyes hidden below bushy brows before looking down again. "Be glad you did."
If nothing else, that year would've taken away all his father's grudging respect. Maybe he'd come a long way, but it'd taken time. And a lot more mistakes.
"A year isn't a long time, Christopher, not when compared to a decade. This place...is unfair. And often cruel. But you and James are happy. Your friends are happy." He looked down at her hand in his and raised his eyebrows.
"That's all she....we ever wanted. It's all most parents do."
Once again, Chris knew he couldn't argue. Parenthood was something Chris didn't still didn't understand in the way he knew his father did. Even with their past, after the tense years and the fights, Chris knew there were some things he would just never be able to understand the way his father did.
He offered a small, but genuine smile then, though his eyes remained on the grip he had on his mother's arm.
It took another moment, then, his thoughts heavy with all the things his father had confessed, all the things they'd said and hadn't said, to notice that something had shifted. Something wasn't quite the same.
Something like panic gripped him tight and his eyes lifted to his mother's face, focusing on the gentle way her mouth was still open before dropping, waiting for the rise and fall of her chest.
And waiting.
"... Dad," he said after a quiet moment, eyes wide, his own breath catching high in his throat.
Gordon had already registered it. Gordon had already felt the tears threatening and the press of something grieving against the base of his throat and he had already closed his eyes. He reached out, closing his hand over Christopher's where he was holding Peggy's and gripped it, firmly.
Something shredded open inside him and three decades of poison spilled out. He hadn't been here the first time, but he was here now. That had to count for something, in the end. He held Christopher's hand over his wife's and tried to be there in every capacity he hadn't, before.
"I know, Christopher," he said softly, his gaze on Peggy's withered face and his eyes glazed with tears. "I know..."
Lennox had left his side for the first time since that afternoon, mumbling something about going to bring Chris and his father some food before ducking out into the night. The only reason Chris even knew it was night was due to the darkness that cast over the hut, crowding in uncomfortably. The hospital room had been bright at all times, it felt like, even at night, the nurses coming in every couple hours to check on his mother's vital signs ( ... )
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Something that was trying to be a smile came and went on his face.
"You were her angel. Back in the early days...before everything got grim. You were her light. Some days, you were the only thing that could make her smile -" His voice cracked and he clenched his jaw, fighting it back down by force of will. "She just...needed you."
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He took another shaky breath and let it out slowly, willing himself to not lose it yet again, his thumb brushing over along the curve of her hand, trying to soothe her even though she seemed to be resting comfortably enough.
"I wasn't enough," he managed after a moment, speaking quietly. "I tried, but I was just a kid, Dad. And she needed you, too. She needed-- she needed the both of us."
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"I've lived each day with that guilt for years," he said roughly, looking up but not at Christopher. "Every morning. Every time I step on the ice. And each time...you look at me like that."
For a long moment he was silent. "Never assume, Christopher, that I am so totally unaware."
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"I'm not saying it to make you feel guilty, Dad," he said, his gaze never leaving his mother. It almost felt like they were speaking to each other through her, though her quiet, barely-alive body. "I'm just-- I'm telling you she needed you. She needed you and she loved you. She loved you-- God, Dad, she loved you so much."
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"I can't change that, not now." He gazed up at his son. "I should have been there and...I was not. I don't know what depth of humanity could forgive something like that. Certainly no the kind in my conscious."
"All she ever wanted was for you to be happy, Christopher," he added, gently. "She would have been...so incredibly proud of you now. So incredibly proud.."
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Somehow, it helped to keep looking at her, his gaze fixed on her hand, his own holding it gently.
"I'm not any better than you," he replied, his voice quiet and strained. "I was so worried, you know? Worried I was exactly like you and-- I am. I cheated, I lied, I left my team and my town. Hell, I left my fiancee at the fucking altar. There's no way she'd be proud of that."
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"You're married, you're happy. You have put shelter over dozens of people's heads. You have friends, Christopher. You have family. You were young and stupid but you have grown into a man that I can no longer take credit for. You've grown into a man that would astound her."
He pulled the sheet flush to the edge of the bed. "As you've astounded me."
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It wasn't anything Chris could argue, especially not the young and stupid comment, but there were many times still when Chris felt young and stupid. The whole thing with the Golden Broom and Julie had been less than two years ago and still hung over his head like anvil at times.
He also knew, somehow, that it'd probably taken everything in his father to say that, to admit that he was even a little bit proud of what Chris had become. If nothing else, that hit him in a way nothing else could; he'd never had any idea how much he'd needed his father's approval.
"I'm glad you're here," he said after a moment, his voice still a whisper. It felt important to say for some reason. "Not just-- I don't mean with Mum, well-- I mean, yeah. That, too. But, on the Island. Here."
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Even so, it was a long, uncertain moment before he could trust his voice.
"Thank you, Christopher," he said, very hoarsely, some kind of waver in his voice. "I admit that occasionally I feel that this place has become as much a home as Long Bay. In fact...I get to see ten years of you that I never expected to be privy to. It is not an opportunity that many would pass up."
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If nothing else, that year would've taken away all his father's grudging respect. Maybe he'd come a long way, but it'd taken time. And a lot more mistakes.
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"A year isn't a long time, Christopher, not when compared to a decade. This place...is unfair. And often cruel. But you and James are happy. Your friends are happy." He looked down at her hand in his and raised his eyebrows.
"That's all she....we ever wanted. It's all most parents do."
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He offered a small, but genuine smile then, though his eyes remained on the grip he had on his mother's arm.
It took another moment, then, his thoughts heavy with all the things his father had confessed, all the things they'd said and hadn't said, to notice that something had shifted. Something wasn't quite the same.
Something like panic gripped him tight and his eyes lifted to his mother's face, focusing on the gentle way her mouth was still open before dropping, waiting for the rise and fall of her chest.
And waiting.
"... Dad," he said after a quiet moment, eyes wide, his own breath catching high in his throat.
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Something shredded open inside him and three decades of poison spilled out. He hadn't been here the first time, but he was here now. That had to count for something, in the end. He held Christopher's hand over his wife's and tried to be there in every capacity he hadn't, before.
"I know, Christopher," he said softly, his gaze on Peggy's withered face and his eyes glazed with tears. "I know..."
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