[Drabble]
Author's Note: At the moment, this is AU. It takes place after Tokoyami has discovered Maverick and Kacia's relationship and baits Maverick to come save Kacia.
"Joey, why don't you go play with Val and Casey? They're up in her room."
He nods and runs off without a second look back, leaving his backpack in the door. I don't have to look to know any of this, because it's what he always does. Because he always knows Dad will be back to get him soon, and he only gets to play with Casey and Val for a few hours, so he wants to get the most out of his time with them. Joey is a smart kid. He understands making time worthwhile. Seven year olds aren't supposed to grasp those concepts, but I'm certain he does. He's out of earshot in less than thirty seconds. I still can't tear my eyes away from Maverick. I still can't take my hand off the doorframe. I know if I do, I'll smack him. I'll strangle him. I'll drag him in and not let him leave.
"You cannot do this to him."
My voice shakes. It doesn't even sound like mine. It's someone else's, it's too low to be mine, too tense, and too far away.
He hasn't met my eyes since I opened the door. When he met Joey's eyes, his own had begun to water. He doesn't look at me now because he doesn't want me to see that. Because he knows what he is doing is wrong. There is no justification for it. He just stands there, his head tipped towards the ground, that god awful hat hiding his face from my view.
"Maverick."
He looks up finally, and the tears are no longer there. I can't tell you what is, because I can't even read it myself.
"You can't-"
"I can, and I am."
I feel my nails sink into the wood of the doorframe. The splinters will hurt later in an unspeakable way, I know this somewhere in the logical part of my mind, but my nerves fail to register the pain now. I start to speak, but his look silences me. He removes his hat and sets it on top of Joey's backpack, avoiding my glare again.
"Make sure Indy gets it. You know where the spare key is. If I'm not back in two weeks..."
He trails off, running a hand through his hair, and lifts his eyes from the ground, but it's to look away to the side. I want to grasp his chin and force him to look at me, but my hand won't release the doorframe still.
"Bri, I'm sorry."
His voice is softer, a tone that is nothing short of unnatural for him.
It just makes me hate him that much more.
"You're selfish. I've watched you with them. With Valentine and Joseph. And I thought there was something in you. I thought you were a parent. I thought you actually loved them, but it turns out you're nothing more than an impulsive and selfish boy. How can you do this to them? Kacia trusted you with Valentine, and now you're going to abandon her. Why did you even take Joseph in, if you can leave him behind this easily?"
My voice is growing almost shrill, cracking awkwardly, and my eyes burn. My hand finally releases the doorframe so that I can wipe my eyes, and he just continues to stand there, not looking at me. I hate him for this, too. Normally, his silence doesn't bother me. Maverick isn't much of a talker. He communicates through looks, gestures, and direct or sarcastic statements. But goddammit, he owes me an explanation now.
"What am I supposed to tell them?"
His eyes flicker to the ground again, and a hand passes through his hair. He then dares to meet my eyes. His are clouded, as unreadable as ever, but his voice betrays his stoic facade.
"Tell them that I love them, but she needed me more."
He turns then, and I reach to stop him, but my arm is caught by a firm hand, pulling me inside as the door closes, pulling me into what he probably hopes is a comforting embrace. It might have been, if he would have just kept his mouth shut. For a moment, I hate him for what he says too, and the look I give him as I shove him away and flee to lock myself in our room likely betrays that.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"If it were you, I'd go too."
It's days later, and the words keep haunting me. I've slept on the couch since, because I can't bear to share a bed with him. I can't meet his eyes for more than fractions of a second, and I flinch away from his touch as if he were burning me. He quit trying after two days, and now will simply watch me with that brokenhearted gaze when he thinks I'm not looking. I know that I'm hurting him, and unfairly so, but I still hate him for it. I can't forgive him for that sentiment, not when it's been nearly a week and now Joey runs to the door every time he hears a truck outside. Not when I'm having to field questions about when Dad is coming home, and my answers are getting less believable each time I'm forced to lie to those desperately hopeful doe eyes. I can't forgive him. Not yet.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
I find the envelopes when I go to get more clothes for Joey. It's been two weeks, and I know he isn't coming back. There's a stench coming from Maverick's room. Not the usual odor of someone who doesn't wash his sheets or laundry often enough. For the first time since I've been inside, Maverick's apartment is clean and in order. Everything is neatly packed and labeled.
The envelopes sit on top of his dresser. The ink is a deep brownish red I don't want to recognize. There are four of them. A couple of teeth. A finger. A toe. What I think may have once been an ear. All decaying, making the immaculately organized apartment reek of death.
I'm impressed to discover he even cleaned the toilet. I wouldn't have taken him as one to pay attention to such a detail, but as I spend the next undetermined period of time bent over it, I find myself thankful enough to hate him a little less. I flush the remains of my breakfast and rinse my mouth with the now dusty bottle of mouthwash kept next to his sink. I gather the few boxes of Joey's things and load them into the back of my car. The landlord can take care of the rest.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"...Bri?"
I look up from setting up my bed on the couch to find Joey watching me. He has the hat grasped tightly in his small hand, and his cheeks are streaked with tears. I sit down and hold my arms out to him, and he climbs into my lap, clutching that hat tightly between us as I rock him in my arms and he cries. It doesn't take long before I'm crying too, clutching him as tightly as he clutches the hat. I bury my face in his hair, and lose track of who is sobbing more. I have dreaded having to explain to him, but this turns out to be infinitely worse. It isn't fair that someone so young should be able to know and understand this.
It hurt when it was children I was teaching, but that pain can't compare to what I feel now at watching my son suffer. He shouldn't know this. No child should ever have to know this.
I lose track of time as we sit there, and can't bring myself to take him to bed when it becomes apparent that he's fallen asleep in my lap. Whether this is for my own comfort, or for his, I can't say. The hat had been hidden away where I had hoped Joey wouldn't find it, because I had known that he would know if he saw it. I suppose I should have known better. Joey was too inquisitive to hide anything from. It was only a matter of time. I should have told him, rather than leaving him to find out on his own. I whisper an apology against his hair. I know he won't hear it, and wouldn't understand why I was apologizing if he could hear it, but I say it anyways, for my own sake.
The pressure shifts in the couch, but I don't look up. Despite weeks of my distance, he doesn't hesitate to put his arms around me now. And this time, I have no desire to pull away. I still hate him for saying it, but I need him more than I can hate him. I let him pull me close, and I let myself rest against his chest, because as much as I hate him for being such a fool, I can't fault him for being honest. He could have lied to me, and I would have hated him for that, too. And to say nothing wouldn't have been him. It wasn't as if I didn't know this was him long before I let myself love him. It might have even been part of why I fell for him. His capacity for love and compassion had always gotten through to me. It drew me to him from the start, and it was why I had chosen to commit to sharing my life with him. I can't continue to hate him for admitting to being the person I fell for.
He releases me after some time and carefully lifts Joey out of my lap to carry him to his bed in the room he shares with Valentine. We'll need to get a bigger place, so that they can have their own rooms, but I suppose the middle of the night isn't the time to be concerned about that. I leave the blankets and pillow on the couch and follow him after a minute. I find him watching our two sleeping children from the doorway of their room, and I wrap my arms around his waist. He seems almost startled by the touch, but quickly returns the gesture, his arm wrapping around my shoulders to keep me close.
I should apologize to him. I know that I should. He deserves an apology. But the same as I know he would've been dishonest to tell me anything else, I know that an apology for my response would be dishonest. Instead, I allow him to lead me back to our bed. I'll apologize to him when I can mean it.
"Joey, why don't you go play with Val and Casey? They're up in her room."
He nods and runs off without a second look back, leaving his backpack in the door. I don't have to look to know any of this, because it's what he always does. Because he always knows Dad will be back to get him soon, and he only gets to play with Casey and Val for a few hours, so he wants to get the most out of his time with them. Joey is a smart kid. He understands making time worthwhile. Seven year olds aren't supposed to grasp those concepts, but I'm certain he does. He's out of earshot in less than thirty seconds. I still can't tear my eyes away from Maverick. I still can't take my hand off the doorframe. I know if I do, I'll smack him. I'll strangle him. I'll drag him in and not let him leave.
"You cannot do this to him."
My voice shakes. It doesn't even sound like mine. It's someone else's, it's too low to be mine, too tense, and too far away.
He hasn't met my eyes since I opened the door. When he met Joey's eyes, his own had begun to water. He doesn't look at me now because he doesn't want me to see that. Because he knows what he is doing is wrong. There is no justification for it. He just stands there, his head tipped towards the ground, that god awful hat hiding his face from my view.
"Maverick."
He looks up finally, and the tears are no longer there. I can't tell you what is, because I can't even read it myself.
"You can't-"
"I can, and I am."
I feel my nails sink into the wood of the doorframe. The splinters will hurt later in an unspeakable way, I know this somewhere in the logical part of my mind, but my nerves fail to register the pain now. I start to speak, but his look silences me. He removes his hat and sets it on top of Joey's backpack, avoiding my glare again.
"Make sure Indy gets it. You know where the spare key is. If I'm not back in two weeks..."
He trails off, running a hand through his hair, and lifts his eyes from the ground, but it's to look away to the side. I want to grasp his chin and force him to look at me, but my hand won't release the doorframe still.
"Bri, I'm sorry."
His voice is softer, a tone that is nothing short of unnatural for him.
It just makes me hate him that much more.
"You're selfish. I've watched you with them. With Valentine and Joseph. And I thought there was something in you. I thought you were a parent. I thought you actually loved them, but it turns out you're nothing more than an impulsive and selfish boy. How can you do this to them? Kacia trusted you with Valentine, and now you're going to abandon her. Why did you even take Joseph in, if you can leave him behind this easily?"
My voice is growing almost shrill, cracking awkwardly, and my eyes burn. My hand finally releases the doorframe so that I can wipe my eyes, and he just continues to stand there, not looking at me. I hate him for this, too. Normally, his silence doesn't bother me. Maverick isn't much of a talker. He communicates through looks, gestures, and direct or sarcastic statements. But goddammit, he owes me an explanation now.
"What am I supposed to tell them?"
His eyes flicker to the ground again, and a hand passes through his hair. He then dares to meet my eyes. His are clouded, as unreadable as ever, but his voice betrays his stoic facade.
"Tell them that I love them, but she needed me more."
He turns then, and I reach to stop him, but my arm is caught by a firm hand, pulling me inside as the door closes, pulling me into what he probably hopes is a comforting embrace. It might have been, if he would have just kept his mouth shut. For a moment, I hate him for what he says too, and the look I give him as I shove him away and flee to lock myself in our room likely betrays that.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"If it were you, I'd go too."
It's days later, and the words keep haunting me. I've slept on the couch since, because I can't bear to share a bed with him. I can't meet his eyes for more than fractions of a second, and I flinch away from his touch as if he were burning me. He quit trying after two days, and now will simply watch me with that brokenhearted gaze when he thinks I'm not looking. I know that I'm hurting him, and unfairly so, but I still hate him for it. I can't forgive him for that sentiment, not when it's been nearly a week and now Joey runs to the door every time he hears a truck outside. Not when I'm having to field questions about when Dad is coming home, and my answers are getting less believable each time I'm forced to lie to those desperately hopeful doe eyes. I can't forgive him. Not yet.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
I find the envelopes when I go to get more clothes for Joey. It's been two weeks, and I know he isn't coming back. There's a stench coming from Maverick's room. Not the usual odor of someone who doesn't wash his sheets or laundry often enough. For the first time since I've been inside, Maverick's apartment is clean and in order. Everything is neatly packed and labeled.
The envelopes sit on top of his dresser. The ink is a deep brownish red I don't want to recognize. There are four of them. A couple of teeth. A finger. A toe. What I think may have once been an ear. All decaying, making the immaculately organized apartment reek of death.
I'm impressed to discover he even cleaned the toilet. I wouldn't have taken him as one to pay attention to such a detail, but as I spend the next undetermined period of time bent over it, I find myself thankful enough to hate him a little less. I flush the remains of my breakfast and rinse my mouth with the now dusty bottle of mouthwash kept next to his sink. I gather the few boxes of Joey's things and load them into the back of my car. The landlord can take care of the rest.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"...Bri?"
I look up from setting up my bed on the couch to find Joey watching me. He has the hat grasped tightly in his small hand, and his cheeks are streaked with tears. I sit down and hold my arms out to him, and he climbs into my lap, clutching that hat tightly between us as I rock him in my arms and he cries. It doesn't take long before I'm crying too, clutching him as tightly as he clutches the hat. I bury my face in his hair, and lose track of who is sobbing more. I have dreaded having to explain to him, but this turns out to be infinitely worse. It isn't fair that someone so young should be able to know and understand this.
It hurt when it was children I was teaching, but that pain can't compare to what I feel now at watching my son suffer. He shouldn't know this. No child should ever have to know this.
I lose track of time as we sit there, and can't bring myself to take him to bed when it becomes apparent that he's fallen asleep in my lap. Whether this is for my own comfort, or for his, I can't say. The hat had been hidden away where I had hoped Joey wouldn't find it, because I had known that he would know if he saw it. I suppose I should have known better. Joey was too inquisitive to hide anything from. It was only a matter of time. I should have told him, rather than leaving him to find out on his own. I whisper an apology against his hair. I know he won't hear it, and wouldn't understand why I was apologizing if he could hear it, but I say it anyways, for my own sake.
The pressure shifts in the couch, but I don't look up. Despite weeks of my distance, he doesn't hesitate to put his arms around me now. And this time, I have no desire to pull away. I still hate him for saying it, but I need him more than I can hate him. I let him pull me close, and I let myself rest against his chest, because as much as I hate him for being such a fool, I can't fault him for being honest. He could have lied to me, and I would have hated him for that, too. And to say nothing wouldn't have been him. It wasn't as if I didn't know this was him long before I let myself love him. It might have even been part of why I fell for him. His capacity for love and compassion had always gotten through to me. It drew me to him from the start, and it was why I had chosen to commit to sharing my life with him. I can't continue to hate him for admitting to being the person I fell for.
He releases me after some time and carefully lifts Joey out of my lap to carry him to his bed in the room he shares with Valentine. We'll need to get a bigger place, so that they can have their own rooms, but I suppose the middle of the night isn't the time to be concerned about that. I leave the blankets and pillow on the couch and follow him after a minute. I find him watching our two sleeping children from the doorway of their room, and I wrap my arms around his waist. He seems almost startled by the touch, but quickly returns the gesture, his arm wrapping around my shoulders to keep me close.
I should apologize to him. I know that I should. He deserves an apology. But the same as I know he would've been dishonest to tell me anything else, I know that an apology for my response would be dishonest. Instead, I allow him to lead me back to our bed. I'll apologize to him when I can mean it.